‘Scare her,’ muttered Mr Croup, disgustedly. ‘Scare her. That we should be brought to this.’ Mr Vandemar had found half a prawn and lettuce sandwich in a waste-bin, and was gently tearing it into small pieces, which he was tossing down on to the flagstones in front of him, attracting a small flock of peckish late-night pigeons. ‘Should have followed my idea,’ said Mr Vandemar. ‘Would have scared her lots more if I’d pulled his head off while she wasn’t looking, then put my hand up through his throat and wiggled my fingers about. They always scream,’ he confided, ‘when the eyeballs fall out.’
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