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"Gerroff!"
Algy took hold of Ginger's chin and tilted his face towards him, something that would have been considerably more enjoyable if they had been at home, instead of sitting in a cramped late-night café with half a dozen other people milling around them. And if Ginger's face hadn't been smeared with blood.
"Hold still," said Algy patiently. "You need to let me—"
"Stop poking it!" Ginger hissed, trying to wriggle free.
"Stay put, won't you? Either let me look at it, or we're getting a doctor out to see you. Tonight," Algy warned.
With obvious reluctance, Ginger stopped moving. "You're meant to look with your eyes," he grumbled, "not your fingers. Ow!"
Algy ignored him. "You'll do," he declared eventually. "I'm fairly sure it's not broken. We're probably best getting it checked properly tomorrow, just to be on the safe side, but I reckon you're fine."
"Easy for you to say," muttered Ginger. "C'mere and I'll head-butt you in the face, see how fine you are."
"You wouldn't dare. You might spoil my good looks."
Ginger snorted, then winced in pain. "Don't tempt me. My nose is bust already, I've nothing to lose."
His voice had become slightly nasal, as though he had a head cold, but Algy suspected that he would be taking his own life in his hands if he were to mention it at that particular point in time. So much for a quiet night, he thought. Well, a quiet evening, at least—he'd rather hoped things might get at least a little noisier once they were back at Mount Street. But his plans had gone sideways shortly after dinner, when the sound of commotion up ahead caught their attention as they made their way home. There was a brief scuffle, a woman's yell, and then a man in a navy overcoat shot out of the next street at a dead run, almost colliding with Algy. Ginger, who was quicker on his feet, had taken off in pursuit while Algy went to investigate the source of the shouting.
A little way into the side street, he found a young woman clambering to her feet, her coat smudged with dirt and an expression of profound annoyance on her face. At Algy's approach, she looked wary, but relaxed on being shown his warrant card. The man who had run away had, it seemed, grabbed her handbag as he passed her on the pavement, shoving her to the ground in the process; luckily she wasn't hurt, and was adamant there had been nothing of any real value in the bag. There was a café around the corner which was still open, and the owner provided a cup of hot, sweet tea while Algy rang the local police station. He had just stepped back outside with the intention of looking for Ginger when a uniformed constable appeared on the opposite pavement, one hand grasping a handbag and the other gripping the elbow of the erstwhile thief, who was in handcuffs and clearly not terribly pleased about it.
Trailing behind them was Ginger, carefully pinching the bridge of his nose and looking even more irritated than the captive. Algy hurried across to him, and was alarmed to see several large splashes of crimson down Ginger's chin and shirtfront. It had, thankfully, looked a lot worse than it was, and a couple of minutes with a damp cloth saw most of the blood cleaned off of Ginger's face.
Now, having given a statement, and having satisfied himself that Ginger didn't need immediate medical attention, Algy got to his feet. "I'll settle up for the tea," he said. "I can't imagine they'll want the cloth back. Here, stick this on." He unwound his scarf from around his neck, and handed it to Ginger. "If anyone walking past us on the way home sees the state of your shirt, we'll be the next ones who wind up arrested."
The constable who had apprehended the thief paused beside Ginger just as Algy returned from the counter. "You did well to hold him, laddie," he said warmly. "Looked like he caught you a sore one." His accent had the distinct cadence of a Scotsman who had lived a long time in London. He let out an abrupt bark of laughter and clapped Ginger on the shoulder. "No' the sort of kiss you'd be looking for of an evening, I bet."
Algy almost dropped his wallet. Ginger's mouth opened but no sound came out; it was just as well that his face was already slightly reddened from Algy's ministrations with the cloth, because it helped mask the pink tinge that had crept into his cheeks. Fortunately, the constable appeared to take their stares for confusion. "A Glasgow kiss," he explained, cheerfully miming a head-butt. Ginger's shoulders sagged with relief, and Algy let out a wobbly laugh.
"Of course," he said weakly. "It was lucky you happened to be passing. Look, if you've got matters in hand here, I think we'll clear off. You've got our number at the Yard if you need anything else."
Hands were shaken all round, and the victim, Ellen, thanked them again for their help.
They were only part of the way along the road when Ginger came to a sudden stop. "I've just thought," he said, "that's twice now that someone's managed to get the jump on us with this kissing business. You'll need to be quicker off the mark next year."
"Chance would be a fine thing," Algy retorted. He glanced around. The street was empty and dark, and the only light he could see at the nearby windows was what showed through chinks in the curtains. He caught Ginger's arm and steered him into a doorway, pressing him back into the shadows.
"Thought you were worried about us getting arrested?" Ginger murmured.
"I'll risk it," replied Algy, and kissed him soundly. Ginger made a noise that might have been a muffled ouch, but he responded with enthusiasm all the same.