Sefton understood that that was a hell of a thing. In a company of people who kept their names like hoarded treasure, here he was being offered one for free. From someone who apparently knew who and what he was. He felt himself trusting this man with his own real identity because of that single surprising gesture. He shook the hand. ‘The fuckers of this culture,’ said the Rat King, ‘are going to be troubled by what you might bring to their community.’ He enunciated every syllable, underlining their meaning and put an entire landscape of irony between himself and that last word. ‘So I am delighted to see you.’ He leaned closer to whisper in Sefton’s ear. ‘But I am afraid I don’t know the thing you most want to find out.’

His meaningful glance made Sefton certain that the Rat King was talking about the Ripper.

*   *   *

Costain, meanwhile, aware of the looks he was getting and not wanting to be seen as coming on too strong, had been looking for differences between this bar and the ones above. He was now inspecting one of several large cracks in the plaster of the walls. Were these walls under pressure from being underground? Pretty rubbish construction, if so. There was something … he leaned closer to the wall and saw something sparkling inside one of the cracks, something … silver. He could feel it on his face: the material in the crack was freezing cold. Yeah, here was that silver goo again. Only this time it seemed to be being used to hold this place together.

*   *   *

Quill managed to overhear a few conversations that expressed horror or wonder at the activities of the Ripper. Some of this lot had definitely, having seen the news on TV, noted the glowing figure leaving the crime scene, but apart from that, not a thing suggested that this community was better informed on the subject than the wider public. Also, nobody had said anything about a smiling man. He’d heard a couple of conversations where people had talked about making ‘sacrifices to London’, as if the metropolis was the thing this lot worshipped. Whatever plan the Smiling Man had used Rob Toshack to hint obliquely about to Quill’s team, this group didn’t seem to be in on it. Quill was backing up, trying to move round to join the fringes of another conversation, when he hit something with the back of his thighs.

He turned round and saw that he’d encountered the long legs of a man in black jeans, black T-shirt and black leather jacket who was sitting in a discreet corner of the bar, his mobile phone in his hand. He had a long face, caring, slightly sad, with a worried look around his mouth, and a shock of dark hair. He was looking as if Quill had disturbed him in the middle of a thought.