George hadn't stopped. He crossed the road and waited on the opposite corner.
'Come on,' Cora said impatiently. 'I hope Ernie's at home.' They paused outside a tall building in Clifford Street.
'This is it,' Cora said, pushing upon the front door. They began to walk upstairs. On every landing was a front door with a card set in a brass frame. George read the lettering on the cards as they passed. 'Frances', 'Suze
As they turned to mount the last flight of stairs, they heard a door open, and a moment later, an elderly, well-dressed man came down the stairs, whistling softly. When he saw them, alarm jumped into his eyes and he stopped whistling. He paused, uncertain, and gripped his stick.
'Well, make up your mind,' Cora said contemptuously. 'Either come down or go back. We want to come up.'
He came scuttling down, his mouth working with fear. He shot past them like a startled rabbit.
'I bet we put the fear of God into him,' Cora said, and laughed.
George sympathized with the man, he knew how startled he would have been to see two such filthy, wild- looking people if he were coming from such a place.
They reached the top landing. The card on the door read 'Eva'. Cora banged on the door with the little brass knocker.
There was a pause, then the door opened and a young woman in a smart grey tailored coat and skirt gaped at them. She had a mass of red hair, and her face was a mask of make-up.
'Ernie in?' Cora asked shortly.
'Well, my dear!' the young woman exclaimed. 'Whatever have you been up to? What a surprise! Who's your boyfriend?'
They stepped into a well-furnished hall. The floorboards gleamed, the big brass tray on ebony trestles glittered, and the thick rug on which they stood tickled their ankles.
'This is George,' Cora said, waving her hand carelessly in George's direction. 'I want Ernie.'
The young woman smiled at George. She had big, strong white teeth. 'I'm Eva,' she said. 'I've heard so much about you. And what a mess you're in! But don't stand there, come in, come in.'
She took them down a passage and threw open a door. 'Look, my precious, what's blown in,' she called.
Little Ernie glanced tip. He was lying in a big armchair, his small feet up on a padded stool. He looked completely out of place in the lavishly furnished room.
George had never seen such a room. It was too big, the ceiling was too high, and the white carpet that went from wall to wall looked like a fresh fall of snow. The ivory furniture had chromium on it, and the enormous scarlet drapes hung from the tops of the high windows and tumbled on to the white carpet. Four big white suede armchairs stood about the room. A vast cocktail cabinet, filled with dozens of bottles of every conceivable drink, stood by the window.
If he had been told that he had strayed into Buckingham Palace, he would have believed it. The room was exactly his idea of a Queen's boudoir.
Little Ernie scrambled to his feet. His eyes gleamed with sudden excitement and eagerness.
'For cryin' out loud!' he exclaimed. 'Cora, my ducks, and me old pal, George. Well, well, fancy you coming 'ere.' He turned to Eva. ' 'Ere, get 'er cleaned up, and then we'll have a nice little chat. Come on, palsy,' he went on to George, 'you come along with me. You two've been in trouble, I can see that.'
He took George out of the room and down the passage. He pushed open another door and led George into a small bedroom. It was elegant and well furnished.
'There you are,' Little Ernie said. 'The bathroom's just through there. Make yourself at 'ome. Sorry I can't give you a suit, but you and me ain't quite in the same class, are we? Feather weight and 'eavy weight, eh?' He smirked. 'You lave a clean up, and I'll get a drink for you. Could you do with a bite to eat?'
George suddenly realized that he was famished. 'It's good of you,' he muttered, embarrassed, worried. 'If it's not putting you out . . .'
Little Ernie winked. 'Leave it to me,' he said, and moved to the door. He could not resist saying, 'Posh place, ain't it? D'yer like it?'
George nodded. 'I've never seen anything to touch it,' he said frankly envious.
Little Ernie jerked his thumb to the door. 'She works like a nigger,' he said, lowering his voice. 'Never no trouble. Takes a pride in the place. A gold mine,' and, nodding, he left the room.
Twenty minutes later George returned to the big sitting- room. He had made himself as tidy as he could and brushed his suit. He had had a bath, and his big face was shiny and red from the hot water and soap.
He found Little Ernie busying himself before the cocktail cabinet. A small table was laid with a snowy white cloth and glistening silver. Eva was perched on the arm of a chair, a cigarette in her full red lips, her eyes expectant and curious.
'What'll you have?' she asked George as he came into the room. 'A dry martini?'
' 'Ave a whisky, chum,' Little Ernie said. 'You don't want cissy drinks like them French cocktails.' He came across the room with a tumbler a third full of whisky and clinking ice. 'Ain't Cora ready yet? You women . . . you'll be the death of me.'
While he was talking, George noticed that Eva did not once take her eyes off his face. She looked at him with open admiration and expectancy. He suddenly realized that Little Ernie had probably told her he was a killer. It gave him an exciting feeling of power.
'Come and sit down,' Eva said, patting the chair next to hers. 'I've been dying to meet you ever since Ernie
