Manton was unable to control his surprise. He stood behind the desk frowning suspiciously, and then, as if coming to a sudden decision, sat down, took out a bunch of keys and unlocked a drawer. ‘Oh, what the hell. So I owe you a favour.’ He produced a couple of packets of notes and threw them on to the blotter. ‘There’s five hundred there, Ben, that’s all I can manage.’

Garvald looked down at the money, a strange smile on his face, then he moved to the cabinet and poured himself another whisky. When he turned, his face was without expression.

‘No thanks, Fred.’

Manton jumped up angrily. ‘Then what do you want? Is it Bella?’

‘She is my wife, Fred.’

‘Don’t you mean was?’ Manton chuckled sourly. ‘That kind of talk’s going to get you nowhere. Bother her and Harry Faulkner will have you cut down to size so fast you won’t know what hit you.’

Garvald smiled. ‘And you telling me everything was so legitimate these days.’

Manton frowned, a puzzled expression in his eyes. ‘No, it isn’t Bella, is it? It’s the cash – the cash from that Steel Amalgamated job.’

‘Which went up like a torch with Jacky Charlton.’

‘Or did it?’ Manton said softly. ‘Maybe you’d already divvied up?’

‘An interesting thought, you must agree.’

There was a rush of footsteps in the corridor, the door was thrown open and Donner came in. He leaned on the desk, ignoring Garvald. ‘There’s a load of trouble on its way. That blasted copper, Brady.’

‘What’s he want?’

‘Our friend here. Jango’s stalling him at the bottom of the stairs, but I wouldn’t give him long.’

Manton looked at Garvald angrily. ‘What in the hell have you been up to?’

The big Irishman was already on his way to the door. ‘Search me, but I’ve got other fish to fry. Give him my respects, Fred. I’ll see myself out.’

As he disappeared along the corridor, Donner moved to go after him, but Manton caught him by the sleeve. ‘Let him go. He hasn’t been here, understand?’

He sat down behind his desk and lit a cigarette. A moment later, he heard voices in the corridor and Brady burst into the room, brushing aside a small, black-bearded man in a dinner jacket, whose black hair was close-cropped to his skull.

He stood at the side of Manton’s desk, his face swollen with passion, and spoke with a heavy Greek accent. ‘He came in through the staff entrance like a crazy man, boss,’ he said, one hand weaving an intricate pattern in front of Manton’s face. ‘When I tried to stop him coming up, he nearly broke my arm.’

‘Never mind this little squirt,’ Brady said harshly. ‘I want Ben Garvald. Where is he?’

Manton managed a frown with little difficulty. ‘Ben Garvald? You must be out of your tiny mind.’