The two boys were sitting at a table with a group of drunken shepherds, James slumped forward, his head resting on his forearms. The shepherds were passing a bottle of wine around, drinking straight from the neck and not bothering with glasses.

As one of them plonked the bottle on to the table James woke and glanced at it. The wine was called Mithras and the label had a picture of the god killing the bull. He was just about to pick it up and have a closer look when somebody grabbed it.

James sucked in his breath.

The hand holding the bottle had a tattoo on the back of it.

A tattoo of the letter M.

He looked up.

Standing by the table, draining the bottle, was the man with the scarred cheeks who James had seen talking to Cooper-ffrench in Eton.

And those eyes.

Were they the same eyes he had seen above the black mask in Victor’s kitchen last night?

James turned away quickly, hoping that the man hadn’t seen him, and kept his face down.

The man tossed the empty bottle to one side and it smashed against a wall. The shepherds cheered. The man laughed and walked on.

‘Wait here,’ said James, getting up from the table.

‘Where are you going?’ said Perry.

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ said James.

Before Perry could ask any more questions, James hurried off after the rapidly disappearing figure of the scarred man. The presence of the crowds made it easier for James to follow him. If it had been just the two of them, alone on the night streets, the man would have instantly known that there was someone on his tail. As it was he had no idea. James kept back far enough so that if the man turned round unexpectedly he wouldn’t notice him.

He felt groggy and worn out. It was an effort just to put one foot in front of the other. He was aware of every cut on his bruised and battered body, but the thrill of the chase was on him and he was rapidly coming alive.

The man walked through the town until he arrived at the funicular railway. The bored and sleepy guard from the morning had been replaced by a group of distinctly more serious-looking men, who made it very clear that nobody was going up to the palazzo without their say-so.

James hung back in a doorway and watched as the scarred man stopped to talk to the guards, who evidently knew him. One of them gave him a cigarette and lit it for him. As they were talking, two more men approached. They looked like they must be some of Ugo’s special guests from the stadium, wearing dark suits and acting tough. They showed invitations to the guards and wandered over towards the railway car.