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Hannah and when he would next see her, the door flew open with a crack, ushering in a chill blast of air. Gedge frowned as two figures swaggered in. They were in their late teens, maybe early twenties, sporting cocksure smirks and knock-off fancy-dan waistcoats under their winter overcoats.
    The tallest newcomer approached the bar, his confederate hanging back a few feet.
    Hoyte put down his rag. ‘What can I get you gentlemen? Ale perhaps? Gin, maybe?’
    ‘We’ll take you up on that, mate. A pint for my colleague here, and a gin for me. The strong stuff, mind.’
    ‘Certainly sir. That’ll be…’
    The tall youth cut him off, smiling and turning to his friend.
    ‘I think Mr Hoyte here was about to tell us they’re on the house. Don’t you, Seth?’
    Seth leered his assent. Gedge tensed, kept his head down, but with his eyes fixed on the bar. The back of his neck tingled.
    ‘On the house? This isn’t a charity. Bloody cheek! Hold on. How do you know my name? Acting so familiar!’
    ‘Not guessed yet, Mr Hoyte? Would have thought it’s obvious that we’re a cut above your usual clientele of sodden losers.’ He made a sweeping gesture towards Gedge and the other customer. ‘My name’s Creek, and me and my associate work for Mr Bacchus, with whom I gather you’re familiar?’
    Hoyte’s eyes narrowed. He edged back from the bar. ‘You’re with that lout? Even if I could pay, it was only a few days ago he was in here. You’ll have to give me more time.’
    ‘Sounds like you weren’t taking our friend very seriously, Hoyte. It was a firm business proposition, and one you’re not in much of a position to refuse. Mr Bacchus wants his money now, and it’s our job to get it. And I’ll tell you now, cock. We will get it, one way or another.’
    For the first time, the youth’s expression changed from a sarcastic smile to a snarl. He lunged towards Hoyte, who backed away further, banging into the optics behind the bar. Creek grabbed the gin bottle, smashed it on the bar and jabbed the jagged edge towards the barkeep. ‘Now, get whatever money you’ve got hidden in this stinkin’ hole! And if it’s short of what you owe, we’ll take the rest by way of your stock.’ He gestured at the drinks bottles behind the bar.
    ‘Alright! It’s upstairs. Please, gentlemen. Don’t break anything else. Please leave me my stock.’
    ‘Never mind that. Seth, you take him up there, make sure he brings the cash, and careful for any funny business. Even a dozy bastard like our mate Hoyte might have a cosh or a derringer hidden up there.’
    Hoyte and his shadow left the room and could be heard heading upstairs, while Creek started to knock back drinks at the bar. Gedge did his best to maintain the appearance of being drunk and insensible. But he realised that it was no good. He was going to have to act. He’d noticed Frank sneaking a glance at him; a mute appeal for help. It was almost as if he knew what Gedge was capable of. But surely he couldn’t. Nobody around here knew that.
    Suddenly, the other customer—an old man who had downed several glasses of gin himself—lost his balance and toppled out of his chair. He crashed to the floor and lay there, snoring loudly, but otherwise dead to the world. Creek turned and stared at the prone figure with a look of disgust.
    ‘Jesus Christ!’ His face broke into a broad smile and he toasted the snoring inebriate with his latest glass of gin. ‘Welcome to London, the centre of the glorious bleedin’ British Empire. Cheers!’
    At that moment, Hoyte and the other thug returned. ‘Here, Creek. Old Hoyte had the money all along, stashed up there under his bleedin’ mattress, if you please. What he owed and a bit more besides.’ Seth held up a leather bag.
    ‘We’ll take it all, for our trouble. Here’s something for you to think about, for trying to hold out on us. Just make sure you remember next month’s payment, Hoyte, and there won’t be any more