He flicked the ash from his cigarette, and turned curiously to her. “You’re growing inquisitive in your old age, Sophie,” he said with a slight rising inflection in his voice. “All you’ve got to do is to look after her while I tell you.”

“There’s some things I won’t do, Larry Hughes,” she retorted steadily.

He got to his feet and with darkened face took a step towards her. “What’s that you say, woman? Don’t I pay you enough?”

She met his eyes stubbornly. “The pay’s all right. I’m not complaining of that. You’ve always done generously by me in that way. And I’ve been useful to you. I may be a crook, but I’m not that sort of woman.”

“What’s biting you?” he asked threateningly. “Do you know where you would be in a couple of days if I passed the word? In gaol with your husband and seven or ten years staring you in the face. Tread on the soft pedal, Sophie⁠—and don’t Larry Hughes me. Sir, from you, and don’t you forget it.”