By the time he got to the tunnel the heat of his body and the warm night air had dried his clothing, but he was tired. More tired than he had ever been.

There was nothing he could do about it. He had to keep moving, to keep pushing his exhausted body onward. He had to get to Amy before it was too late.

He climbed round the rock and up to the base of the palazzo wall, where he scaled the wooden scaffolding on to the roof of the unfinished building. It was little different from before: most of the tools were still here, but, as he had expected, the rope had been taken away.

No matter. He had his own. He uncoiled one length and tied a pickaxe to the end of it. He secured the second rope to the same column as Stefano had done, then tied both ropes round his waist, took a deep breath and lowered himself over the edge, the pickaxe dangling beneath him and clinking against the wall. He stopped at the first window, untied the pickaxe and lowered it gently to the floor of the empty room.

A minute later he was perched on the window ledge outside Amy’s cell and he softly called out her name.

‘James?’ It was Amy. And there was her pale face at the window.

‘I told you I’d come back for you,’ said James.

‘Thank God,’ she said, her voice catching. ‘Who’s with you?’

James hesitated before replying. ‘No one – it’s just me.’

‘Oh…’ Amy tried to hide her disappointment.

‘Don’t worry,’ James said, quickly. ‘I have a plan. Listen to me. Any minute now, all hell’s going to break loose. As soon as it does, keep to the edge of your cell and wait for me. If anyone comes to your door, yell.’

‘OK.’

‘Trust me,’ said James. He climbed up to the window above, crawled inside and undid the rope.

He grabbed the pickaxe.

He was ready. Now all he could do was wait for dawn.

He sat by the window and watched the sky, looking for the first glimmerings of light.

He felt a long way from home.

He wished he was back in England. He had had enough of feeling scared. But beneath his fear there was an electric current of thrill running through his veins. So close to death, he felt fully alive.

He was a member of the Danger Society, after all.

He wondered what Pritpal and Tommy Chong might be up to now and smiled when he thought of them. But then he thought of Mark Goodenough. He remembered how he had looked in the car, sent mad by his pain and grief.

James was reminded of who had done that to him – Ugo and Zoltan and Peter Haight.

He had told Mark that he would do anything he could to put things right.

Well, now he had the chance.