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the News of the World how Mr. Fitzpeterson seduced you,’ she will. Know what I mean?”
    Tim said: “I suppose it was you who contacted the Evening Post. ”
    “Don’t worry! Without confirmation, they can’t do a thing. And only three people can confirm the story: you, Dizi, and me. You’re not going to say anything, Dizi’s got no will of her own, and I can keep a secret.”
    Tim lit a cigarette. He was finding his confidence again. Cox was just a working-class hoodlum, despite his velvet collar and his gray Rolls-Royce. Tim had the feeling he could handle the man. He said: “If this is blackmail, you’re on to a loser. I haven’t any money.”
    “Quite warm in here, isn’t it?” Cox stood up and took his coat off. “Well,” he resumed, “if you haven’t got money, we’ll have to think of something else you can give me.”
    Tim frowned. He was lost again.
    Cox continued: “In the last few months, half a dozen or so companies have put in bids for drilling rights in a new oil field called Shield, right?”
    Tim was astonished. Surely this crook could not be connected with any of those respectable companies? He said: “Yes, but it’s too late for me to influence the result—the decision has been made. It will be announced this afternoon.”
    “Don’t jump to conclusions. I know it’s too late to change it. But you can tell me who’s won the license.”
    Tim stared. Was that all he wanted? It was too good to be true! He said: “What possible use could you have for that sort of information?”
    “None, really. I’m going to trade it for another piece of information. I’ve got a deal going with this gent, see. He doesn’t know how I get my inside dope, and he doesn’t know what I do with the stuff he tells me. That way he keeps his nose clean. Know what I mean? Now, then: who gets the license?”
    It was so easy, Tim thought. Two words, and the nightmare would be over. A breach of confidence like this could ruin his career: but then, if he did not do it, his career was finished anyway.
    Cox said: “If you’re not sure what to do, just think of the headlines. ‘The Minister and the Actress. He wouldn’t make an honest woman of me, showgirl weeps.’ Remember poor old Tony Lambton?”
    “Shut up,” Tim said. “It’s Hamilton Holdings.”
    Cox smiled. “My friend will be pleased,” he said. “Where’s the phone?”
    Tim jerked a thumb. “Bedroom,” he said wearily.
    Cox went into the room, and Tim closed his eyes. How näïve he had been, to think that a young girl like Dizi could fall head over heels in love with someone like him. He was a patsy in some elaborate scheme which was much bigger than petty blackmail.
    He could hear Cox speaking. “Laski? It’s me. Hamilton Holdings. You got that? Announcement this afternoon. Now, what about your end?” There was a pause. “Today? Terrific. You’ve made my day, pal. And the route?” Another pause. “What do you mean, you think it’s the usual? You’re supposed—okay, okay. So long.”
    Tim knew of Laski—he was an aging City whiz kid—but he was emotionally too exhausted to feel appropriately astonished. He could believe anything of anyone now.
    Cox came back in. Tim stood up. Cox said: “Well, a successful little morning, one way and another. And don’t feel too bad about it. After all, it was the best night’s nooky you’ll ever have.”
    “Are you going to leave now, please?” Tim said.
    “Well, there is one more little matter to discuss. Give us your dressing gown.”
    “Why?”
    “I’ll show you. Come on.”
    Tim was too battered to argue. He slipped the robe off his shoulders and handed it over. He stood in his shorts, waiting.
    Cox threw the garment to one side. “I want you to remember that word ‘ponce,’ ” he said. Then he punched Tim in the stomach.
    Tim turned away and doubled over in agony. Cox reached out, grabbed his genitals in one huge hand, and squeezed. Tim tried to scream, but he had no breath.