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accosted by a whining prostitute, too pox-raddled to show her face in the lighted streets where her younger sisters plied their age-old trade.
    This was the area from which Tom had made his escape when he left to join the Royal Marines, many years before, and it held no terrors for him, although he would not have dared to show his face here alone in the uniform of a police constable.
    Yet there was a certain jollity here in these night hours, albeit fuelled by cheap alcohol. He passed a number of smoke-filled beer-houses where discordant singing added to the general hubbub inside, before arriving at one that was in a small square and larger than the others. Pulling his cap down in a bid to shadow his face more, Tom entered the smoky and crowded interior and pushed his way between the drinkers, looking around him for a certain ‘Nick Shelby’, hoping the informer was not pursuing his nefarious ‘trade’ in a more salubrious area of London.
    Shelby was an opportunist thief, stealing anything that its owner was careless enough to make available to him. Unlike many of Hoxton’s criminals, Shelby was not a violent man. Slightly built and with a wasting lung disease, he would not have lasted long had he chosen to take up more violent crime - or had he chosen an honest way of life. He was tolerated by his peers only because he was basically as dishonest as they were - and because his father had been a highly regarded burglar until, pursued by servants, he fell to his death from the roof of a mansion he was robbing.
    Tom had arrested Shelby on two occasions. For the first offence the petty thief had received three months imprisonment for stealing clothes from a washing-line. The next time their paths had crossed, Shelby had stolen an overcoat from a tavern similar to the one Tom was now visiting.
    Seized by a passer-by, Shelby had been handed over to Tom, but the coat’s owner had declined to proceed with a prosecution, not wishing to have it known that he frequented such establishments.
    However, Shelby had been convinced that Tom had persuaded the coat’s owner not to prosecute and showed his gratitude by supplying him with occasional snippets of useful information about the predations of his fellow thieves.
    Eventually, Tom located the petty-thief seated at a table talking to a youngish prostitute whom he believed to be supplementing the meagre income Shelby earned from his dishonest ways. His suspicions were confirmed when Shelby nudged his companion and nodded to where a prospective ‘client’ was showing an interest in her.
    When the woman crossed to where the man was seated, Tom carried his drink across the room and sat down on the seat she had just vacated, saying, ‘Hello, Nick, it looks as though you’ve found yourself a good little wage earner. Is she as generous with her money as she is with her favours?’
    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Churchyard, me and Molly was just talking, friendly like, when I saw the punter eyeing her. I was enjoying her company, but she’s a working-girl and has a living to earn so I told her he seemed interested and off she went. She might buy me a beer later on if she does well out of him, but that’s all.’
    ‘You don’t need to make excuses to me, Nick, I’m not I particularly interested right now. I thought you might be able to help me with information about something I am concerned about.’
    Relieved, Shelby said, ‘If I can help you in any way, I will, Mr Churchyard, you know that.’
    ‘Good. Tell me what I want to know and I might even buy you another drink before Molly comes back.’ Leaning closer to his companion, he said softly, ‘There seems to be a lot going on involving Alfie Banks and the sort of villain we’re not used to seeing in Hoxton. What can you tell me about it?’
    The light was poor in the smoky tavern, but Tom could have sworn that the small-time thief paled at his question. Looking about him hurriedly, Shelby said, ‘Now