Another voice articulated carefully. “Smitt, you climb it.” That was Joseph. Philomena recognised the sneer. Smitt, who she supposed to be a junior member of the team, obeyed, scrambling awkwardly over the gate that Philomena had climbed. There was much huffing and cursing. Philomena made herself as still and small as possible. She need not have worried. Joseph and his cronies were too busy trying to tread quietly, to notice her.

They passed the clump of bushes where Philomena hid and tiptoed round the house. The two at the front carried lengths of metal. These must be jemmies, intended for opening windows. The third to pass by was Joseph. He carried an empty sack over his arm.

All was quiet for long minutes. The gang had sobered a little. Philomena needed to know where they would hide their ill-gotten gains. That meant following them after the robbery. This would be a trickier task. She must keep near them to avoid losing them in the dank night, but to follow too close would put her in danger of discovery. She hesitated. Should she remain in position, or slip away to the street and pick up their trail as they left?

She waited too long. The gang returned to make their getaway. The sack over Joseph’s shoulder joggled and clanked, its weight a sign of their success. No sound came from the great house as the gang made good their escape. Philomena let them pass, close by in the dark. Her palms were sticky and her heart thumped. She set off in pursuit, half-running, half-creeping.

It was a struggle to keep up as the gang ran through the twists and turns of London alleyways. Philomena’s boots, at least one size too big, slipped and slithered on the pavements. It was hard to breathe and her chest hurt, but she must keep in sight of them. They turned into a narrow lane, but at first Philomena, exhausted and panting, ran past. After a few steps, she realised they had disappeared. Panicking, she skidded to a halt and turned to retrace her steps.

“Ha!” Someone grabbed her arm. “Thought we didn’t see you?” He twisted her arm up behind her back. Terror flooded through her and she kicked out.

Her captor swore. “Give ’im a good kicking, mate,” called a voice.

Philomena struggled with all her strength. Joseph had hold of her. Twisting and turning, she tried to pull her arm away but his grip on it was too tight. She feared her arm might break and braced herself for the promised kick. The cap flew off her head.

“Wait a minute.” Joseph spun her around. She tottered, off balance. He grasped the front of her collar and heaved, pulling her face close. It was just like the day she escaped from London. She closed her eyes, stomach churning. This time, Joseph had the advantage. She would not defeat him so easily, tonight.