Free The Doors Open by Michael Gilbert Page B

Corps, followed by a spell in the glasshouse for sticking a knife into the backside of the Sergeant Cook.”
    “Splendid,” said Paddy. “Many an army cook would have been the better for it.”
    “No doubt. The Court were unable to appreciate the purely aesthetic side of the case and gave him nine months rigorous. For there’s no doubt that Lucy is an artist – an artist twice over. He’s a first class caterer–”
    “Agreed,” said Nap heartily. “I haven’t tasted such food since before the war.”
    “–and also a first class practitioner with a knife. If he’s angry with you, you must never let him get within thirty-six inches – or you’ve had it.”
    “I’ll bear it in mind,” Nap promised him; he thought of the scene in the lobby of the Mogador. As though reading his thoughts McCann said, “I expect you noticed that I was careful to keep well over on his right side tonight. Like most knife-artists he’s left-handed. Not that I was in any great danger seeing that I’m a friend of Birdy’s.”
    “Birdy?”
    “That’s Birdy McLaughlan – a native of Glasgow. Birdy runs the strong-arm side of the food and drink racket. He’s a big man in almost every way. No, I don’t know why they call him Birdy, except that he always dresses in black like an undertaker and looks rather like an amiable carrion crow. I don’t deal with him in the way of business – not on any high moral grounds – simply because I find it easier to run The Leopard honestly. Do you know,” he went on, “if people understood the amount of sheer hard work involved in breaking the law, I’m certain that half our criminals would never have embarked on a career of crime. However, that’s by the way. Birdy’s a personal friend of mine – I was able to do him a good turn once, through a man I know at Scotland Yard.”
    “And Luciano and Birdy – ”
    “Well, they’re certainly not friends. But they’re not open enemies. Neutrals, rather. Polite and powerful neutrals. I don’t think they like each other much. But they won’t tread on each other’s toes if they can avoid it.”
    “It was lucky you happened to be passing,” said Paddy. “I always told young Nap he shouldn’t go out to these haunts alone.”
    “Yes,” said Nap. “How did you happen to be there? It was mighty opportune.”
    “The Soho grapevine,” said McCann. “It’s not a thing which I profess to understand. I can only give you the facts. I knew at half past eight what all the pimps in Shepherds’ Market had known much earlier – namely, that there was going to be ‘trouble’ at the Mogador. Then I heard a name mentioned – Rumbold. I thought that must be you. It’s not a very common name, and, of course, you’d been under discussion before.”
    “Before?”
    “Good grief,” said McCann. “You can’t spend every Friday evening for three weeks at Ma Pinkin’s Café without getting a certain amount of publicity in the process. Everybody in that place knows everybody else. As soon as you came in they wondered what your game was.”
    “And they tried pretty hard to find out,” said Nap, with memories of his first trip.
    “Well, thinking it might be you, I got my car out and rolled along. Only being a little more cautious – or possibly a little more experienced – I rang up Inspector Roberts first. He’s been a very good friend to me and my wife on more than one occasion – he works at the West End Central Station and knows Soho like his own back garden–”
    “And if you hadn’t turned up,” said Nap, “what was the programme?”
    “They were going to beat you up,” said McCann simply. “And when that crowd beat someone up, they – well, it’s just not the sort of thing one wants to happen to one’s friends.”
    “But look here,” said Paddy, “how did they think they were going to get away with it – short of killing Nap, I mean.”
    “I don’t think they meant to kill him.”
    “Then,” said Nap, “what was