And the fact remained that if they genuinely thought that he was pulling a fast one, then they would have taken action, wouldn’t they? They’d have come mob-handed.

‘You still haven’t answered the question of what you’re doing here,’ said McGregor.

‘Aye, well, that’s another story. There’s been some trouble at . . . Well, you remember where we were earlier?’

‘We were at two or three places earlier. Try being specific.’

‘The Freemasons Arms.’

‘Oh yeah? What sort of trouble?’

‘How about you hopping in? We’ll get over to the factory, let the boss man explain.’

Abbott’s mind raced. Trying to work out what, if anything, the other side had in mind. All of a sudden his cover felt shakier than ever.

‘Where were you, then?’ asked McGregor as Abbott settled into the car.

‘I just took a walk,’ said Abbott. ‘Sleep doesn’t come so easily these days.’

‘That’s a hangover from combat, is it?’

‘You might say that.’

‘I see,’ said McGregor, nodding thoughtfully. Abbott turned his head to look out of the window, wondering if he should draw his weapon and take pre-emptive action. If they’d worked out that he wasn’t Flyte, then he was walking into the lion’s den. If not, then that meant they trusted him fully. And the more they trusted him, the closer he could get.

He checked his watch. It was coming up for 3am. And yet, as they turned into Kemptown and approached the Doyle factory, he could see that the lights were all on, the place already buzzing with men.

They parked, went inside, across the now-familiar factory floor and up the steps to the mezzanine. McGregor knocked on a door. Two of Doyle’s foot soldiers appeared from inside, but instead of ushering Abbott and McGregor through they stepped out onto the gantry.

McGregor held out his hand. ‘Gun?’

Abbott shook his head.

McGregor waggled insistent fingers. ‘Listen, pal, it doesn’t look good, does it? You being out like that. At the same time as someone hits our operation. How about you just hand yer gun over, let me check that there isn’t a slug missing?’

‘I can tell you now that there isn’t.’

‘Then you won’t mind handing it over so we can check. You’ll get it back. Soon as I’m happy. Who can say fairer than that, eh?’

The moment hung. Abbott knew that a refusal would invite more suspicion. The guards tensed as he reached behind to the waistband of his jeans. ‘Steady, lads. You said you wanted my piece, didn’t you?’ He plucked it out and with tweezer fingers gave it to McGregor, who handed it off to another of the men.

‘Careful with it,’ warned Abbott.

‘Don’t worry. My man Morris here knows exactly what he’s doing,’ said McGregor.