‘You’ve done well here,’ Solly says after a while, dropping the eyeglass to the counter. ‘This is quality merchandise.’ He tilts his balding head to and fro and scratches a neatly manicured fingernail on his upper lip, visibly calculating the potential value of it all in his head.

None of the merchandise will be sold in his shop. The goods will fetch a better price once they’re split up and sent to different parts of the country or overseas. Besides, they’re hot.

‘So how about you give me something for my trouble?’ Billy says, from the other side of the shop.

‘Something for your trouble?’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Billy crosses to the counter and smiles benignly. ‘It’s what Annie would tell you, were she here.’

‘Annie never said anything about paying you.’ Solly slides an emerald ring back into the cushioned tray. ‘This is Forties’ business, not mine.’

‘Open your strongbox, old man,’ Billy growls at him. ‘I could find myself back in the Scrubs for what I did this morning. Show some respect.’

Solly looks up at the glowering, broad-shouldered young man who is leaning on the counter and considers him for a moment. He then turns to the cash register behind his counter, shaking his head. He removes a wad of bank notes and counts out a couple onto the counter as Billy watches, swearing softly when he is encouraged to put down two more.

Billy collects the notes, folds them then shoves them inside his coat, favouring Solly with one of his winning smiles.

Solly turns away, flustered, and replaces the remaining notes in the till. He calls to Ruby across the shop. ‘And what have you brought for me, Magpie?’

Ruby has left the doorway and is running her fingers over the paste brooches on the table, her back to the men. She presses gently on one or two of them to see how well the glass catches the light. Solly has called her Magpie ever since he found her, a dirty six-year-old skeleton in rags, pressing her nose against the grime of his window, peering in at the trays of rings, more interested in jewels than food. She is just like the birds, he tells her – attracted to anything that sparkles.

She waves at the trays on the counter. ‘That’s it. I was with Billy – we were working as a team.’

Solly frowns at her and holds out his hand. He knows her too well. She’s the same thieving wretch she always was.

‘Give it up, Ruby, whatever it is.’

‘No.’

‘You know the rules. It belongs to the Forties, for a start. And if the police find you with it, you’ll be getting comfortable in a prison cell before you know it.’

‘You lifted the brooch, Ruby,’ Billy says. ‘The big one, moon-shaped – I saw you drop your glove over it. Like Solly says, give it up.’