And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. I meant mischief. Mind, when we were all growed up, it were different. People hounded him about the disappearances mercilessly for weeks after the concert, first the police, then the Becks, then people from school. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ agreed Gerald with a grin.
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