“And now,” Liza said, “a mysterious seductress is trying to get me to follow her.” It was probably unfeminist to call her a seductress. After all, as a modern, independent woman, the lady in red had every right to get a 1940s haircut and wander a hotel in evening wear at two in the morning if she wanted to. Either way, Liza followed.

They rounded a corner and ducked into a stairwell, where suddenly the woman in red stopped, caught Liza by the arm, and pulled her very close. Then, in a voice that ached with earnestness, she whispered: “I think you may be the only person in this hotel I can trust. Is there somewhere we can be alone?”

Trying really, really hard not to think about the fact that, having entirely failed to be seduced by her own wife, she was now getting up close and personal with a woman whose picture prisoners would barter cigarettes for, Liza swallowed. “Aren’t we alone now?”

“Anybody could walk past at any moment, and I do not want to be seen. Come, I know somewhere.”

Seeing no other option, Liza followed again, letting the stranger take her downstairs, through two doors, and finally into a dark, cramped space that smelled slightly of bleach. “Where are …?”

“Cleaning cupboard. The maids will not be on duty for some hours.”

“I still don’t—” Liza got no further before a finger was pressed to her lips.

“Everything that Belloc said was true. Mr B is real. Something valuable was taken from him, and he wants it back.”

It occurred to Liza that she wasn’t completely sure if her phone recorder was still running. “What was taken from him?”

“His pride.” In the dark, Liza thought she could just make out a wicked smile. “His belief that he could have anybody he wants, control anybody he wants.” The strange woman paused a moment before adding. “And there’s also the small matter of one and a half million in nonsequential banknotes and the details of essentially all his offshore accounts.”

This was suddenly getting very real. “Who exactly are you?”

“Call me Ruby.”

“Cute.”

“I like to think so.”

Liza’s brain was on fire with questions, but she had enough discipline to ask them one at a time. “So … if you worked for Mr B, can’t you just, I don’t know, tell Belloc who he is?”

“I never met him in person. He’s even more elusive than I am, and I can be very elusive indeed. He could be anybody.”

That implied a follow-up question. “Then why do you trust me?”