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create a diversion I tugged at Grenwood’s sleeve. ‘So, about this
Running Rein
business—’
    Grenwood gave me an owlish look. ‘Colonel Peel is welshing, I hear, but if you ask me it’ll be that bugger Bentinck behind him, flicking his flanks with the whip.’
    ‘That’s as may be, but there’s also the matter of the money you borrowed against that paper I signed—’
    But Grenwood was turning away, guffawing, amused at Hilliard’s discomfiture at the sight of his projected conquest being enjoyed by Wilkins. He himself had his own prey firmly embraced, and he leered at her, taunting Hilliard. ‘And what did you say your name was, my pretty chick?’
    His left hand was gripping the girl’s chin while his right pawed at her half exposed bosom. The tightness of his grip had caused her heavily-rouged cheeks to puff out, and she was unable to reply. Hilliard, drunk as he was, frowned and put out a restraining hand. ‘Go easy, Grenwood, that’s not the way—’
    ‘To hell with you, Hilliard,’ Grenwood flashed in a quick burst of temper. He was always a bit that way, quick to take offence. ‘The arrangement was that you were taking the other one.’
    ‘There’s not much chance of that, with this old lecher mauling her!’
    ‘Lecher?’ Charlie Wilkins was fuddled, but had enough wit left to pretend to resent the term. ‘Now I could show you lechers, if you desire, but
my
intentions …’ He hiccupped, and leered at the young dollymop, while he squeezed her knee and fumbled with her skirt. ‘I assure you my intentions are entirely dis … dishonourable..’
    ‘Then I’ll trouble you to find your own company,’ Hilliard snarled. He stood up, reached across the table, grabbed old Charlie’s wrist and twisted it, pulling his hand from the girl’s thigh and shouldering Wilkins away from her. The push was a violent one and Charlie Wilkins was sitting on the end of the bench. I put out a restraining hand but was too late: my fat friend lost his balance and lurched sideways: his ungainly, portly body was too heavy for his drunken legs and he went down in a heap beside the table, his head under the stairs. He let out a shout of indignation, and struggled for a moment, but then looked up at the sneering Hilliard, seemed to have second thoughts about getting to his feet: he wriggled a little, sighed and gave up the fight. He put his head back, began breathing with a deep snoringsound, smiling at the stairs above his head. After a little while his eyes began to close.
    ‘He’ll be all right there, and out of harm’s way,’ Crosier Hilliard said roughly, and sniggered in a high, nasal tone. He slipped into Wilkins’s place and put his arm around the girl he had selected for his own conquest. ‘Now then, Cissie – that’s your pretty name, isn’t it? Drink up, and we’ll have a good time here before we take you to one of the supper houses.’
    ‘I’ll drink to that,’ Lester Grenwood agreed. He drained his pint pot, thumped it on the table, and roared for the waiter. He glanced at me. ‘James, you’ll be joining us?’
    Suddenly, I was bored with the whole scene. It was clear to me that Grenwood was in no state to listen to my pleas for a little financial assistance to tide me over. I was flogging a horse that’d already expired. I shook my head, and gestured towards the man lying below the stairs. ‘No, four’s company – five gives a problem. Besides, I’d better get Charlie back to Serjeants Inn. He’s due on his feet in the Old Bailey tomorrow morning.’
    ‘Get the fat lecher home,’ Hilliard said, his mouth vicious beneath his flamboyant cavalry moustaches. ‘That’ll teach him to interfere in another man’s pleasures and handle what he’s not paying for. For a penny on a drum I’d just as well—’
    ‘Leave it, Hilliard,’ Grenwood interrupted. ‘He’s beyond it, anyway, rumbling away down there like a flatulent horse. So, James, if you’re leaving—’
    I was rising to my