Anyway, he could try it on. Carelessly producing his cigarettes, he took one out and lit it with elaborate slowness. Inhaling deeply, he leaned back against the wall. His companion looked at him anxiously, waiting for him to proffer the packet. For a few seconds he fought a one-sided battle with his pride, then spoke.

‘You don’t ’appen to have one of those to spare?’

Charles looked at him, as if the question were surprising.

‘I got through the last o’ mine about midnight,’ the man went on, talking fast and eagerly. Obviously he wanted a smoke very badly. ‘You ’and ’em round in those places, when yer get with a crowd. The bloody cheatin’ swine,’ he added violently.

‘Well,’ said Charles carefully, ‘I suppose you know cigarettes are at a bit of a premium in the West End at this time of day. Supply and demand. As a business man you’ll appreciate that.’

Their eyes met. Hatred and suspicion glowed behind the rimless lenses.

‘The price of an article is what you can get for it in the com­petitive market,’ said Charles, trembling with cold and anxiety. ‘Free enterprise. Made this country what it is.’

The approach must have been wrong. After all, the man prob­ably spent half his life prating about the necessity of a free economy: but that would be quite consistent with his bitter resentment when the weapon was used against him in turn. And from his own account it had been used quite successfully the night before.

Instead of answering he leaned across and snatched at the packet Charles held in his hand. Charles saw red. His livelihood was in danger, and after so much fatigue his nerves were raw. He clenched his other hand and hit Mr. Free Enterprise in the face.

The man bounced off the wall and came back with his hands grabbing for Charles’s throat. This was the last straw; these lousy London types were going to see that they couldn’t go on indefinitely putting it across an honest man from the North. Charles hit him again, hard, over the heart. A policeman across on the other side of the Circus began to walk smartly over, drawing out his whistle in case it should be needed. No hurry. Just a couple of morning-afters. They never had much fight in them at this time in the day.