I found myself next to Gresson, and took his arm.

There was something hard in his coat pocket.
Unfortunately there was a big lamp at the point where we emerged, and there for our confusion were the Fusilier jocks.

Both were strung to fighting pitch, and were determined to have someone's blood.

Of me they took no notice, but Gresson had spoken after their ire had been roused, and was marked out as a victim.

With a howl of joy they rushed for him.
I felt his hand steal to his side-pocket.