‘I see. Will Laurence Melford be there?’

‘He’s bound to be,’ said Jane. ‘And so is Sarah, if that’s what really interests you.’

‘I think I’m more interested in the father than the daughter. It seems to me from what Andrew said that he’s the hardest nut in the whole social circle. Once you’ve cracked him, you’ve cracked every nob in San Francisco.’

‘Does society mean that much to you?’

‘It’s where I belong.’

‘You belong here too. You have friends here, which is more important.’

Collis bowed his head appreciatively, and finished his coffee. ‘I’m going out for some breakfast now,’ he told Jane. ‘Then I’m going to take a walk around, to see what I can see. I should be back by lunchtime.’

‘Don’t be too late. Charles said he wanted to take you out to the Auction Lunch, on Sansome Street, and introduce you to some of his business friends.’

Clara gave him a little wave as he left the parlour and went to find his hat. It had been hung in a closet in the hallway, along with dozens of other men’s hats, opera hats and derbies and skimmers and beavers, all of which had presumably been left behind by forgetful customers. Collis pulled on his gloves and then stepped out into the dusty, sunny street, taking a left and making his way along to Stockton Street. As he walked north, he was surprised by the elegance of most of the wood-and-iron houses, and by the well-laid boardwalks.

It was a dry, bright day and he began to feel better after walking only a few blocks. He stopped at a reasonable-looking lunchroom called the Mission Eating House, where he sat alone at a wooden table which had one leg violently shorter than the other three, surrounded by clerks and storemen and carriers, but where he was able to eat a huge breakfast of venison steak, fried trout, hot rolls, toast, and brown bread, washed down with cold steam beer served in a pot the size of a flower vase. There was also a table of cheese and cold cuts, from which he picked honeyed ham and smoked pork, and pickled onions.

After eating, he lit a cheroot and walked across to Montgomery. He knew where he was headed, and it was no surprise to him at all when he arrived on the boardwalk between Bush and Sutter Streets, outside a wide brown adobe building on which there was a red-painted sign reading: ‘Fancy Goods, Sewing Notions, Etc., Walter F. West, Prop.’