To Drinkwater, even the air of the alley smelled sweet after the stifling confinement of his room. Despite the slime beneath his feet and the sulphurous stink of sea-coal smoke, the wind brought with it a tang of salt, blown from the exposed mudflats of the Thames. He caught himself from marching along the alley and walked slowly towards the door of Mrs Hockley's. It was open, and spilled a lozenge of welcoming yellow lamp­light on to the ground.

He turned into the doorway to be confronted by a tall ugly man.

'Yeah? What d'you want then?'

Drinkwater leaned heavily on his cane. He hoped his nervousness gave some credibility to his attempt to act drunk. He chose to speak with deliberate care rather than risk exposure by a poor attempt to slur his words.

'A little pleasure ... a little escape ... a desire to make the acquaintance of Mistress Hockley ...' He eased his weight against the wall.

''Eard of'er, 'ave you?'

'In the most favourable terms.' Drinkwater leaned against the wall while Mrs Hockley's pimp and protector half turned and thrust his head through a door leading off the hall.

'Got a nob here, Dolly, a-wishin' to make your hacquaintance ...'

Mrs Hockley appeared and Drinkwater doffed his hat and, still leaning on the wall, made a bow.

'Madam ... at your service ...' He straightened up. She was a voluptuously blowsy woman in her forties, her soiled gown cut low to reveal an ample bosom which she animated by shrugging her shoulders forward. 'Charmed, Madam,' Drinkwater added for good effect, admittedly stirred by the unrestrained flesh after so long an abstinence. 'I am in search of a little convivial company, Madam ...'