Unseen in the darkness and low fog of midnight, Baron Crossridge opened the door to La Rochelle, a grey-bricked establishment in Kensington. It was much warmer in here; and noisier. This was at first glance a simple public house, but the music and chatter was of a certain sly ilk. Exotic-smelling smoke reeled from several cigarettes, and young women of scarce dress fluttered around the patrons like mayflies.

Content to find deep distraction after his eventful afternoon in Charing Cross, Djura took a seat at the bar, straight-backed and cool of gaze. He was not a frequenter, but La Rochelle was the kind of place where the bartender recognised even an occasional patron; especially one who demanded utmost discretion. Wordlessly, the bartender poured him a neat whisky, and thus Djura turned his attention to the distractions of the night.

Roberto Devine / Friendless Night