Young Llewellyn–he seemed a bit quiet. Looked as though he had something on his mind. Hard up, probably. These writing fellows usually were. Looked as though he might be keen on Janet Rustington. A nice woman–attractive and clever, too. But she didn’t ram her writing down your throat. Highbrow sort of stuff she wrote but you’d never think it to hear her talk. And old Leo! He wasn’t getting younger or thinner. And blissfully unaware that his partner was at that moment thinking precisely the same thing about him, Mr Pointz corrected Mr Leathern as to pilchards being connected with Devon and not Cornwall, and prepared to enjoy his dinner.

‘Mr Pointz,’ said Eve when plates of hot mackerel had been set before them and the waiters had left the room.

‘Yes, young lady.’

‘Have you got that big diamond with you right now? The one you showed us last night and said you always took about with you?’

Mr Pointz chuckled.

‘That’s right. My mascot, I call it. Yes, I’ve got it with me all right.’

‘I think that’s awfully dangerous. Somebody might get it away from you in the crowd at the fair.’

‘Not they,’ said Mr Pointz. ‘I’ll take good care of that.’

‘But they might,’ insisted Eve. ‘You’ve got gangsters in England as well as we have, haven’t you?’

‘They won’t get the Morning Star,’ said Mr Pointz. ‘To begin with it’s in a special inner pocket. And anyway–old Pointz knows what he’s about. Nobody’s going to steal the Morning Star.’

Eve laughed.

‘Ugh-huh–bet I could steal it!’

‘I bet you couldn’t.’ Mr Pointz twinkled back at her.

‘Well, I bet I could. I was thinking about it last night in bed–after you’d handed it round the table, for us all to look at. I thought of a real cute way to steal it.’

‘And what’s that?’

Eve put her head on one side, her fair hair wagged excitedly. ‘I’m not telling you–now. What do you bet I couldn’t?’

Memories of Mr Pointz’s youth rose in his mind.

‘Half a dozen pairs of gloves,’ he said.

‘Gloves,’ cried Eve disgustedly. ‘Who wears gloves?’

‘Well–do you wear nylon stockings?’

‘Do I not? My best pair ran this morning.’

‘Very well, then. Half a dozen pairs of the finest nylon stockings–’

‘Oo-er,’ said Eve blissfully. ‘And what about you?’

‘Well, I need a new tobacco pouch.’

‘Right. That’s a deal. Not that you’ll get your tobacco pouch. Now I’ll tell you what you’ve got to do. You must hand it round like you did last night–’

She broke off as two waiters entered to remove the plates. When they were starting on the next course of chicken, Mr Pointz said: