One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. Rummage, my boy, do. ‘Where did you get that, miss?’ ‘It is the sword of monsieur le major. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter. “I’d have to sneak out after everyone was asleep. The boy was bright and inquisitive as he was subtle. They walked past his old jungle gym set to a hilly park that dwelled sleepily beyond his house.
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