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“It’s not much,” said Davis, “only the girl. She’s going to keep us wise. I told her I might be able to do a deal with Diaz if I knew where and when he was shipping off the boodle, and she’s going to let me know. The Pereiras are all in the business same as furniture-removing chaps, they’re doing the move for Diaz, and he’s using one of their ships. D’you see? See where we come in, nothing to do but watch and wait with the girl for our eyes and ears—then pounce—How? I don’t know, but we’ll do it.”

“That girl,” said Mr. Harman after a moment’s silence, “she seems pretty gone on you.”

Davis laughed.

“Ain’t you gone on her?”

Davis laughed again. Then he opened a locker and helped himself to a drink.

Harman’s morals, as I have hinted before, were the least conspicuous part of his mental make-up, but he was not without sentiment of a sort. At sing-songs he had been known to sniff over “The Blind Boy,” a favourite song of his, and though his ideal of female beauty leant towards sloe-black eyes and apple-red cheeks (shiny or not didn’t matter), beauty in distress appealed to him.