‘You’re right,’ he said, and added with a sudden burst of exasperation, ‘what a nerve, Campion! What a thundering nerve!’
The raid on 39 Welkin Street made Soho history, and that is no easy thing to do. The dark, shabby thoroughfare with its rows of dingy shops and sooty upstairs windows is not a favourite place for the patrolling policeman at any time, but in the evening, when the street lamps are yellow in the blue twilight, it is sometimes avoided by him altogether, and the inhabitants have come to regard it as a stronghold where any inquisitiveness is met with swift discouragement.
Two police cars swept down the narrow road and stopped with beautiful precision directly outside the entrance to the café with the steamy windows and the cracked glass door.
At the same moment a third car
