The smell from the smoke was beginning to make him feel light-headed. He hurried Sammy along as fast as he could, pushing his way through the foggy lanes until they reached the broad, open space of Trafalgar Square. There were more gas lamps here and they seemed to thin the fog into a misty golden haze. Alfie paused and drew in a deep breath. He was beginning to feel better. He stopped under one of the gas lamps and looked at Sammy. His brother seemed lost in thought so Alfie said nothing; just waited. ‘That’s three mad people raving about Jemmy,’ said Sammy eventually. ‘Three?’ queried Alfie. ‘Mick was raving about him rising up from hell and riding a black horse. Sal was raving about him being our friend. And then this other geezer, the toff with the bristly eyebrows and the pipe full of opium; he’s going on about Jemmy being a villain and about clocks. We won’t get any more sense out of him, especially if he stays there all night, and Sal hasn’t any sanity left in her head, so that just leaves Mick.
