“We don’t expect the Stallings cousins to go to trial,” she said. “If they do, then of course you may use these. But once they’ve been sentenced, we expect you to consign these to the fires.”

She handed him the box. He opened it and peered inside to find the complete set of fake correspondence.

“The ones you burned?” he asked.

“Blank stationery purchased for the purpose, of course.”

“But you read one.”

“I have an excellent memory, Detective Superintendent. Too good, sometimes.”

“Right, that’s two crimes swept away. As for interfering with a police investigation?”

“We apologise,” said Mrs. Bainbridge, casting her eyes downward.

“And we promise never to do it again,” added Sparks.

Parham looked back and forth at the two, then nodded.

“See that you don’t,” he said brusquely.

Then he walked out, the shoebox tucked under his arm.

A man began to applaud in the darkness. Torgos walked up, still masked.

“Satisfied?” asked Sparks.

“Very entertaining,” he said. “You know that the Greeks invented theatre.”

“Yes,” she replied. “But the English perfected it.”

Torgos turned to the Brigadier.

“You will let us know what you learn about their networks,” he said.

“We’ll talk.”

“We always talk,” said Torgos. “You never say anything. Good night, ladies. Perhaps we will tango again some evening.”

He and his son walked out, handing their masks to the spiv at the door.

Sparks turned to the letter carrier.

“We still don’t know your name,” she said.

“And you’re not going to.”

“How’s the hand?”

“Hurts.”

“It’s your own damn fault. You were stupid. You overplayed the situation. All you had to do was exchange the letters for the money, but you thought it would be fun to terrorise two defenseless women. Put a gun to one, run your hands over the other.”

“Thought you enjoyed that,” sneered the man.

“You picked the wrong women,” said Sparks. “You got off light. If I ever see you again, it won’t be a dart, and it won’t be your hand. Take your boy home, Brigadier.”

“Come along,” said the Brigadier, walking towards the exit. The man followed him.

Around them, men were slipping out of different doors into the night. Two folded up the table and carried it out, waving to the women as they did.

“And that’s that,” said Gwen as she waved back.

“That’s that,” agreed Iris. “Excuse me.”

She walked up to one of the remaining masked men, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard.

“’Ow did you know it was me?” said Archie, lifting his mask.

“What makes you think I did?” replied Iris.

“Oh, that’s nice, that is. I thought we ’ad a rule about kissing while conducting business.”

“You should know by now that I’m not good at following rules,” she said. “Profitable night?”

“Profitable and entertaining,” he said. “Think we’ll get invited to the royal wedding?”

“Probably not,” she said. “Maybe it will be on television. We’ll have to buy a set.”

“‘Buy’?” replied Archie. “Not familiar with the concept.”