“But someone will notice.” Harvey’s tremolo betrayed his agitation.
Tim waved a dismissive hand. Nobody, he explained, ever went into the overgrown back courtyard.
This is how it had been between them since they were boys, Tim bold and buccaneering, Harvey practical and cautious.
They brought the giant periscope in pieces, assembling it in the courtyard until it reached Belinda’s window. Harvey took first peek.
“Curtains,” he moaned. “We didn’t reckon on those.”
Tim beamed. “Moths,” he said. “We’re going to need moths.”