Collis leafed through the album. There were daguerreotypes and ambrotypes of girls sitting dreamily in artificial sylvan settings, of girls kissing each other on rustic bridges, of girls fondling naked gentlemen with moustaches, narrow chests, and stocking garters.

‘Fifty dollars the whole album,’ remarked Mr Figgis, as if that were an extra credential for its artistic merit.

Collis closed it. ‘Do this job well — give me half a dozen pictures that are half as good — and I’ll come back and pay you twice that much for it.’

Mr Figgis looked down at the album and frowned. ‘This is not going to be dangerous, is it?’ he asked. ‘I don’t usually take on anything dangerous.’

‘Dangerous?’ asked Collis. He shook his head. Then, without another word, he left the studio and stepped out on to Pine Street again to call his cab.

Mr Figgis watched him through the dusty glass of his window, and the late sunlight cast the shadow of the gilded letter N across his face, like warpaint.

Collis and Hannah dined that night at the Poodle Dog, in one of the private rooms upstairs. These rooms were furnished with parlours, bathrooms, and even bedrooms, and were mostly used by ladies and gentlemen who wished to dine and then dally together without being seen in public. There was even a separate entrance at the side of the restaurant, where ladies could alight from their carriages, veiled or disguised, and make their way directly to the upper three floors.

Collis ate there because the surroundings were silent and sumptuous, all velvet and brocade drapes, and because the food was good. Hannah was a little uneasy about it, but then Hannah seemed uneasy about their whole trip to San Francisco.

‘Have you arranged to meet Laurence Melford yet?’ she asked Collis, as they ate a concoction of San Francisco Bay shrimps, cream, and brandy.

‘I’ve contacted his attorneys,’ Collis said, without looking up.

‘But what are you going to say to him, even if he condescends to meet you? You keep saying you’ve got it all worked out. You keep saying you’ve got a plan. But you won’t tell me what it is.’

‘It’s complicated, that’s all,’ said Collis, taking a swallow of champagne. ‘And I didn’t want you to trouble yourself about it until I’d gotten it all arranged.’

‘Collis,’ she said, ‘that’s what I’m here for. That’s why I married you. I want to trouble myself with your business, and with all of your plans, whether you’ve finished arranging them or not. I don’t want you to think that you can’t involve me in any of your ventures until they’re satisfactorily settled. You’re not a cat, you know, bringing in dead mice to please its mistress.’

Collis smiled. ‘You’re a perfect wife, Hannah. Do you know that?’