Meyer could hear footsteps. Right behind him. Where they hadn't been just seconds ago. Someone was following him, certainly, for no one else was on this street and he hadn't heard any doors open as if someone had left the brightly-lit tavern a good twenty meters behind him.

Slowly drawing his hands from his pockets, he kept whistling nonchalantly, but just as he made to turn a corner, he spun around instead, his coattails whistling through the air with the speed at which he turned.

"What do you want? Money? I can give you money."

Hoping his words would surprise the stranger enough to deter him from using that knife in his hands, Meyer raised his hands in a sign of surrender. Just his luck to be robbed (for that's likely what was about to happen)- his only goal now was to walk away unharmed.