For the fiftieth time, Paul Maitland asked himself if he was just being a fool and why, instead of being tucked up in his own comfortable bed he was huddled in a sleeping bag in of all places the chocolate kiosk of the Bijou Cinema.

The alarm had first been given by young Mr. Archibald, the assistant cashier. When he had arrived at a quarter to nine at the offices of Messrs. Diddle & Snatch, the estate agents who employed him, Mr. Archibald said, a scene of chaos confronted him.

“Patience," said Gentle George profoundly as he casually stubbed out a Sobranie Black Russian on Harold the Hip’s upturned hand, “has a certain similarity to money.  If either of them run out, there is always hardship.”