‘Tommy-rot!’ said Perry. ‘I know you, James. You like a spot of danger. It adds pepper to your soup. Im-m-agine you getting the chance to drive a Hispano-Suiza, you lucky dog. And you got to see the palazzo as well. Us m-mere m-mortals can only gaze up at it and wonder. What’s it like up there? I’ve heard he’s got a lot of paintings and statues and suchlike.’

James told Perry about the funicular railway, and Mauro spitting on Ugo’s floor, and meeting Zoltan and the strange conversation about the painting. James had thought the point of his story was Zoltan and his crazy talk of dying, but for some reason Perry seemed more interested in the painting.

‘A saint, you say? With a sword stuck through his head?’

‘Yes,’ said James. ‘You look shocked, Perry. Don’t tell me you’re squeamish. It’s only a picture.’

‘Do you know who the saint was?’ said Perry.

‘No idea,’ said James. ‘I’m not big on saints. Why are you so interested?’

‘Did he look sort of happy?’ said Perry.

‘Yes,’ said James, remembering what Zoltan had said about the picture. ‘Very happy.’

‘Was he wearing green and gold robes?’

‘Think so.’

‘And the m-man killing him, he had on a sort of fur hat, you say?’

‘Yes,’ said James. ‘With a big spike coming out of the top.’

‘It’s Saint Boniface,’ said Perry.

‘How do you know that?’ said James.

‘Because that sounds exactly like one of the paintings that was stolen from our house.’

‘Come off it,’ said James. ‘How could it be?’

‘I know it sounds m-mad,’ said Perry. ‘But it’s not a painting you’d easily forget.’

Before James could say anything else the goat dancers left and the ring was filled with drummers who made such a racket it was impossible to hold a conversation.

Once again the gates opened and in galloped a horseman with a silver sword, riding a horse decorated with flowers.

There were cries of ‘Su Compoidori!’ from the crowd.

The rider was a strange and slightly disturbing sight. He was wearing a baggy white shirt edged with puff and lace, a tight leather belt and waistcoat and an elaborate mantilla – a Spanish bridal veil – on top of which sat a black top hat. But strangest of all was his face, which was covered by a mask of a woman’s face, expressionless and doll-like. He looked neither male nor female, like the living statue of some bizarre ancient god.

He rode round the stadium, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd and performing various stunts on the horse – standing in his saddle, lying flat, sitting backwards. And all the while, the drummers kept up an incessant rolling beat that echoed off the walls and began to have a hypnotic, brain-rattling effect, so that James couldn’t help but be caught up in the excitement.