Faster than lightning, Billy and Charlie roll up their papers and scoop the betting slips into their pockets. The gamblers disperse as swiftly back to their tables. And within ten seconds, all evidence of gambling has vanished into thin air. The patrons of the Crown are enjoying a quiet evening drink; there’s forced laughter from one of the tables, and someone has started to play the piano. This is the sight that greets Inspector MacKenzie from Scotland Yard and two other men in dark suits as they push open the door. It is the sight that Inspector MacKenzie expects to see – he is not stupid and, although he heard no whistle or shout, he knows his arrival will have been announced in some way.

‘Evening, gentlemen. What are you having?’ Clara greets the newcomers as old friends. In many ways, they are. The coppers are always welcome in her pub, and they are always happy to drop by. There’s an easy rapport between the police and the Elephants. Each views the other with contempt, but they are, usually, cordial.

MacKenzie is a proud man. He lives over the river, in a comfortable corner of Kensington, but he’s confident in his ability to move among the gangs of south London without fear. He is too old to have been in France – this slight against his manhood is marked only by a permanent frown – but young enough to believe himself to be a match against any of the Elephants on their own. He carries a gun, after all, and would use it if he had to.

He despises them all. Not for their brutality, but because they are so sly and slippery. Hard to catch. There’s not an honest one among them. Not like in the old days.

The policemen stand and chat with Clara for a while, affable enough, drinking the pints she pours for them. They make easy conversation with the men who are leaning against the counter. They all know one another.

The young boy who asked for Mr Bull – Clara’s son, Alfie – winds his way between the men and disappears back behind the bar long before any of them will notice their pockets have been picked.

Inspector MacKenzie makes his way to Billy and stands, pint in hand, saying nothing for a moment. Just watching intently.

Billy and Charlie appear to be reminiscing about a pal from the trenches; Ruby catches a name she’s heard before – someone who kept them entertained in the slow hours.

‘Billy Walsh, can you tell me where you were this morning, around half past eleven?’

‘Evening to you, too, Inspector MacKenzie,’ Billy nods a friendly greeting. ‘Where am I supposed to have been?’

‘A jeweller’s store on Gloucester Road was raided late this morning. One of the thieves sounded very much like you, so I thought I’d ask, while I’m here.’