1920. The book begins: The raid was begun with such swift stealth,
to be then carried on in so silent and vicious a manner that
Captain Phineas Plunkett, passing the house at that moment, was
shocked and startled. It was on that widest of fronts where the
public peace is never permanent-the water front. This particular
sector was a shabby-genteel street in South Brooklyn, where the
grass sprouts between the paving stones, and the jungle of back
yards borders on a No Man's Land enclosed in hoardings and
containing everything under the sun that is not immediately
required, a sort of manufacturing catch-all. The hour was one
o'clock of a raw, late February morning and Captain Plunkett was
returning from the bedside of a lonely friend who was convalescing
poorly from the flu.
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