'That man Vereker,' I said, 'is in the shit. And you want to see Kearns in the shit too?'

'It's not quite like that,' Holmes said.

'What is it quite like?'

He spread his fingers on the table. 'The first few times you went out, things didn't always go well. But you had to push through with it, like a rite of passage. And you're still here. Give him his chance too.' He lifted his fingers, let them drop. 'Not much to ask.'

I looked across the room at the man in the corner. He was still sitting with his legs crossed, one foot swinging, his eyes on his empty cup: I'd seen him finish his tea minutes ago. He looked so bloody young — but then they always do, the neophytes, it stands to reason.

'He's cannon fodder,' I said. 'You know that.'

Holmes nodded quickly. 'Yes. But that's only part of it. If you didn't want his mission for yourself you wouldn't mind so much, would you? You'd let him go out, take his chance.'

It took away the feeling of anger, and immediately, because it had been against myself, for wanting to steal the mission from Kearns over there; and Holmes had put it on the line for me.

'Point taken,' I said. 'I withdraw.'

He flashed his quick white smile. 'I rather hoped you would.' He was more pleased than he wanted to show: he'd expected a tussle. But that's the way he fights, Holmes, for what he wants: he goes in and picks over your conscience and when he finds what he wants he gently pricks it for you. The only way to thwart him is not to have a conscience for him to pick over, but of course in this trade the very idea is hilarious.

'Now let me offer some good advice, old fruit.' He looked around him, back at me. 'For the last few weeks you've been prowling the corridors like a bear — not to put too fine a point on it — with a sore arse, looking for a mission. One of the reasons you haven't got one yet is that there aren't many available, and another reason is that not every control is willing to suffer — not to mince matters — your notorious pigheadedness.'