Nick swallowed the rest of his Jameson’s, walked to the bar and helped himself to another. ‘All right, it goes something like this. When Bella got that note from Ben the other day, she didn’t want to tell you because she’s the kind who thinks that if you close your eyes to a situation and pretend it’s not there, maybe it’ll go away. But her sister’s built differently. She decided, on balance, that it would be better if you were told.’

‘So?’

‘You had a word with Manton, told him to arrange a reception for Ben when he got out of Wandsworth. The only kind of reception you thought he’d understand.’ Nick grinned. ‘You made a bad error there.’

‘Finished?’ Faulkner asked.

‘I wonder what he wants with Bella?’ Nick said. ‘Maybe he’d like her back. She might even go with him. From what I hear, they used to be pretty thick in the old days.’

Faulkner’s anger overflowed like hot lava and he jabbed viciously at a button on the desk. ‘Who in the hell do you think you’re talking to?’

‘Big Harry Faulkner, the punter’s friend,’ Nick said. ‘Businessman philanthropist, a dream at the orphans’ Christmas party every year. Also thief, whoremaster and pimp.’ He emptied his glass and put it down on top of the bar. ‘Tell me something, Faulkner. I know those Gascoigne Street brothels of yours can supply any kind of female anyone ever wanted, but is it true you run a special line in the male variety as well?’

The door opened and Craig entered. He moved to the desk and Faulkner, his face ashen, raised a trembling hand. ‘Throw him out.’

Craig turned slowly to face Nick, his fingers opening and closing. ‘You know, I didn’t like the look of you from the moment you walked in.’

He seemed very sure of himself. When he was about three feet away, he swung a tremendous punch that carried everything he had.

Nick moved in close, catching the blow with a karate block delivered with his left hand and kicked the big man viciously on the shin, lifting his right knee into the unprotected face as Craig doubled over.

He lay on his back moaning, a hand to his mouth, blood trickling between his fingers. ‘Get up, Craig! Get up!’ Faulkner ordered.

‘I don’t think he’s going to be quite that stupid.’ Nick walked across to the door. He turned with it half open, the dark eyes sending a cold shiver through Faulkner. ‘There’s more to this than shows on the surface, Faulkner. Much more. I’ll be back when I find out what it is.’

Jean was standing at the entrance to the Long Room, a light evening coat over one arm, a jewelled bag swinging from the other. ‘What did Harry want?’

‘Nothing special. Ready to go?’