Humphry Bogart pulled his hat down over his eyes and dropped his cigarette on the shiny wet cobblestones.

With a fizz, it died, leaving a small ashy residue at it's tip.

Plucking up his courage, he tucked himself deeper into his coat and hurried down the alley between the high walls of the houses on either side, making sure not to get caught in the gushing overflow that poured out from one of the many balconies that loomed overhead.

He rounded a corner, and stopped dead. His worst fears had been confirmed.

There she was! She was dressed in white trousers and a straw hat. She had bells tied to her ankles and was cavorting gaily with a troop of similarly attired men and women.

Lighting another cigarette, he faced the dreadful truth. She was a closet morris dancer.