'Mind your own business,' Cora snapped, before George could think of anything to say. 'He's one of us now.'
The green eyes narrowed. 'Is that so?'
'That's right. Three thugs once took him in a wood. They had ideas about him He walked out on his feet and alone,' Cora said, her eyes, cold and hard, on George's bewildered face. 'But he's modest. He doesn't talk about it.' She fished a crumpled packet of cigarettes from her hip pocket. 'He's quite a guy.'
Little Ernie lit her cigarette and then produced two cigars. He offered one to George, who took it, not because he wanted it, but because he was so embarrassed that he wasn't quite certain what he was doing.
'Seems a quiet type of bloke, doesn't he?' Little Ernie went on regarding George.
'He's quiet all right,' Cora returned. 'Aren't you, George?'
George mumbled something. He didn't know what all this was about, but he did feel a sense of pride at the respectful way Little Ernie was regarding him
'Syd said you'd be here. I thought he was joining us. What's he up to?' Little Ernie asked suddenly.
'He's busy,' Cora said.
Little Ernie handed round the whiskies again. 'Oh, well,' he said, 'I expect 'e is, but 'e said 'e'd be 'ere. Seen Crispin lately?' he went on casually, after a pause: too casually.
George started, slopping his whisky He felt Little Ernie's eyes on him
Cora nodded. Her expression didn't change. There was a jeering, confident expression in her eyes that obviously impressed Little Ernie.
'I saw him last night: so did George.'
Little Ernie glanced at the sticking plaster and at George's bandaged hand and whistled. 'Impulsive bloke, our Crispin,' he said. 'Shouldn't be surprised if 'e didn't get 'imself into a spot of trouble one of these days.'
Cora smiled again, her face frozen. 'Neither should I.'
The two eyed each other. George, watching them uneasily, had a feeling that a drama was being enacted before his eyes, yet he could not understand what it was all about.
'Funny stories one 'ears,' Little Ernie went on, watching Cora like a hawk. 'Gawd knows who puts 'em in circulation. I did 'ear you and Crispin 'ad a little fun together last night.'
Cora sipped her whisky. Her eyebrows lifted.
'I had a little fun,' she said quietly. 'Crispin's share is on ice at the moment, isn't it, George?'
George grunted. He had no idea why she was talking like this. To him it seemed dangerous. If they were going to get their own back on Crispin, why tell this sordid little man about it? Suppose he warned Crispin?
' Well, well.' Little Ernie studied George, who was scowling down at the floor. He thought George looked a pretty tough hombre.
'He put me over a table and flogged me with a cane,' Cora said calmly. 'It hurt like hell . . . it still hurts like hell.'
Little Ernie's eyes bulged. 'Gawd!' he exclaimed. ' 'E must lave been barmy to do a thing like that to you.'
Cora nodded. 'George thinks so, too. In fact, George got quite annoyed about it. The Greeks had to cool him with razors. Now, of course, George is really mad. Aren't you, George!'
'Yes,' George said uncomfortably.
He tried to show how angry he was by scowling at little Ernie and tightening his mouth. He had no idea how menacing he looked. He never took into account his great bulk, nor the fact that when he frowned his big, fleshy face was misleadingly hard and coarse. The strips of plaster also added to the effect. It was impressive enough to make Little Ernie whistle again.
'Well, for crying out loud,' he said, 'what's going to 'appen?'
Cora's eyes went blank. 'You want to know a lot, don't you?' she said, stretching out her leg and looking at her shoe that George had cleaned so industriously. 'It mightn't be healthy to know too much, Ernie.'
He nodded. His eyes, quick as a ferret's, showed he was startled. 'That's right,' he said. 'I don't want to know. I don't want to know anything about you three. 'Ave another drink?'
Cora shook her head. 'You're not staying, are you, Ernie? Because we've got things to talk about.'
'Who, me? No, I'm not staying. I've got to get along. You know me, Cora, always on the move. Well, so long.' He grinned at George. 'So long, palsy. Glad to 'ave met you,' and he left them.
George finished his beer. The whiskies and the beer gave him rather a pleasant floating feeling. He knew he was just a little tight.
'You told him a lot, didn't you?' he said, looking at Cora questioningly.
'Ernie's all right,' she said shortly. 'He hates Crispin as much as we do. Besides, it's as well to let them know we're a mob now, not just a boy and a girl.'
This continual hinting worried George. What did she mean when she kept saying he was one of them? Now she was talking about a mob.
'I may be a bit dense,' he said slowly, 'but I wish you'd explain. What mob? What do you mean by mob?'
She regarded him steadily. He again experienced the disconcerting feeling that she was looking inside his skull, even inside his pockets.
