‘How would you describe their relations?’

‘They were plainly in a state of some animosity towards one another.’

‘And Herr Krüger?’ the magistrate said.

‘Herr Krüger joined the coach separately. He kept to himself and read his books.’

Nobody questioned why Krüger had helped the lame Negro get all the way to Borken (‘Because he’s a good Christian!’ they said). The verdict was speedy and unanimous. The murderous, crippled Negro was sentenced to death by hanging.

Weeks passed and then months, and they were still waiting for the executioner to arrive from Recklinghausen. And then that moment inevitably arrived, too.

Krüger went to see Mr Hendrik. He had no idea what to bring. He brought an apple and a piece of cheese and a bottle of white wine.

The gaoler led him along a short corridor of cells and then unlocked a heavy timber door. Inside, Mr Hendrik was lying on empty grain sacks on the flagstone floor. As he dragged himself up, the gaoler locked them both in together.

The cell was cold. Mortar crumbled out of the damp walls. Mr Hendrik was thin and sallow and there was a patchy beard over his chin. They’d taken his clothes, shoes, given him a coarse grey woollen tunic and pants, all of it filthy. There was a slop bucket in the corner, straw over the floor. His lame and broken leg was swollen around the knee and he held it straight out before him, gently rubbing his thigh.

‘Tomorrow then,’ Mr Hendrik said.

Krüger hesitated. ‘Yes.’

Mr Hendrik stopped rubbing his leg, stared down at it. ‘So,’ he said. Then to himself, in Surinamese, I have run further than any of them.

Krüger reached into his pockets, took out the apple and the piece of cheese and put them down next to Mr Hendrik.

‘Do you still have the Bible?’

‘Yes,’ Krüger said. ‘I’ve spent nothing of it.’ He wanted Mr Hendrik to know.

‘You will buy Josephine with the gold.’

Krüger said nothing, only looked at Mr Hendrik blankly.

‘She will not run with you,’ Mr Hendrik said, ‘you cannot save her. You must buy her from Captain van der Velde. To free her you must own her. It is the only way she will understand it.’

‘Your sister is on the other side of the world.’

‘And she is waiting for me. Now you.’

Somebody walked past the door. They listened to the footsteps fade.

‘I’ve been wanting to bribe the gaolers,’ Krüger said quietly, ‘to get you out, but I wasn’t—’

‘No!’ Mr Hendrik said, frowning, pointing at Krüger. ‘You would lose the money and achieve nothing.’

Krüger nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. In the cell, standing before Mr Hendrik, he felt it for the first time now, truly, that there was some purpose to his life. How could it possibly be this? But there it was.