“So let us look at the relevant words again. ‘If it was your intention to bring the company down, Lady Virginia, then … you have failed, and failed lamentably, because you were defeated by decent ordinary people who want this company to be a success.’ Now, what did Mrs. Clifton mean when she said those words? And is it possible that Lady Virginia overreacted to them? I suspect that, having only heard those words delivered by me, you will not feel able to reach a conclusion until you have heard all the evidence in this case, and seen both the plaintiff and the defendant in the witness box. With that in mind, my lady, I will call my first witness, Mrs. Emma Clifton.”

*   *   *

Harry had become used to the continual presence of the two guards in their bottle-green uniforms stationed outside the door of his cell. He did not know how much time had passed since that door had last been opened, but he had reached about halfway through chapter three, and a story that still made him laugh.

Yakov Bulgukov, the Mayor of Romanovskaya, faced a potentially dangerous problem when he decided to build a massive statue in honor of Stalin …

It was so cold Harry couldn’t stop himself from shivering. He tried to snatch a few moments of glorious sleep, but just as he was slipping into unconsciousness the cell door was suddenly flung open. For a moment he wasn’t sure if it was real or just part of his dream. But then the two guards removed the shackles from his arms and legs, pulled him off the mattress, and dragged him out of the cell.

When they reached the bottom of a long flight of stone steps, Harry made a determined effort to climb them, but his legs were so weak they gave way long before the three of them reached the top step. Still the guards kept propelling him forward along a dark corridor until he wanted to scream out in pain, but he refused to give them that satisfaction.

Every few steps he passed armed soldiers. Hadn’t they got anything better to do with their time, thought Harry, than guard a fifty-year-old man who was literally on his last legs? On and on until at last they reached an open door. He was pushed inside, landing unceremoniously on his knees.

Once he’d caught his breath, Harry tried to haul himself to his feet. Like a cornered animal, he looked around a room that must, in better times, have been a classroom: wooden benches, small chairs, and a raised platform at one end with a large table and three high-backed chairs behind it. The blackboard on the back wall gave away its original purpose.