He continues to propel her down the corridor, towards a set of stairs leading upward. The music fades behind her.

‘A raid. Mr Lazenby says he doesn’t want you caught up in it.’

‘A raid? What do you mean?’

‘The police call every so often. They usually arrive later in the evening on a Saturday – after hours. Mr Lazenby is furious that they’re coming here at this time of night. It’s far too early. He’ll give them hell, I’m sure. It’s a nuisance, but they have to do it, I suppose.’

‘There are women, I saw them. They were taking cocaine, I think.’

‘We don’t worry about it.’ He shrugs. ‘They’ll pack it away and no one will know by the time the police arrive. Here you are.’ He gestures to the stairs. ‘Back door. It’s where we send all our better guests when we’ve had the call.’

She follows him up the stairs, pausing only once to look behind, down the corridor, her heart thumping in fear. All her earlier bravado has vanished. She does not wish to be in the club when the police arrive. Her parents would disown her. The newspapers would hear of it and make much of Gerald Littlemore’s daughter being found alone in a nightclub… A wave of nausea threatens again.

‘Are the police here?’ she asks, her voice rising. ‘Are they in the club already?’

‘No, no. We always have plenty of warning. They won’t be here for another half an hour.’

‘Not much of a raid, is it, if they warn you?’ she comments as he thrusts open the back door to the street. She is jittery now, shaking, trying to keep herself calm.

‘God help us if we lose our informer. And God help our guests. Here you are. Can you find your way from here? I need to go back and send a few other people out this way.’

She stands on the pavement, still trembling, trying to find her bearings. ‘Yes. I shall look for a taxicab.’ How ridiculous to be so terrified. She stamps her feet, as if she is cold, to stop the shaking in her legs.

‘Down there. That’s where you’ll find one.’ He points along the street. ‘Sorry that your evening ended so early. Come again, won’t you? You know Mr Lazenby?’

‘I do.’ She buttons up her coat. ‘He’s a friend… Wait –’ She remembers. ‘I saw Billy Walsh at the bar earlier. Who were the men with him?’

He shrugs, handing her the hat. ‘Elephant Boys, I should imagine. Freddy Moss, maybe? I think he was around. They do some work for Mr Lazenby. How do you know Billy Walsh?’

An acquaintance with such a man would be unlikely.

‘Oh, I don’t know him.’ She turns away, embarrassed to lie directly to his face. ‘I know his – friend. Ruby Mills.’