‘See, me and Stanley Cohen,’ Artie went on, ‘we weren’t like father and son. We was like brothers. He did a stretch in Pentonville. I did a stretch in Pentonville. Like I say – brothers. Is it perfect? No. But was he proud of it? You can wager your last penny on it, Ray. I shouldn’t have got caught that night. I shouldn’t have scrapped my way through my sentence, and earned those extra years for it an’ all. Hell’s teeth, I shouldn’t have called the judge what I called him – though he deserved every bit of it, and more. But at least I was honouring the old man. At least he understood.’

But Raymond thought: I am honouring him. I’m honouring him in my own way. I’m dancing for him, every night I’m out there. Oh, I do it for myself and I do it for them as well – those who’ll come to watch me, or dance with my arms around them . . . But I do it for him as well. He’s there every time I take a step. But how would they know any of that? They, who only remember him for all the thieving and fencing he did when he wasn’t in the dance hall. What he did down the yard, or what he did in the markets after nightfall . . .

‘If you was really honouring him, you wouldn’t be dancing in that hotel o’ yours. You’d be fleecing them for all they’re worth. All them counts and countesses floating through that ballroom while people round here don’t have two pennies to rub together. You shouldn’t be dancing with them. Leave that to one of the younger fellas, the more dashing fellas, while you’re up in their rooms, robbing their jewels. Well, what are they to you, Ray, really? If they knew who you were. If they knew what you were. There’s Jewish boys coming into these streets from Germany almost every week now, runaways with not a thing but what’s in the packs on their backs. That’s your cousins, that is. That’s your people. And that Buckingham, well, it’s home away from home for those sods driving ’em out of their own houses. You ought to have your hands in every strongbox in that hotel.’ Artie had thrown his head back with mirth, but now a new look came over his face. ‘What do you think, brother? Come back to us Cohens – all this de Guise nonsense can be the perfect cover. You keep ’em busy in the ballroom while I filch through their rooms. All I need’s a set of keys. We can spread the good stuff around, help a few folks out down here – and if we keep a little for ourselves, well, that’s only right as well. Consider it a commission.’