Two men stand in the shadows with bars of light running a diagonal across their faces.
‘Jerry, is it?’
‘Yes?’ Jerry replied with vague disinterest, brushing greasy hair from his eyes.
‘That’s what I thought!’ cried Foyle, slapping Jerry on the arm. ‘You’ve been around, huh?’
‘I have?’ A myopic Jerry was rubbing his arm. ‘Oh. I’m sure I have.’
‘You know,’ Foyle leaned in close, lowering to a whisper, ‘I have a message from an old friend of yours…’
Jerry looked at Foyle. ‘Wouldn’t it be a fat–’
‘Yes, him!’ said Foyle, withdrawing a silvery pistol from his coat.
‘So that’s what this is all about?’ Jerry looked around, disconsolate.
‘I’m afraid it is. Business is business, so if you don’t mind…’
Jerry shrugged. ‘Have at it, old chap. I have all the Time in the world.’
A gunshot in the dark.
Who is Jerry Cornelius?