Angus nodded. ‘Every right to be, sir. Not for my own sake, mind you. But I’ve known that fellow for more than twenty years. I worked in one of his gaming rooms from ’32 to ’39, and I can tell you straight out that he’s one of the hardest nuts in the business. Not a man to cross, sir. Not if you fancy a nose to breathe through.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Carpenter, sir. Herbert Carpenter. Not a man to cross, by any means.’

‘I see,’ said Collis, with a sigh of fatigue.

Makepeace came home from Wall Street at seven o’clock, when the sun was beginning to sink into the grainy skies over New Jersey. Collis had heard his carriage draw up outside, and he stood by an upstairs window looking down on his father’s rounded shoulders and the top of his black silk hat as the old man was helped down to the sidewalk. He could see by his father’s defeated demeanour that no miracles had happened during the day to rescue him from his creditors. He let the diamond-patterned lace curtain fall back into place, and the street outside was veiled in white.

He stood at the head of the stairs as Makepeace came in through the front door, handed his hat and his cane to Angus, and then took out his big white handkerchief and wiped his perspiring forehead. It was still warm and dusty out on the streets.

‘Father,’ said Collis quietly.

Makepeace looked up. ‘Oh, you’re there.’

‘Yes. Is there any news?’

Makepeace shrugged. ‘It depends what kind of news you mean. There’s plenty of bad news. Plenty of that. But not much good news at all.’

Collis descended the stairs and came across the hallway. When he saw his father close to, he suddenly appreciated how much this financial disaster had taken out of him. He looked bloated with illness instead of puffed up with pride, and somehow his formal business clothes seemed ill-fitting and incongruous. He smelled of brandy, and Collis guessed that he must have stopped off at the club on the way home to fortify himself after the day’s despair.

‘Is there no hope at all?’ asked Collis.

Makepeace shook his head. ‘It’s almost impossible. The problem is, I have to keep it quiet. I can’t tell anybody what I need the money for. And even the wildest speculator won’t underwrite me for two million dollars without having some kind of inkling what he’s supposed to guarantee, and why.’

Collis looked at his father sadly for a moment. ‘Don’t you have any old friends you can turn to? Somebody who owes you a favour? Not after all these years on Wall Street?’