“And I could walk away and let you. But that won’t help you in the long run. These guys, the ones looking for you, they’ll find you. Even I found you. How hard could it be?”

“I’m guessing you had help.”

John blinked, which was probably a giveaway.

Benny returned to his breakfast.

John said, “Okay, I had help. And you know what? That emphasises that you’re in a hole, Benny. Enough of one that you’ve got two spooks looking for you on their own time, and the Service putting a pin in you because they want to know what’s going on. So I could walk out of here now, but all that would mean is, you’d lose your one contact on Spook Street. Your one chance to have someone to stand behind when things get complicated. Which they will do.”

“Is that your hero speech?”

“. . . I don’t follow.”

“It sounded like something you’ve been practising. A hero speech. You know, so everyone, or me anyway, will realise you’re the good guy.”

“I just don’t want to be kicked out of my flat.”

John hadn’t realised he’d been about to say that. It revealed him as weak, as frightened. In some situations, that was the right move, but Benny Manors was a blackmailer, the last man on earth to be moved by someone else’s predicament. Which made it strange, the look on his face now. He laid down his knife and fork. His mouth turned serious; his eyebrows clenched. “You’re going to be kicked out of your flat?”

“. . . It’s possible.”

“Boo fucking hoo.”

He got working on his final sausage.

John nodded: yeah, okay. That was not unexpected. He had about an inch left in his coffee cup, and drained it, wondering what his next move should be. He didn’t really have one. He could call Taverner; he could call Richard Pynne. He was leaning towards the latter: if Pynne and Edward were working this under the bridge, then chances were they planned harm to Benny Manors. Right now, that sounded good.

A young woman had entered the café and was standing behind Benny. He didn’t look round when she spoke. “Stuffing your face again.”

“But also working.”

“Yeah, right. In what way exactly?”

Manors tilted his head towards John, without looking at him. “Told you they’d make contact.”

The young woman turned John’s way, regarded him speculatively. It was possible that she was not overwhelmingly impressed. “Him?”

“Regent’s Park’s finest,” said Benny Manors, and laid his cutlery down again, this time on a clean plate. “You wanted proof. Here’s your proof. They wouldn’t be trying to stop me if they weren’t worried.”

John tried to look like he knew what was going on.

Mostly, though, he was just happy to learn that he wasn’t the only one who was worried.