6When Bill had been in Cologne about a fortnight, Hambledon told him one morning that there was a little job on hand that night.
“There is a courier leaving Mainz Station at eight fifteen tonight for here,” he said. “He has some papers in his little brown bag, and we are going to get them.”
“How?”
“Goodness knows, it all depends on circumstances. I don’t know anything about him, whether he’s a big man or a little one, whether he’ll have an escort or not—they don’t as a rule, but these papers seem to be something special—whether he’ll travel in a car with other people or in a first-class in lonely majesty, or, as they say, what.”
“Then you haven’t got any plan?”
“Of course not, how could I have? Do get out of your head these ideas about elaborate plans which are so popular in fiction.
