‘Jim was always a lone blagger; figured he wasn’t going to be grassed on if he did things by himself.’

‘Is he meeting us here?’

‘No, he runs a stall further down the lane.’

‘So how does it work on the squad with informants?’

‘You give them a nickname and you have to register them with Murphy and fill in a report for secure filing every time you have a meet.’

‘And what about paying them?’

‘Fill in a payment request form and give it to Kingston, who then gets Murphy to check it. If he approves it, Kingston can give you the money out of the office safe. If you get good info that results in a conviction, the snout gets a big wedge out of any reward fund.’

Jane wondered to herself if the money the Colonel had in the envelope was meant for Gentleman Jim.

‘You can’t beat a good salt beef bagel.’

He took a large bite of his second one.

‘Do you think Jim might know something about the Leytonstone job?’

‘Well, we ain’t here to buy an antique clock from him. You don’t half ask a lot of questions, Jane.’

‘Well, you’re supposed to be the teacher.’

‘Then just watch and learn when I speak to Jim.’

Brick Lane was fuller now, with people who had come out early to try and grab a bargain. As they walked down the lane the Colonel stopped at some stalls and enquired about the merchandise or picked things up to have a look at them, trying to appear like a normal punter. He stopped at a stall and picked up a doll dressed in an old-fashioned sailor’s outfit, with a ring in one ear and realistic features. The stallholder was an overweight, elderly balding gentleman with a thick moustache, who smelt strongly of stale sweat. He wore a white shirt, grey pinstripe trousers and a black waistcoat with a pocket watch.

‘Is sir interested in the doll?’

‘I might be. What sort of doll is it?’

‘It’s German, known as a bisque head, made circa 1875 from bisque porcelain,’ he said in a posh voice. ‘The matt finish gives it a rather lifelike look, don’t you think?’

‘How much?’

‘Fifty pounds – but if it’s for your good lady I’d be prepared to drop the price to forty-five.’ He smiled at Jane.

‘Fuck off, Jim – I bet you’ve got a box full of replicas in the back of your van.’

He shrugged. ‘I gotta make a fucking living, Colonel.’

‘This is Jane. I’m teaching her the ropes.’

‘I’d listen to every word he says, my dear – if only to see what rubbish he talks.’ He sneered.

The Colonel took a five-pound note out of his pocket and held it towards Jim.

‘You know anything about the Leytonstone job on Thursday just gone?’

‘Not for a fiver I don’t. A score is my going rate.’