Joe was true to his word and appeared fifteen minutes later, kicking up clouds of dust as he came toward her. She hadn’t noticed in the pub that he walked with a slight hitch, his right leg making straight lines in the dirt, whereas his left leg created only a single footprint like Morse code. She guessed it must be from the war, and it lent him an air of vagrancy that seemed useful for his cover.

He sat next to her and promptly lit a cigarette, staring out over the playground as if purposefully avoiding eye contact. Alice desperately wanted to look him in the eye and see what Olive saw, and to know that what Olive surely believed was true—that he was principled and decent.

“I expect you want to know why I’m here.” Alice wished her voice wasn’t so uneven.

“I’m more interested in knowing who told you where to find me.”

“Would you be surprised to know it wasn’t one person?” she said, sticking to her plan not to mention Olive. “That you’ve quite a reputation?” She’d decided to use flattery, as she’d often seen Rupert do—especially since it had got him exactly what he wanted, she thought with a flush of shame.

Joe turned to face her, brown eyes fixing on her closely. “And what’s my reputation for, miss?”

“Sarah, please call me Sarah. And it’s less of a reputation and more of a . . . let’s see, a status. People speak highly of your ability to get things done.” There was no going back now; she’d already decided that an honest request for help would likely be greeted with a flat refusal, and then where would that leave her? No, this way he would have to take her into his confidence and lead her to his contacts. Before he could ask any more questions, she carried on. “And, well, I’ve got rather a lot of things to get done that I hoped you might be able to help me with.”

“Such as?”

“Girls in trouble. Friends, and friends of friends. Girls without boyfriends, girls with fellas who aren’t coming home anymore.”

He narrowed his eyes, understanding.

“And then there are those men who are just pigs,” she said for good measure. “Ones who could do with a good beating if anyone caught up with them.”

“And what is it you want from me?”

“I heard you know where they can get some relief from their little problems.”

Joe ground his half-smoked cigarette beneath his heel, then ran his hands over his face. “Excuse me, I’m tired,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“That’s all right, we’re all entitled to a break. When are you due back at the pub?”

“No, that’s me done for the day. I’m off to my second job now.”

“And what’s that?” she asked.