Maggs takes the notes and coins and pushes them into her coat pocket. ‘Not yours. This is money for the girls. You’ve worked with the Forties long enough to know the rules. You were keeping this for yourself.’ Maggs is angry. She’s looked after Ruby for several years, and still the girl insists on operating on her own. ‘Where did you have it from?’

Ruby pulls a sulky face.

‘Picked a pocket a few streets away on my way here. Rich gent. He wasn’t looking where he was going so I bumped into him. It’s mine, Maggs. My money.’

She takes a sharp breath as Maggs grabs her arm and twists it. No one will notice. To passers-by, they will look like two friends, arm in arm. But Maggs could dislocate her shoulder with one movement. It hurts enough even now.

Maggs remains silent as they march along the street, following the men. She does not need to say anything. Ruby is very aware that she is in trouble.

They turn into a quiet crescent just beyond Earl’s Court station.

She’s not really noticed where they are because she’s so concentrated on fighting against the pain in her arm. There’s another of the Elephant Boys ahead, leaning against a wall.

‘The houses are chalked,’ he says, casually, when they reach him. ‘We’ve got four of them. One of the lads was watching earlier.’

They are letter-raiding. The postman has made his deliveries. He won’t have known it, but he was carefully observed. In this street, the houses are set back a little, offering privacy to home-owners – and to thieves. On the pavement, in four places, one of the Elephants has scratched a short double line, not with chalk, but with a stone, marking out those places where no one is at home. No innocent passer-by will notice the marks – no innocent passer-by will be looking for them.

‘That one.’ Alf jerks his head to Maggs, who is still twisting Ruby’s arm. ‘Take her to that one.’

Maggs drops her arm, causing more pain than when she twisted it. Ruby does not cry out but curses, silently, violently.

The two women make their way up the path to the front door. Maggs nods to Ruby, her lips still fixed in a hard and angry line. She doesn’t need to tell her what to do – Ruby has done this hundreds of times. The letterbox is set low in the door, barely above ankle height. She kneels on the step, her face only inches away from Maggs’s boots, and pushes it open. She slides her hand through the gap and reaches inside for the letters on the hallway floor, then brings her hand back slowly through the letterbox, trying not to scrape her skin. There are four letters. She silently hands them to Maggs and stands up.