"Do you fancy it much yourself, sir?"
"Lord knows! The crowd ought to help. Reduces the odds in my favour a bit."
"At quarter to twelve, sir?"
"Um. That'll be after the gentlemen have gone. Clear away this stuff and put out some drinks. They'll be here at ten thirty. I'm going to change into something thinner, that won't brush up under that fireman gear. Got those notes?"
"Here, sir."
Doran produced a bulky package of bank notes.
"Good man."
He nodded and entered the bedroom to which there was a door below the fireplace.
A little later the bell rang imperatively, followed by a tattoo on the knocker.
"Who's that?" came from Barraclough's voice behind the closed door.