It’s getting late. The ladies come and empty their lockers. They have pressing social engagements. I sit in a dim corner of the changing room, turning the earring over in my hand. See, if there’s a rash of theft, no one will keep their valuables in their lockers anymore. They might just leave the club altogether. And girls like Lottie could lose their jobs. And, eventually, they’ll be looking for me. But one earring out of a pair, that’s not a theft, that’s just carelessness. It’s bound to turn up.