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'And the other twenty?'

'I had twenty-five pounds in the Post Office.'

'I see.' Meehan straightened. 'Show me the file,' he said.

Ainsley stumbled to the desk and picked up a small sheaf of papers which shook a little as he held them out. Meehan leafed through them. He smiled delightedly and put a hand on the old woman's shoulders.

'I've got good news for you, love. There's been a mistake.'

'A mistake?' she said.

He took out his wallet and extracted twenty-five pounds. 'Mr Ainsley was forgetting about the special rate we've been offering to old age pensioners this autumn.'

She looked at the money, a dazed expression on her face. 'Special rate. Here, it won't be a state funeral will it? I wouldn't want that.'

Meehan helped her to her feet. 'Not on your life. Private. The best. I guarantee it. Now let's go and see about your flowers.'

'Flowers?' she said. 'Oh, that would be nice. He loved flowers, did my Bill.'

'All included, love.' Meehan glanced over his shoulder at Donner. 'Keep him here. I'll be back.'

A door had been cut through the opposite wall giving access to the flower shop next door. When Meehan ushered the old lady in, they were immediately approached by a tall, willowy young man with shoulder-length dark hair and a beautiful mouth.

'Yes, Mr Meehan. Can I be of service?' He spoke with a slight lisp.

Meehan patted his cheek. 'You certainly can, Rupert. Help this good lady choose a bunch of flowers. Best in the shop and a wreath. On the firm, of course.'

Rupert accepted the situation without the slightest question. 'Certainly, Mr Meehan.'

'And Rupert, see one of the lads runs her home afterwards.' He turned to the old lady. 'All right, love?'

She reached up and kissed his cheek. 'You're a good man. A wonderful man. God bless you.'

'He does, my love,' Dandy Jack Meehan told her. 'Every day of my life.' And he walked out.

'Death is something you've got to have some respect for,' Meehan said. 'I mean, this old lady. According to the form she's filled in, she's eighty-three. I mean, that's a wonderful thing.'

He was sitting in the swing chair in front of the desk. Henry Ainsley stood in front of him, Donner was by the door.

Ainsley stirred uneasily and forced a smile, 'Yes, I see what you mean, Mr Meehan.'

'Do you, Henry? I wonder.'

There was a knock at the door and a small, dapper man in belted continental raincoat entered. He looked like a Southern Italian, but spoke with a South Yorkshire accent.

'You wanted me, Mr Meehan?'

'That's it, Bonati. Come in.' Meehan returned to Ainsley. 'Yes, I really wonder about you, Henry. Now the way I see it, this was an insurance job. She's strictly working class. The policy pays fifty and you price the job at seventy and the old dear coughs up because she can't stand the thought of her Bill having a state funeral.' He shook his head. 'You gave her a receipt for fifty, which she's too tired and old to notice, and you enter fifty in the cash book.'

Ainsley was shaking like a leaf. 'Please, Mr Meehan, please listen. I've had certain difficulties lately.'

Meehan stood up. 'Has he been brought in, her husband?'

Ainsley nodded. 'This morning. He's in number three. He hasn't been prepared yet.'

'Bring him along,' Meehan told Donner and walked out.

He went into cubicle number three in the Chapel of Rest and switched on the light and the others followed him in. The old man was laying in an open coffin with a sheet over him and Meehan pulled it away. He was quite naked and had obviously been a remarkably powerful man in his day with the shoulders and chest of a heavyweight wrestler.

Meehan looked at him in awe. 'He was a bull this one and no mistake. Look at the dick on him.' He turned to Ainsley. 'Think of the women he pleasured. Think of that old lady. By God, I can see why she loved him. He was a man, this old lad.'

His knee came up savagely. Henry Ainsley grabbed for his privates too late and he pitched forward with a choked cry.

'Take him