It's only ten minutes or so until he's walking into his office, carrying a couple of sandwiches and smoking another cigarette. The door is firmly closed behind him and he makes sure there's no chinks in the blinds that anyone snooping could see through; he also tuns the radio on quietly so no one can come in unseen and overhear them.

'Right Bols, you got anythin'?'

She gets prawn mayonnaise. More her thing, he imagines. He'll stick with the ham.

'I've found a couple o'cases tha' we might want to look into, includin' that bullion job last month. There's a bloke I want to talk to later abou' that.'

The way he says it, it's pretty clear that 'talking' is not exactly what he has in mind.