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Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief, Taffy came to my house and stole a piece of beef.. Everything was quiet. The old boy had packed up for the day and gone home, leaving the shop and the small flat deserted. Easing the jemmy into the window frame just below the latch, a little sideways pressure, the muffled splintering of rotten woodwork; and the window swung silently open. I peered into - darkness. Swinging a left leg over the sill, I dropped silently to the floor. My stomach groaned at the thought of all that LUVERLY beef waiting, out there somewhere. Although my eyes couldn't see it in the gloom, I detected a movement. I moved forward. What's this? My hands explored the object blocking the way. A TURNSTILE???
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