He turned slightly onto his side. The movement of the tube as he did so caused him some pain, as they had told him it would, but it was nothing compared to the experience of suffocating in the open. He took deep breaths of the sterile hospital air, looking around the room as he did so.

“Can you hear me?”

The voice was Stafford’s, and Lockhart was only just beginning to register it. He must have been semi-comatose.

“Yes I can,” Lockhart croaked. “What do you want?”

“I asked if you wanted one of them nurses.”

“No thanks, Stafford, I’m fine.”

“Good. In that case, perhaps you can tell me what this bleeding letter is about, and why you’ve made me stay here.”

Lockhart looked at Stafford’s hands, which were clutching the letter to “Hattie.” Shit.

“Why haven’t you sent it?”

“My old mum told me never to sign something I didn’t understand.”

At least the man had a sense of humor. But before he told Stafford anything, he needed to know more about him.

“What did you do before the war, Stafford?”

Stafford looked at the floor shiftily.

“It’s all right,” said Lockhart, sitting up slightly. “This isn’t an interrogation—I’m just curious. I don’t suppose you were as good as gold.”

Stafford laughed a little.

“Er…no, sir.”

“What did you do then?”

“Er…perhaps I may have done a little bit of thievin’, sir.”

“Thieving, eh? What sort of thieving?”

Stafford shrugged.

“Well, you know how it is, sir, the odd house here and there.”

“I’m sure I don’t, Stafford. Were you ever locked up?”

“Pentonville, sir. Four years. Breaking and entering.”

“How did you get caught?”

“I was shopped by someone I thought was a mate. The coppers were waiting for me, right in the middle of this rich bird’s living room.”

“And what happened to this mate of yours?”

Stafford rubbed his hands together.

“I don’t think I want to answer that question, sir.”

Lockhart let it go. It was none of his business. Stafford was a thief, but a thief with his own sense of honor. There was no doubt that treachery revolted him—hence his attacking Lockhart in the latrine.

“You’re a good man, Stafford.”

“No one’s ever told me that before!”

“Well, I think you are. I need someone to trust. Can I trust you, Stafford?”

Stafford sat up straight.

“That you can, sir.”

“Good. And I want you to trust me as well.”

Stafford paused. It was clear that Lockhart wasn’t going to win him over until he had told him what was in the letter, and why he had made him stay with him.

“All right, I’ll tell you why I wanted you here. I want you to help me.”

“Help you? How?”

“I need a team, Stafford, a team of decent men who can help me achieve something desperately important.”

“Do what?”

“Perhaps it’s best if I told you what’s in that letter.”