‘He knows who you are, that’s all,’ said Bunder calmly. ‘And he knows your name, that’s all, and he gets you to go and help him out when he’s arrested, and he knew there was a consignment of cars coming down this morning, that’s all.’

Charles took a long swallow at his drink. It was like a sinister repetition of his encounter, a lifetime ago, with Mrs. Smythe. I’m a private detective. Go ahead, detect something. Detect something to say to Bunder to save yourself from a cut throat or a knock on the head one dark night.

‘Look, let’s be reasonable,’ he began with a violent effort.

‘I’m being reasonable, old boy,’ said Bunder gravely. ‘It strikes me you’re the one who’s being unreasonable. Bloody unreason­able.’

‘Can I help it if I know a loony?’ Charles jerked out.

‘No,’ the other agreed, ‘but you can bloody well help it if you act like a loony. You know what I’m getting at. Publicity isn’t much of a help in our line. Then a man turns up one day trying to hide in one of the cars and get access to the dock. He’s found out somehow that there’s a convoy going down on that day. When he’s pulled out of it he appeals to you to go and bail him out or whatever you were doing. So you have to go and stand in the Supervisor’s office and get your face properly looked at by a lot of officials and policemen, every one of whom will remember you whenever he sees you. And all because some silly bastard wants to get on to the dock without a permit. And what was he doing it for, anyway?’

It suddenly flashed across Charles’s mind that Bunder was, mercifully, ignorant of the true facts. Of course! Dogson to him would appear simply as a bum, a sneak-thief or outright imbecile with a simple felonious motive for being where he should not be. He searched his memory for a long second. Had Dogson blurted out anything about being a newspaper man? No: he had said, amid his incoherent protests, ‘The people must know’, but that fragment of the shapeless mass of rhetoric he carried inside him would not necessarily mean anything to a casual listener. He must keep Bunder absolutely and permanently in the dark about Dogson and his mission to reveal the secrets of the drug traffic. Otherwise it would be the end for both of them.

‘You’ve heard of—er—Jehovah’s Witnesses?’ he began jerkily. Behind Bunder’s long, evil face hovered a vision of the resentful scowl of Mrs. Smythe. This time the act had to be good.

‘What would that have to do with it?’ came the silky, menacing tone.