We reached the waterfront and the long line of ships. It was quiet here after the noise of the surrounding streets. For a moment I thought I heard something, like a foot striking a stone, from the mouth of the lane from which we had just emerged. I looked back quickly but saw only the black empty passageway. I exchanged a glance with Barak; he had heard it, too.

Stice led the way onto the cobbled wharf, keeping close to the warehouse buildings. Beyond it the ships bobbed gently on the tide; low, heavy, one- and two-masted trading vessels lined stern to prow, secured by heavy ropes to big stone bollards, sails tightly furled. From a few cabins came the dim flicker of candlelight. With the reopening of French and Scottish trade, and the import of luxury goods for the admiral’s visit, the wharves must be busy indeed during the day. Out on the river itself pinpricks of light, the lanterns of wherries, glinted on the water.

Nearby stood a long pile of barrels, three high, secured with ropes. ‘No talking now,’ Stice said in a whisper. ‘Get in behind them.’

One by one we slipped into the dark space. I crouched next to Cecil and Stice, peering between two of the barrels, which smelled strongly of wine. Opposite us a two-masted crayer was berthed, a squat heavy vessel for North Sea carriage of perhaps thirty tons, Antwerpen painted on the side. There was a little deck-house, the windows unshuttered; two men in linen shirts sat inside, playing cards by the light of the lamp. They were middle-aged, but strong-looking.

Next to me Cecil’s face was quietly intent. I thought, this is not his usual form of business, and wondered whether underneath his coolness he feared the prospect of violence. I whispered to him, ‘I thought I heard something, at the mouth of that lane, just as we came onto the docks. Like someone dislodging a stone.’

He turned to me, his face anxious now. ‘You mean we have been followed?’

‘I don’t know. Barak heard it too. I had a strange feeling.’

Stice, on my other side, turned to Barak who had taken a position beside him. ‘Did you?’

He nodded yes.

Stice’s eyes glittered in the dark. ‘Once or twice I’ve felt the house in Needlepin Lane is being watched. But I’ve not been able to catch anybody at it.’

‘We’ve never known for sure that Greening’s murderers were connected with these Anabaptists,’ Cecil said. ‘What if there’s a third party involved, someone we don’t know about?’

‘Then perhaps tonight we’ll find out,’ Stice answered. ‘Now be quiet, stop talking, just watch.’