However, someone laughed.

‘Good show!’ said someone else and, before James knew what was happening, he was hoisted up on to the boys’ shoulders and carried off in triumph amid much laughing and singing.

‘What are you doing?’ asked James.

‘Oh,’ said one of the boys carrying him, ‘we didn’t much care who went into the river, just so long as it was someone. Nobody likes Fitzpaine.’

Pritpal was hoisted aloft as well, and the two of them were paraded down the High Street like champions before being dumped in a back alley. The other boys hurried away, their laughter echoing off the walls.

Pritpal tried to thank James, but James shrugged it off.

‘I’d have done it for anyone,’ he said. ‘People like Fitzpaine think they can do whatever they want, just because of who their father is.’

‘My father’s a maharaja,’ said Pritpal, ‘but I don’t go around beheading people.’

‘Well, maybe you should,’ said James. ‘Then people might show you a little more respect.’

‘You are lucky, James,’ said Pritpal. ‘People keep clear of you. You can look after yourself, but if you go around hitting people you’re going to get into trouble one day.’

‘I know,’ said James. ‘I shouldn’t have done it. But you must admit he did look funny, sitting there in the river.’

Pritpal laughed. ‘Come along. We’d better get back,’ he said, anxiously checking his watch. ‘We’ll miss lock-up.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said James, who was standing staring at something.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s the building.’

‘Building?’ said Pritpal. ‘What building? There are lots of buildings here.’

‘From the other night,’ said James. ‘Where the two men were speaking Latin.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Pritpal.

‘I’m positive. Seeing it here, like this, at night, I recognise it.’

‘Well, there is no time to investigate now,’ said Pritpal. ‘We must get back.’

‘You go,’ said James. ‘I’m going to take a quick look.’

‘All right,’ said Pritpal, trotting off. ‘But please hurry!’

James walked closer. From the outside there was nothing special about the place. Its windows were shuttered and it looked deserted. There was no clue as to whether anyone lived here. It looked like a perfectly ordinary Eton house. Except James knew that in the cellar was a chapel dedicated to some strange god.

He approached one of the windows and pressed his nose up against it to try and see past the crack between two partially opened shutters, and he was surprised to find that there was someone inside. A dim light was burning, but all he could make out in the gloom were the shoulder of a tweed suit, a white shirtfront and a black-and-red-striped tie. He thought he vaguely recognised the clothes and then the man moved and James got a glimpse of a red face and a moustache.

Cooper-ffrench. It could only be him.

James was straining for a better look when he suddenly heard the front door opening.

He ducked down and turned away and pretended to be a tying a shoelace, but he was aware of someone’s eyes boring into the back of his neck and he stood up. There was a man standing on the doorstep in his shirtsleeves. He had lank red hair and two long scars running from the edges of his mouth to his ears. He appeared to be smiling, but he looked at James with such a blank expression in his eyes that the effect was menacing and hostile. He put a cigarette to his mouth and inhaled a lungful of smoke, which he let out slowly, his gaze all the while fixed on James. James saw that the hand that held the cigarette was tattooed. There was a crude red letter M on the back of it. And there was an identical tattoo on his other hand.