“I see.” Burgeson nodded. “Most prudent. Was there anything else?”

“Yes. The consignment we discussed has arrived. If you let us know where and how you want it, I’ll see it gets to you.”

“It’s rather, ah, large.” Burgeson looked grim. “You know we have a lot of use for it, but it’s hard to make the money flow so freely without being overseen.”

“That would be bad,” Miriam agreed. Olga looked away, then drifted toward the other side of the shop and began rooting through the hanging clothes, keeping one ear on the conversation. “But I can give you a discount for bulk: say, another fifteen percent. Think of it as a contribution to the cause, if you want.”

“If I want.” Burgeson chuckled humorlessly: It tailed off in a hoarse croak. “They hanged Oscar yesterday, did you hear?”

“Oscar?”

“The free librarian who fenced me the Marx you purchased. Two days before Inspector Smith searched my domicile.”

“Oh dear.” Miriam was silent for a moment. Olga pulled an outfit out to examine it more closely.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if Russell hadn’t shot Lord Dalgleish last year,” Burgeson mused. “You wouldn’t know about that. But the revolution, in that history book you gave me, the one in the Kingdom of Russ, the description all sounds exceedingly familiar, and most uncomfortably close to the bone. In particular, the minister named Stolypin, and the unfortunate end he came to.” He coughed damply.

Olga cleared her throat. “Is there somewhere I can try this on?” she asked.

“In the back,” said Burgeson. “Mind the stove on your way through.” He paused for breath as Olga squeezed past.

“Is she serious?” he asked Miriam quietly.

“Serious about me, and my faction.” Miriam frowned. “She’s not politicized, if that’s what you’re asking about. Sheltered upbringing, too. But she’s loyal to her friends and she has nothing to gain from the Emergency here. And she knows how to shoot.”

“Good.” Erasmus nodded gravely. “I wouldn’t want you to be placing your life in the hands of a dizzy child.”

“Placing my—what?”

“Two strangers. Not constabulary or plainclothes thief-takers, one of them looking like a Chinee-man. They’ve been drinking in the wrong establishments this past week, asking questions. Some idiots, the kind who work the wrong side of the law—not politicals—these idiots have taken their money. Someone has talked, I’m sure of it. A name, Blackstones, was mentioned, and something about tonight. I wrote to you but obviously it hasn’t arrived.” He stared at her. “It’s a very deep pond you’re swimming in.”

“Erasmus.” She stared right back. “I am going to make this world fit to live in by every means at my disposal. Believe me, a couple of gangsters playing at cracksman won’t stop me.”

The curtain rustled. Olga stepped out, wearing a green two-piece outfit. “How do I look?” she asked, doing a twirl.

“Alright,” said Miriam. “I think. I’m not the right person to ask for fashion tips.”

“You look marvelous, my dear,” Erasmus volunteered gallantly. “With just a little work, a seamstress will have the jacket fitting perfectly. And with some additional effort, the patching can be made invisible.”

“That’s about what I thought.” Olga nodded. “I’d rather not, though.” She grinned impishly. “What do you say?”

“It’s fine,” said Miriam. She turned back to Burgeson. “Who leaked the news?” she asked.

“I want to find out.” He looked grim.

“Write to me, as I did to you, care of this man.” She wrote down Roger’s address on a scrap of card. “He works for me and he’s trustworthy.”

“Good.” Erasmus stared at the card for a moment, lips working, then thrust it into the elderly cast-iron stove that struggled to heat the shop. “Fifty pounds weight. That’s an awful lot.”

“We can move it in chunks, if necessary.”

“It won’t be,” he said absent-mindedly, as if considering other things.

“Miriam, dear, you really ought to try this on,” called Olga.

“Oh, really.” Miriam rolled her eyes. “Can’t you—”

“Did you ever play at avoiding your chaperone as a child?” Olga asked quietly. “If not, do as I say. The same man has walked past the outside window three times while we’ve been inside. We have perhaps five minutes at the outside. Maybe less.”

“Oh.” She looked at Olga in surprise. “Okay, give it to me.” She turned to Burgeson. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to abuse your hospitality. I hope you don’t have anything illegal on the premises?”

“No, not me. Not now.” He smiled a sallow smile. “My lungs are giving me trouble again, that’s why I locked up shop, yes? You’d better go into the back.”

Olga threw a heavy pinafore at Miriam. “Quick, take off your jacket, put this on over your dress. That’s right. Lose the bonnet.” She passed Miriam a straw hat, utterly unsuited to the weather and somewhat tattered. “Come on, take this overcoat. You don’t mind?” She appealed to Burgeson.

“My dear, it’s an education to see two different women so suddenly.” He smiled grimly. “You’d better put your old outfit in this.” He passed Miriam a Gladstone bag.

“But we haven’t paid—”

“The devil will pay if you don’t leave through the cellar as fast as you can,” Burgeson hissed urgently, then broke up in a fit of racking coughs. Miriam blinked. He needs antibiotics, she thought absent-mindedly.

“Good-bye!” she said, then she led Olga—still stuffing her expensive jacket into the leather case—down the rickety steps into the cellar, just as the doorbell began to ring insistently.

“Come on,” she hissed. Glancing round she saw Olga shift the bag to her left hand. Shadows masked her right. “Come on, this way.”

She led Olga along a narrow tunnel walled with mildewed books, past a row of pigeonholes, and then an upright piano that had seen better days. She stopped, gestured Olga behind her, then levered the piano away from the wall. A dank hole a yard in diameter gaped in the exposed brickwork behind it, dimly lit from the other side. “Get in,” she ordered.

“But—”

“Do it!” She could already hear footsteps overhead.

Olga crawled into the hole. “Keep going,” Miriam told her, then knelt down and hurried after her. She paused to drag the piano back into position, grunting with effort, then stood up.

“Where are we?” Olga whispered.

“Not safe yet. Come on.” The room was freezing cold, and smelled of damp and old coal. She led Olga up the steps at the end and out through the gaping door into a larger cellar, then immediately doubled back. Next to the doorway there was another one, this time closed. Another two stood opposite. Miriam opened her chosen door and beckoned Olga inside, then shut it.

“Where—”

“Follow me.” The room was dark until Miriam pulled out a compact electric flashlight. It was half full of lumber, but there was an empty patch in the wall opposite, leading back parallel to Burgeson’s cellar. She ducked into it and found the next tunnel, set in the wall below the level of the stacked firewood. “You see where we’re going? Come on.”

The tunnel went on and on, twisting right at one point. Miriam held the flashlight in her mouth, proceeding on hands and knees and trying not to tear her clothes. She was going to look like a particularly grubby housemaid when she surfaced, she decided. She really hoped Olga was wrong about the visitor, but she had a nasty hunch that she wouldn’t be seeing Burgeson again for some time.

The tunnel opened up into another cellar, hidden behind a decaying rocking horse, a broken wardrobe, and a burned bed frame with bare metal springs like skeletal ribs. Miriam stood up and dusted herself off as best she could, then made room for Olga. Olga pulled a face. “Ugh! That was filthy. Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Miriam said quietly.

“It was the same man,” Olga added. “About six and a half feet tall, a big bull with a bushy moustache. And two more behind him dressed identically in blue. King’s men?”