“Syd said you’d be here. I thought he was joining us. What’s he up to?” Little Ernie asked suddenly.
“He’s busy,” Cora said.
Little Ernie handed round the whiskies again. “Oh, well,” he said, “I expect ’e is, but ’e said ’e’d be ’ere. Seen Crispin lately?” he went on casually, after a pause: too casually.
George started, slopping his whisky He felt Little Ernie’s eyes on him
Cora nodded. Her expression didn’t change. There was a jeering, confident expression in her eyes that obviously impressed Little Ernie.
“I saw him last night: so did George.”
Little Ernie glanced at the sticking plaster and at George’s bandaged hand and whistled. “Impulsive bloke, our Crispin,” he said. “Shouldn’t be surprised if ’e didn’t get ’imself into a spot of trouble one of these days.”
Cora smiled again, her face frozen. “Neither should I.”
The two eyed each other. George, watching them uneasily, had a feeling that a drama was being enacted before his eyes, yet he could not understand what it was all about.
“Funny stories one ’ears,” Little Ernie went on, watching Cora like a hawk. “Gawd knows who puts ’em in circulation. I did ’ear you and Crispin ’ad a little fun together last night.”