The next move was simple. It was late when he got back to the town where Export Express Ltd. had its being, but he went straight round to Teddy Bunder’s flat. He rang the bell. His watch showed half-past eleven. It was a long time before Bunder came to the door. He had no tie on, and instead of a shirt he was wearing his pyjama jacket.

‘For Christ’s sake, old boy,’ he said. He meant that Charles ought not to have called so late without saying that he was coming.

‘Listen, I must talk to you,’ said Charles rapidly. ‘I came round because I must talk to you.’

Bunder looked at him for a moment, then turned and led the way into the flat. The living-room was untidy, and there was a big fire burning in the grate. A girl sat on the sofa.

‘This is Doris,’ said Bunder.

‘Can I talk in front of her?’ asked Charles openly and rudely.

‘She wasn’t born yesterday,’ said Bunder shortly.

‘Well, now, listen,’ said Charles in the same rapid voice. He had a tremendous sense of the preciousness of time. ‘I’ll come straight to the point. I can’t be bothered just now to wrap anything up.’

‘Neither can I, old boy. Not my style at all. Cough it up, only don’t be all night about it. Doris isn’t here to see my stamp album.’

‘Well, then,’ said Charles. ‘It seems to be fairly common knowledge that you and your particular pals have got some racket that brings you in pretty big money. No one’s said any­thing, in so many words, and there’s no indication that anyone knows a single concrete fact about it, but it’s fairly clear that you’ve found some way of improving on the job from the money point of view, and I’m here to ask you whether you can trust me enough to let me in on it.’

Bunder’s eyes narrowed a little, and he took a pull at his cigarette.

‘I thought it wouldn’t be long before you came round to ask me that,’ he said. ‘Just tell me one thing. You need to make more money, is that it?’

‘That’s it,’ said Charles.

‘I won’t ask you what you need it for,’ said Bunder. He glanced at Doris, then back at Charles, and smiled. ‘It’s nearly always the same story.’

‘That’s right, don’t ask me,’ said Charles. He stood stiffly, waiting for Bunder to make up his mind.

Bunder crushed out his cigarette. Then he stood up.

‘All right, old boy, we’ll take you in. I think you’re the type.’

‘Yes, I’m the type, old boy,’ said Charles.