The Dancing Man was performing on the pavement at the side of the road. He had the windowless wall of the social club behind him, and in front, across the road, a grassy slope which led away to a low cliff and a restless sea. Graham parked some distance away and watched him for a few moments. A driver tooted. Graham watched to see if the Dancing Man reacted to this, but wasn’t surprised to see he didn’t.
For his first approach, Graham decided to keep his notebook hidden. God knows if he’d get any sense out of him anyway. He’d asked the police about him and they claimed they didn’t know anything. Even his sources were no use. Their silence only made Graham more curious.
“Hi,” he said, standing on the pavement about twenty feet away.
The Dancing Man didn’t respond. His clothes were scruffy but in direct contrast, Graham noticed, were his shoes. They looked like new, gleaming in the sunlight.
“Fancy a chat?” Graham asked amiably.
There was no reply.
“How about a coffee? I’ll buy.”
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