‘Sure he does. Other people’s misfortunes are every businessman’s business around here.’

‘But did he know my blankets were stored there?’

Andy was about to answer, but he paused, and squinted at Collis with slitted, suspicious eyes.

‘I don’t quite see which way you’re aiming to piss,’ he said cautiously.

‘I just want to know if Arthur Teach was aware that the blankets got burned.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Andy. ‘I doubt if he did. I doubt if anybody did. Why should they?’

‘That’s just what I wanted to hear,’ Collis told him. He stood up. ‘Do you know where Arthur’s office is?’

‘Sure. It’s on California, between Kearny and Montgomery, right opposite the Pacific Club. But I’d certainly like to know what you’ve got on your mind.’

Collis straightened his grey silk hat and tugged at his vest. ‘I’ll meet you tonight, at the International. That’s all I’m going to say.’

Andy watched Collis walk across the office to the half-open door. He watched him raise his hat, bow sardonically, and leave. He stared for a long time at the empty landing. Then he sighed, shook his head, and went back to his crumpled business letter. Outside the window, the fog was gradually fading, and it looked as if the evening was going to be clear. The sky was high, hazy and pale, and there was a wind from the east that promised a warm weekend.

Chapter Eight

As five o’clock chimed, Arthur Teach was finishing up his day’s business at Pacific Securities. His office was a memorable example of San Francisco gothic, with high-vaulted ceilings and redwood-panelled walls. The same late daylight that had brightened Andy Hunt’s loft was falling across his parquet floor in monastic shafts.

He autographed his letters with a quick, aggressive squiggle, and thought with growing ferocity of cold champagne and fried scallops.

There was a soft rapping at his door. Through the hammered-glass panel, like a drowned man lying beneath the ripples of a lake, stood Pudgett, his clerk, waiting with his hand on the doorknob for his master’s reply. Arthur said to himself, ‘Damn,’ and then he called, ‘Come in!’

Pudgett put his head around the door and smiled weakly. His hair was combed in five different directions at once, and he wore tiny eyeglasses on the end of his nose. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you so late, Mr Teach, but you have a caller. He says it’s a pressing matter, and won’t wait, but is much to your advantage.’

‘I suppose you forgot to ask his name,’ said Arthur.

‘No, sir, I didn’t forget. McReady, sir. Mr Daniel McReady.’

Arthur signed another letter, sniffed, blotted it, and tossed it into his wooden Out tray. ‘Where’s he from? What’s he want?’

‘He declined to say, sir.’