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a confidential whisper and said, 'See who's just come in? Gavin Mycroft and his missus. They're sitting over there with Arthur Downey and that cunt, Satterthwaite. Right little deputies' dog-kennel.'
    'I saw them,' said Farr indifferently.
    'Here, Col, you still fancy Stella?'
    'What do you mean?'
    'Come on. Col, you were knocking her off rotten when you were a lad, up in the woods by the White Rock. By God I bet you made the chalk dust fly! And don't say it weren't serious. You got engaged when you went off, and you didn't need to, 'cos you were stuffing her already!'
    He smiled at the perfection of his own logic.
    'That's old news, Tommy,' said Farr.
    'And you were well out of that,' said Wardle. 'Marrying a deputy in middle of the Strike and going off to Spain on honeymoon while there were kids going hungry back here! That's no way for a miner's daughter to act.'
    'What did you want her to do?' exclaimed Farr. 'Spend her honeymoon camping on a picket line?'
    'See! You still do fancy her!' crowed Dickinson.
    'Why don't you shut your big gob, Tommy, and get some drinks in?' said Farr.
    Unoffended, the young miner rose and headed for the bar. Wardle called after him, 'No more for me, Tommy. I've got to be off and look after you buggers' interests.'
    He stood up.
    'Think on, Col. If you're going to stay on round here, make it for the right reasons.'
    'What'd them be?'
    'To make it a place worth staying on in.'
    Farr laughed. 'Clean-up job, you mean? Justice for the worker, that sort of stuff? Well, never fear, Neil. That's why I've stayed on right enough.'
    Wardle looked at the young man with concern, but said nothing more.
    'Bugger off, Neil.’ said Farr in irritation, it's like having me dad standing over me waiting till I worked out what I'd done wrong.'
    'He were a clever man, old Billy,' said Wardle.
    'If he were so bloody clever, how'd he end up with his neck broke at the bottom of a shaft?' asked Farr harshly.
    'Mebbe when he had to transfer from the face, he brought some of the dark up with him. It happens.'
    'What the hell does that mean, Neil?' said Farr very softly.
    'Figure of speech. See you tomorrow. Don't be late. Jock never is.'
    Left to himself, Colin Farr sat staring sightlessly at the table surface for a while. Suddenly he rose. Glass in hand, he walked steadily down the room till he reached the table Dickinson had called the deputies' dog-kennel.
    The three men seated there looked up as Farr approached. Only the woman ignored him. She was in her mid-twenties, heavily made-up, with her small features diminished still further by a frame of exaggeratedly bouffant silver-blonde hair. But no amount of make-up or extravagance of coiffure could disguise the fact that she had a lovely face. Her husband, Gavin Mycroft, was a few years older, a slim dark man with rather sullen good looks. Next to him, in his forties, sat Arthur Downey, also very thin but tall enough to be gangling with it. He had a long sad face with a dog's big gentle brown eyes.
    The third man was squat and muscular. Balding at the front, he had let his dull gingery hair grow into a compensatory mane over his ears and down his neck.
    This was Harold Satterthwaite. He regarded Farr's approach indifferently from heavily hooded eyes. Mycroft glowered aggressively, but Arthur Downey half rose and said, 'Hello, Col. All right? Can I get you a drink?'
    'Got one.' said Farr. 'Just want a word with Stella.’
    The woman didn't look up, but her husband rose angrily, saying, 'Listen, Farr, I'll not tell you again . . .'
    Downey took his sleeve and pulled him down.
    'Keep it calm, Gav. Col's not looking for bother, are you, Col?'
    Farr looked amazed, then said with an incredibly sweet smile, 'Me? Nay, you know me better than that, surely? It's just that me mam wants Mrs Mycroft's receipt for potato cakes. It's all right if your missus gives me a receipt, isn't it, Mr Mycroft, sir?'
    Mycroft was on his feet again, his face flushed with rage. Then Pedro Pedley