"Money," said Malach. He pulled a melodramatic disappointed face. "Only money?"

"Some of these ornaments—worth something—"

"Ruth," said Malach, "smash some of the ornaments."

Richard began to argue, but his voice was cut off.

Ruth took bulky china objects from the false mantelpiece and dropped them in the hearth, where they broke noisily.

Malach raised his foot.

"They're very unattractive. Better, like this."

"You're insane."

Malach leaned down and cracked Richard hard across the face. Richard's teeth cut his lip open and it began to bleed.

"But you are a cunt," said Malach. "Oh, forgive me. You don't care for bad language."

Richard coughed and was feebly sick again, his head turned painfully under Malach's boot.

As his eyes cleared slightly, Richard saw the girl hefting the huntsman figurine.

"No—no—don't—that's valuable. I swear it is."

Malach held up his silvered hand.

"Bring it to me, Ruth."

Ruth brought the statuette, three burly men in russet coats raising guns at some unseen flying things.

Malach weighed it in his palm, looking at it. He looked down again at Richard. "It's a fake." The piece whirled through the air and struck the wall. It smashed into a shower.

Richard was hurt and ill, and now he was very scared, and he began to cry. Life had long ago taught him that the tears of a strong man will bring him sympathy, or aid.

Not now.

Malach had removed the booted foot and instead hauled Richard up, helped him to stand, and led him out to the foot of the stairs.

"Yes, there's cash up there," said Richard. His nose ran and somehow Malach would not let him wipe it, or the blood oozing down his chin.

Malach took Richard up the flight of stairs, and, on the landing, Richard tried to turn to the bedroom where he kept a thousand pounds in fifties, in a marvelous find, an old box from the slave trade, ebony, showing a black man in chains…

"Tell me about Linda," said Malach.

"My wife—"

"Your wife," said Malach.

Malach brought his fist up into Richard's jaw, just avoiding the nerve point that would have rendered him unconscious.

Richard's head slammed back into the wall, and before he could save himself he fell, twisting and thumping, the length of the stairs.

Richard lay moaning on the carpet under the stairs.

Ruth came out to see.

Malach descended the stairs with a measured tread.

"The grand old Duke of York," said Malach, "he had ten thousand men. He fucked them up on the top of the hill, then he fucked them up again. Ah, forgive me. You don't like these words." He lifted Richard like a length of used material. This time he had to drag him up the steps.

At the top Malach brought his fist across Richard's face again and sent him down once more along the stairs.

At the bottom, Malach knelt on Richard.

He took Richard's head by the ears.