Free A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller by PR Hilton Page A

listened. When the man had finished his sordid tale, the woman leaned back in her chair a little and slowly closed her eyes. Royle could tell that her brain was hard at work and as he was attempting to anticipate her next move, her eyes sprang open.
    "Harry, I believe you, you ain't exactly Jack The Ripper now, are you? And if you was a ruthless killer of young women, why didn't I get your blood boiling last night? No, you're innocent of that, the other, well we do what we must in order to survive and I'm in no position to start throwing stones now, am I?
    After the cafe, she took him to buy some clothes, nothing fancy, just enough to blend in with the locals and a new shaving kit. She also told him to start growing a Clark Gable. He had tried to argue against a moustache, but she reasoned that it would change him enough and besides, she liked the look. She also told him to expect a new name, as Trent wasn't him at all. That evening, Harry was introduced to the neighbours, Harvey and Billie, the newlyweds and old Mr Chong. There was also a hat check girl from a local nightspot, Jenny Crosby, who was Ruth's best friend. Jenny was tall, slim and blonde, with bright piercing blue eyes.
    Royle had started the evening with an uneasy feeling. A feeling which only got worse after Ruth had introduced him as the infamous Harry Royle. On hearing this, his head had begun to spin and he had felt panic well up inside his brain. He had been even more shocked to learn that Harvey had been a sailor who jumped ship to be with his girl and now sold reefers for a living while Mr Chong appeared to deal in anything that was needed. Jenny was the girlfriend of local club owner and Soho gangster Johnny The Teeth Mangusco, who Royle had never heard of, but got the idea that he was not someone to mess with.
    Royle sat down and lit a cigarette to steady his nerves. They had all gathered around him and explained that if Ruth said he was on the straight, that was a word from above, and he was one of them.
    Later that night he sat smoking alone, sitting on the old sofa while Ruth slept. He thought she looked as though she hadn't a single care in the world. As he turned over the events of the evening, the conversation and the odd lopsided morality being offered by the friendly group, he became confused.
    He knew that not very long ago, if he had picked up a paper and read about such people, people who had taken him in on just her word, he would have been appalled. Prostitutes, drug fiends and gangsters, these were the worst kind of people. Still here he was and he felt warm and comfortable, far happier than he had been in the little flat on Denmark Road. Manchester had been cold and full of even colder people, but London, no not even London, perhaps just Soho. He shook his head in an effort to order his thoughts. No not even Soho but the building, the house, these people were warm and genuine.
    It made him question all he had learned as a boy, even as a young man. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps each person, each act, must be taken as the direct result of a chain of circumstances. Maybe there is no such thing as a typical this or that. Harvey and Billie were just a couple of newlyweds lost in love. He didn't deal in reefers for fun, he wasn't allowed to stay with his girl, even after they'd wed, and all because of red tape, no wonder the lad had jumped ship.
    Jenny, the slim blonde hatcheck girl came from Surrey and her father was a solicitor of all things, but you can't help who you fall for. What is a gangster anyway? Harry scratched his head and tried to work out the answer to his question, but he just kept coming up with Sunday paper quotes and second-hand information. Whatever the true answer, he would get closer to it the following night because he was going to be introduced to Johnny Mangusco, and the promise of work. The work in question worried him more than a little. However, he knew that he really would start to feel like a kept man if he continued