James was dangling from an iron support that stuck out from the wall and held a big unlit lamp at the end. Beneath the lamp was a window.

Well. If he’d planned this it couldn’t have gone better. Except that he was now a sitting target if the remaining guard decided to fire at him.

He let himself down, swung through the open window and dropped into the room.

There was a shrill shriek and a babble of frightened Italian voices.

He was in a bedroom with four narrow beds. Probably servants’ quarters.

‘Sorry,’ he said, shuffling over to the door. ‘Don’t mind me. Go back to sleep.’

He wrenched the door open and bolted down the corridor on the other side. Other doors opened as he went past and sleepy-eyed Sardinian women stuck their heads out. Soon there was a babble of voices behind him.

He ran through the building and found a spiral staircase. He started up it. It seemed to go on forever, but at last he came to the top, pushed open a door and came out on to a small terrace.

He stopped for a moment and leant against a wall. His legs felt like lead and his heart was pounding so hard his whole body was shaking.

The palazzo was like a labyrinth. How could he ever hope to get away?

For a few minutes he wandered aimlessly, listening to distant shouts and whistles as the guard gave the alarm. From somewhere high up in the mountain a searchlight was switched on and it began to rake the grounds.

It nearly found James as he was scurrying across an open courtyard, but he ducked behind a fountain and watched it slide over the nearby buildings.

And then it picked out a statue on the level above.

A man on a horse with an outstretched arm.

It was the equestrian statue of Ugo.

James headed towards it. At least from there he would be able to work out where he was.

He was soon by the temple, which was dark and deserted.

There were the steps leading up to the alleyway. Would he be able to find the doorway and remember Stefano’s route to the railway tracks?

It was worth trying.

Wearily he trudged up the steps and then froze.

Someone was coming, and there was nowhere for him to hide.

‘Bond?’

He recognised that voice.

It was Peter Love-Haight.

‘Sir…’ James sank down on to the steps as Haight stepped into the light.

‘James?’ he said. ‘You look awful. Whatever has happened to you?’

‘I’m all right, I think.’ James winced. He didn’t feel right at all.