“I see him,” replied the driver, easing his gun from his holster.

A man dressed in a pinstripe suit with a hideously wide tie ambled up to the vehicle. He held his jacket open, then turned slowly. No weapons were visible. He tapped on the window. The driver rolled it down, keeping his free hand on his weapon.

“You’ll be the gents Miss Sparks is meeting,” said the man.

“Who are you?” asked the driver.

“Call me Petheridge,” said the man. “Or better yet, call me Orpheus. I am your guide to the underworld.”

“Tell us where to go,” said the Brigadier wearily.

“I don’t tell you, I show you,” said the man. “I ’ave to go with you. Frisk me first, if you like. I would, if I were in your shoes.”

“Frisk him,” ordered the Brigadier.

The driver got out and patted the man down.

“He’s clean,” he said.

“Next to godly, I’m so clean,” agreed the man. “I’ll get in back with you, shall I?”

“Get in front,” said the Brigadier.

“You and me, then,” said the man to the driver as he sat next to him. “It’s all about the separation of classes with these blokes. Oppression of the working man.”

“This working man needs to know where we’re going,” said the driver.

“Of course. Take the next left.”

Stallings stopped the Bentley at the location and looked around suspiciously.

“I don’t see them anywhere,” he said.

“Are you sure this is the right address?” asked Lady Matheson.

“It’s the one she gave me,” said Mrs. Fisher, checking her note. “I made her repeat it. This is the place.”

“There’s someone coming up,” said Stallings, getting set to put the car in gear.

“Are you Lady Matheson?” asked a man at her window.

“I am. Who are you?”

“I’m to take you to Mrs. Bainbridge,” he said. “I’ll need to get into the car.”

“Not bloody likely,” said Stallings.

“I don’t like this man,” said Mrs. Fisher. “He frightens me.”

“It’s all right, folks,” said the man. “You can trust me, or my name ain’t Catherine Prescott.”

Stallings glanced back at the two women.

“Let him in,” said Lady Matheson.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Fisher said with a shudder.

“You’re the Greek fellow?” said the spiv to Torgos as Tadeo drove.

“That depends on who is asking,” he replied.

“I got to see Athens while I was in the navy. Best-looking girls in the whole war, except for Cairo. You been to Cairo?”

“Many times. Where are we going?”

“We’re almost there. Take the next right.”

The Brigadier’s car pulled into a lot enclosed by a board fence next to a dark warehouse. There was another Bentley there already.

“Put these on,” said their guide, handing them black ski masks and donning one himself.

“Why?” asked the Brigadier.

“Because it’s a masked ball, innit? Now, do me the courtesy of leaving any weapons inside the car. It’s my turn to do the frisking.”

“Sir?” asked the driver.