‘safety in numbers’.
From the police station steps, the Sergeant looked up the road, along the road and down the road. It was empty, not a soul in sight. He took a deep breath and walked down the station steps on to the street itself. Although a reasonably brave man, for the first time since he was a little boy, he felt scared of the dark. There was not a light to be seen. He walked as close to the railings as he could. He looked up at the closed curtains of the Inspector’s office.
‘He’ll be in there,’ the Sergeant thought, ‘wondering when his tea will be brought in.’
The Sergeant had gone about twenty nervous feet when he suddenly dropped to the ground. He had tripped over something. He was unhurt and jumped up as quickly as he could. In the darkness he groped with his hands on the ground hoping to find what had tripped him up. He soon found it. It wasn’t very nice. With many years’ experience behind him, he knew the second he touched it, that he had tripped over a body.
He looked round in the hope that there might be someone walking along who could give him a hand. But of course there was no-one. He even thought of shouting for the Inspector, but then thought better of it. If the Inspector couldn’t hear him when they were in the same room, what chance did he have of hearing him when he was out of the room?
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