"He is one of the waits," I said.

"I beg your pardon," he replied, "I did not understand." When he had passed a few yards he turned round.

"Better cover him up," he said; "our people will talk." Then he strolled away, an air from "The Grand Duchess" lightly trolling from his lips.

We still meet occasionally, and nod if no one is looking.
I am going too fast, however.

What I meant to say was that the murder was premeditated.