He wasn’t convinced: perhaps the name didn’t mean anything to him. But someone had been following the conversation, because there was a sudden scratching at one of the windows. The boy took a couple of steps back, listened for a few moments, and then gave a small nod of his head and stood to one side.

Pritchard and I walked into the Afrospot.

The room was a degree or two cooler than outside, but every bit as lifeless: there were beer stains on the floor, and smears on the windows. In the doorway stood J. J. Thompson-Bola. He looked tired, but otherwise the same as when I’d last seen him: he was still in his silver trousers, and between two fingers he held a marijuana cigarette so large it looked about to collapse in on itself.

‘I remember you,’ he said. ‘The journalist. Where’s your girl-friend? ’

I could sense Pritchard stiffen beside me. ‘She wasn’t my girl-friend, ’ I said. ‘But I have to apologize - I’m not really a journalist. I work for the British High Commission, as does my colleague here.’ Pritchard showed his diplomatic passport: he was a second secretary, impressive cover to have set up in less than a day.

J. J. took a long drag of his joint. He didn’t seem too surprised. ‘What do you know about Daniel?’

‘Is there anywhere we can sit down and talk?’

He nodded, and gestured for us to follow him. We walked down the corridor, past several doors, until we reached one, which he pushed open.

It was the green room. It didn’t appear to have been touched since I’d been here - I supposed the police had occupied them for most of the rest of the night. It evidently also served as a dormitory of sorts, as there were a few mattresses on the floor, and as a dining room: several people sat eating at the central table, among them Abigail. She was wearing the same kind of traditional outfit as previously, but the headdress had gone. She looked up as we walked in, and immediately recognized me. She rattled something off to J. J. in their own language; they were Yoruba, I remembered from the file. J. J. replied in kind - I caught only ‘Daniel’. She looked at him in surprise and, with a few words, immediately dismissed him and everyone else from the room.

When they had all gone, she addressed me: ‘You want to talk about Daniel?’

I walked over and sat down at the table opposite her. Pritchard stayed put by the door.

‘We believe we may be able to arrange his release,’ I said. ‘Would that be important to you?’