Ruby can admire them for it, even if she’s annoyed that Billy won’t let her be part of the business. It’s not unknown for the Forties and Elephants to work side by side, and he knows it. He is deliberately keeping her out of it. Keeping her small and in her place.

The Forties are adapting, too. The larger department stores have grown wise to their ways, and it is not only Debenham and Freebody who are employing superintendents to walk and watch the customers. Even Gert’s ingenious clothing has had its day – with the changing fashions, it is becoming increasingly difficult to shove stolen goods up your skirts without spoiling the line of your outfit and standing out like a sore thumb. Annie has noticed this in the London stores and is already exploring the possibilities of taking the girls raiding around the country, in places where they won’t be expected nor noticed. She pores over the train timetables, like Charlie Wagstaff pores over the Sporting Life. And because the odds of being caught in the capital are increasing, she is planning more raids with motorcars, so that the Forties can escape at speed, driving faster than a policeman can run or cycle.

Maggs, Grace and Gert weave their way to where Ruby, Daisy and Edith are sitting. They part, like ladies in waiting, and the Queen of the Thieves passes through, making her stately progress to the table.

‘Ladies.’ Annie smiles affably as she sits, a glass of stout in her hand, rings glittering over her fingers. ‘Pay day today, as I’m sure you’re all aware.’

She opens her handbag and pulls out several envelopes. ‘We did well this week, despite losing Alice.’ Annie hands out the envelopes. ‘Try not to spend it all at once, girls,’ she cackles, pulling cigarettes out of the bag as well. ‘But if you need to lose it, I’ve got a good tip on a horse running at Newmarket next week – and I know a bookie offering very reasonable odds.’

They all laugh at this.

Ruby opens her envelope and skims a thumb across the thin bundle of notes. She could have more for herself if she worked on her own. The others don’t even check their earnings; they shove the packet into their pockets or bags and carry on the conversation.

‘Never mind Newmarket, I’ve heard that Whiteleys is having a sale next week,’ Maggs says, leaning in. ‘We should go. I love a good sale.’

They all love a sale. Hundreds of hands will be grasping, rummaging, sifting, pawing at the goods, making it all too easy for the Forties to slip in, hoist and escape unseen.