Written using 
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We were supposed to meet down at the waterfront this evening when the clock struck eleven.
But - as I had little trust in the strange little man - I followed him as he left his shop as the night fell.
He moved like a frightened animal, bursts of fast walking, almost running, before stopping and looking around.
I swear he was sniffing the air.
As good as I am at blending in, I was almost spotted on at least three occasions, but eventually, Jepps seemed satisfied that he wasn't being followed and slipped into a tavern in one of the least favourable areas of town.
The Old Gripe is a horrible place, one I usually avoid, but - metaphorically holding my nose - I followed Jepps in.
The place stunk of beer, vomit and body odour, and the sounds of arguing overwhelmed me as I stepped into the bar.
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