‘How?’ she said. The eyes behind the thick lenses were unflinching, proud, and unafraid. ‘How would you be able to accomplish that? I saw you run from here yesterday night. Run from the police. So I ask again: how will you arrange for the long-awaited release of my nephew from unlawful imprisonment? ’

I could see how she could be trouble. Her voice was that of a natural orator - and she was no fool.

‘Last night was a misunderstanding,’ I said. ‘I work for the British government, and we have called in some favours with the people who are dealing with Daniel’s case. They are more than willing to cooperate. Provided,’ I added, ‘that you can help us with another investigation we are conducting.’

I scanned the instrument cases leaning against the wall. They looked untouched. The table was the same mess of glasses and bottles and musical paraphernalia, only now with a few half-finished plates of what looked like curry.

What was it I was looking for?

‘You are not here to help Daniel,’ she said.

Her tone was calm, but there was defiance in her face - a lifetime of defiance, against men who looked like me. I wished I could reach across to her and tell her that I was no enemy, that I shared her cause. But I couldn’t - because I didn’t think I did, any longer.

‘We’re not here to help Daniel,’ I admitted. ‘But if you don’t help us, things may become worse for him.’

She looked at me with disgust. ‘You think you can blackmail me?’ she said. ‘I have nothing you can take. Nothing! Not even Daniel. I will not be forced against my will to do your bidding.’

I took out the Tokarev and leaned across the table.

‘I think you will.’

She didn’t avert her gaze. ‘Why must men always revert to violence?’ she said.

‘I believe you’ve met Mao. The answer’s in his book. “Power grows out of the barrel of a gun.”’

‘That is incorrect. It is political power . . .’

‘This is political.’

‘Shoot me, then,’ she said, in the same calm voice. ‘Shoot me with your gun. I don’t think your masters would look kindly on it.’ She glanced at Pritchard. ‘Do you approve of this behaviour?’

Without moving the pistol, I glanced over my shoulder at Pritchard. He adjusted his sunglasses and gave the slightest of nods, either in answer to her question or to tell me to carry on.

I carried on.

‘Tell me about the man who was meant to collect the rifle,’ I said, placing a touch more pressure on the pistol.