The trees in the centre of Leicester Square bore white glimmering fruit, light bulbs strung on wires through the branches. The restaurants and theatres around the outside blazed with a gaudy allure: pushy, self-confident, alive with a shallow glitter.

Electricity still had the power to take his breath away, as well as the power to turn night to day. It created a world in which there was nowhere to hide. As a policeman, Quinn might have been expected to welcome this. But Quinn’s peculiarities of temperament were such that often he found himself in sympathy with those who sought out the shadows.

The luminaries milling in the square seemed to crackle and buzz, as if an electric charge was passing through them. Or perhaps they generated their own energy. The men were, for the most part, in evening dress – top-hatted and tailed; the women, furred and bejewelled. Quinn had come straight from the Yard in his Ulster. Eyes were turned on him with something that he took for mockery. He was pointed out, his name – or rather his nickname – confidentially imparted behind the backs of hands.

It was all intensely embarrassing, though Macadam and Inchball seemed to be enjoying themselves well enough.

‘We should have dressed,’ muttered Quinn.

‘With respect an’ all that, guv, that’s a load of eyewash, an’ you know it. They would ’ave been disappointed if you ’adn’t come as you are.’

‘But people are laughing at us.’

‘They ain’t larfin’ … not as such. Seems to me, guv, more like they’re … delighted! They wanted Quick-Fire Quinn, an’ they got Quick-Fire Quinn.’

‘You’re not making this any easier, Inchball.’

‘I wonder who’s paying for all this electricity?’ said Macadam, gazing up at the luminous spots on the trees with a look of mingled incredulity and admiration. ‘It must cost a tidy fortune to keep this lot burning. It’s not as if it has gone dark yet, is it? And had it done so, the lights in the trees would hardly afford the most effective illumination.’ Macadam shook his head in disapproval. ‘They are merely for decoration!’ The realization struck him with the force of a scandal.

‘Get out of it!’ scoffed Inchball. ‘You love it. ’Ere, Mac, what did Mrs Macadam say to your comin’ to the picture palace without her?’

Macadam appeared shame-faced. ‘I … err … thought it best not to tell her the precise nature of our operation.’

‘I betcha din’!’

‘You fellows would be well-advised to remember that we are indeed here on an operation,’ put in Quinn. ‘Inchball, keep your eyes open. If you see that Hartmann fellow, or the barber, Dortmunder, don’t let them out of your sight.’

‘What if Dortmunder sees me, guv? He’ll recognize me and give the game away. I don’t reckon Hartmann will know me, seeing as ’ow I was all wrapped up in a towel when ’e came in.’

‘Feign surprise. You’re entitled to be here in a public place, I think. There need not be anything suspicious in it.’

‘Do I express my admiration for the Bismarckian system yet, sir?’

‘No, but it would be a good opportunity to express your admir-ation for German motion pictures.’

Quinn drew himself up and looked around. The half-inquisitive, half-mocking gazes had settled down, the novelty of his presence there having apparently worn off.

It is strange to find people you are not looking for, in a context you do not expect to find them. So disconcerting was it for Quinn to see Miss Ibbott in the crowd that he did not acknowledge her.

Mr Timberley saw him first and pointed him out to Mr Appleby and Miss Ibbott with a kind of shy, evasive grin. The two men waved cheerily, though a sour expression settled over Miss Ibbott and her hands remained firmly by her sides. It was Mr Appleby who pushed his way through the crowd to speak to Quinn (taking some risk, Quinn thought, leaving Miss Ibbott alone with his rival).

‘I say, Mr Quinn! Fancy seeing you here!’

‘Good evening to you, Mr Appleby.’

‘Are you here on a mission?’

‘Good heavens! Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘That was not a denial. I therefore deduce that you are here on a mission!’

‘I most certainly do deny it. I am here to see the moving picture presentation at Porrick’s Palace.’

‘The premiere? Do you have a ticket?’

‘I do.’

‘Lucky blighter. I wish I had a couple of tickets. You can’t get them for love nor money, now, I believe.’

‘Are there not three in your party?’

‘What of it?’

‘You said you wanted a couple of tickets. I am wondering whom of your companions you would abandon.’

‘Need you ask? I say, has Miss Ibbott ever said anything to you … you know, about myself or Timberley? About where her preference might lie?’

‘You will hardly be surprised to learn that I am not in Miss Ibbott’s confidence.’

‘What about Miss Dillard? Perhaps Miss Ibbott said something to her and she confided it to you?’

‘I am no more in Miss Dillard’s confidence than Miss Ibbott’s.’ Quinn had a vision of Miss Dillard’s grey eyes, looking searchingly, sadly, into his. As if to say, And whose fault is that?

‘At any rate, it is pleasant to promenade the square, rubbing shoulders with famous celebrities such as yourself.’ Appleby made this comment without any real enthusiasm. He looked morosely over to where Timberley had succeeded in provoking uncontrolled – and unladylike – guffaws from Miss Ibbott. The young man nodded decisively. ‘Enjoy the show, Mr Quinn.’ He pushed his way back to rejoin his companions, his face resolutely set.

A fresh charge of energy passed through the crowd. There were cheers and applause. Flash powder explosions signalled the presence of the press.

As far as Quinn could gather, it was all in honour of a small group who had just come out of the entrance to Porrick’s Palace. The three policemen found themselves unconsciously pulled along with the crowd towards this group, until they were just a few feet away from them. There was a strange and impressive intensity to the physical presence of these individuals. They were no larger than ordinary mortals, and there was nothing abnormal about the surfaces of their beings – that’s to say, they did not glisten or pulsate, and were not fashioned from burnished steel. But there was no denying that they exercised an inordinate hold over the gathering.

Leading them out, with a high-stepping, almost prancing gait, was a tall, fair-haired man wearing an eye patch. Quinn recognized Waechter from his photograph. He reached a point in front of the theatre and held himself excessively upright, almost bending over backwards in his desire to reach the perpendicular. There was something defiant about this stance, his chest pushed aggressively forwards. It was as if he believed that people expected him to be cowed and defensive, and he was determined to prove them wrong.

Waechter held out his right arm towards a woman so petite she might almost be described as a midget. And yet she was compellingly attractive. Her physical beauty, as well as Waechter’s strange air of authority, had been part of what had drawn them towards the group. This was magnetism, Quinn realized. He believed she was the first truly gorgeous woman he had ever seen. His heart quickened at her proximity. The evening sun seemed to lavish its last rays on her alone, glinting in the golden bed of hair in which her pretty pillbox hat was settled, twinkling in her cornflower-blue eyes, burnishing her perfect cheeks with a gentle glow. As if this moment, and her loveliness, was the whole focus of its existence.

Her smile was serene but, more than that, it was generous. You felt, when it was directed towards you, that a blessing had been bestowed. And yet, there was no element of condescension in it. It made you believe that you were worthy of it. That you had some share in it. It was as much your smile as hers.