She perched herself on the arm of the chair and I took my eyes off her for the first time to risk a glance sideways. Jill was sitting with her back pushed as far as she could go to the rear of the settee, as though she could somehow get away from the gun in front of her. Her face was chalk white and the slight band of freckles across her face stood out like the liver spots on the hands of an old man. She was scared out of her wits.

Leotta was tense and leaning forward, her arms resting on her knees and her hands curled into claws. She gave the impression of a sprinter waiting for the starting gun for the hundred-metre dash. But nobody can run faster than a bullet, so I said in a low voice, ‘Take it easy, Leotta.’

‘What was that?’ Bette Haslam waved her gun. ‘If you want to talk, speak up. I don’t want any whispering. No secrets, you hear?’ Her own voice was as clear as a bell, with no trace of an alcoholic drawl.

I said, ‘What the hell is all this about?’

‘You don’t need to know. Now I want to show you folks something – particularly Miss Coiled Spring there, who looks like she could tear my eyes out. Who are you, anyway, sister?’

‘My name is Tomsson,’ said Leotta.

‘And a friend of my friend, the limey.’ Bette laughed. ‘Now, see here, Tomsson. I don’t have to impress Kemp because he’s as sure as hell impressed already, but you look a mite uptight so I reckon you need a demonstration.’ She waggled the pistol. ‘Grandad, come here.’

John got up again and walked towards her. She said, ‘See those glasses on the table? Straighten them up into a line.’

I looked at the table where Negrini had ‘built me a drink’. There were five glasses. John walked over and lined them up.

‘All right, grandad,’ said Bette. ‘Stand aside.’

The gun in her hand exploded in rapid fire and the glasses shattered into fragments. The explosions slammed into my ears and I counted them. One … two … three … four … Jill, beside me, was rigid and her eyes were tight closed.

Bette said conversationally, ‘I worked in a circus when I was a kid. Wasn’t much of a circus – we worked every whistle stop and hick town in the south-west – but I was the best thing in it. Annie Oakley the Second, they called me. I can shoot every pip out of a ten of spades in four seconds. With two guns, of course.’

The acrid stink of cordite drifted about the room. Six shots, I thought. Two into Negrini and four at the glasses.

‘One glass left,’ said Bette. ‘Pick it up, grandad. Hold it out on the palm of your hand.’ John hesitated as he bent, and she said, ‘Go ahead. I won’t hurt you.’