Amaze Your Friends. Peter Doyle

from his point of view if I didn’t let on to the mob at Victory that I was working for him. But how should I act towards him when I visited, pretend not to know him? Oh, that won’t be a problem, he said, he’d left Victory two months ago and gone into business for himself.

      I got a few more details from him then finished up saying, ‘I feel I should be up front with you—right at this moment, the cherchez la femme business doesn’t look all that terribly promising. I mean, if you want to call it off, I’d understand.’

      He was silent a moment, then spoke quietly. ‘Please stay with it. Other than you, I am without allies in this.’

      Next morning I made the scene at Victory Press. It was in a back street in Chippendale, behind Cleveland Street. Big place, with the printing works on the ground floor. I went upstairs to the office. There were half a dozen blokes at desks scattered around the room. They were smoking, talking into telephones. No one so much as glanced my way. I told the girl at the front desk I’d like to speak with the manager. She asked me to wait.

      I sat down, picked up a magazine, an engineering trade paper. After a couple of minutes the boss came out, apologised for making me wait, introduced himself as Cec Lewin and asked what he could do for me. I told him I was trying to contact Fay Small. Well, he said, she wasn’t there any more.