After what felt like ages the car finally emerged into a large vault lit by powerful arc lights. This appeared to be the centre of activities in the mine. Men in purple uniforms were waiting to unload the packing crates and they quickly began moving them into various side chambers that were already half-filled with similar boxes.

Supervising the activity was a very tall man dressed all in white, his skin as pale as his clothing. He stopped a group of men who were struggling with a particularly heavy case and they put it down. He said something to them and they began to open the lid.

Zoltan climbed out of the car.

‘Ugo,’ he called out. ‘Are you not pleased with me?’

‘Salve, amice,’ said Ugo, and he smiled, flashing a silver tooth. ‘I am very impressed. You have excelled yourself, Zoltan.’

So saying, the tall man reached into the open crate and took out a gun. It was like a short rifle with a round drum attached to the bottom. Amy recognised it from American gangster films. It was a Thompson sub-machine gun – a tommy gun.

‘You have done well, Magyar,’ Ugo said, fondling the weapon. ‘You have brought me some beautiful things.’ He gave a little bow. ‘You are too generous.’

Zoltan laughed. ‘You know very well that these are not gifts,’ he said. ‘I hope you have the money for me.’

‘But of course,’ said Ugo. ‘I would not let you down. You are, after all, my oldest friend.’

‘That’s because all of your other friends are dead,’ said Zoltan.

Ugo grinned. ‘As soon as I have checked everything,’ he said, ‘you shall be paid. But you are staying for the carnival, I hope? It will be your first opportunity to meet my other colleagues.’

‘I am staying,’ said Zoltan.

‘Good.’ Ugo handed the gun to one of his men, who gave him a cloth. ‘But I think you have not been straight with me, Zoltan,’ he said, wiping his hands on the cloth and dropping it to the floor. ‘You have not given me all your treasure.’

‘I have,’ said Zoltan. ‘There is nothing more. I have given you all that we agreed.’

‘No.’ Ugo smiled and stepped towards Amy and Grace. He raised a hand as if to touch Amy’s hair, then recoiled with a slight look of distaste.

‘You hair is not clean,’ he hissed.

‘She is not for sale,’ Zoltan said, wearily.

‘Why?’ said Ugo. ‘I will give you a good price. Her family may never pay you.’

‘She is not part of our bargain.’

‘I do not care,’ said Ugo. ‘I want her.’

‘What for?’ Zoltan moved forward angrily and put himself between Amy and Ugo.

‘You beat one of my men,’ said Ugo. ‘You did not have the right. He is useless to me now. In the hospital. You owe me something for him. I am told that you are fond of the girl.’