but the juggler holds another pack

Corporal Peter Newkirk's entire repertoire is flash and flam, pinched-up tricks turned round the spindly corner of a fingerpad before you can blink twice. He's a con man, is what he is, and forthrightness does not come easy to him.

At night, when his gown blows drafty and he can't sleep, he'll think it through.

What's it mean, to be an honest chap? Here, or in London?

Who can he lie to? Who can't he? Is it alright to lie to himself?

It probably is. So long as he doesn't lie to Louis.

So long as he's somebody's best mate.