EXTRACT: 'Jonas pirouetted, using his right foot as an anchor, just in time to be knocked backwards by a left knee. He cannoned against the desk and was pleased his low position meant that a follow-up punch lost most of its force against his left ear. He catapulted himself away from danger and then rolled several twists into the general gloom of the office. He rose to his feet but had to throw himself sideways to dodge an attack launched by his attacker. Now he could see his attacker well enough to recognise Archie Morrison who, with scarcely a grimace, pulled the knife out of his left thigh, not noticing how much the wound continued to bleed.
“’and over wot’s ours, laddie!” He stretched out his hand with every confidence that his opponent, even though eluding the initial attack, would be so terrified he’d comply. He’d never met Jonas Forbes.
“I understood this packet belonged to Daniel Longcroft.”
“The man won’t be needin’ it NOW.” That last word was accompanied by such a nasty grimace, meant as a grin, that Jonas was certain the solicitor ‘had departed this life’.
“Then it must be the property of his wife.” Both had moved to obtain the advantage and Jonas, more experienced in the game, had ensured the torchlight played on the Scotsman.
“She’ll be ‘andin’ it over to ma dad.” Again that sense of certainty which comes from trusting ignorance – or is it ‘ignorant trust’?
“P’rhaps she’ll hand it over to the police.'”