Dismounting from his horse, Paul led him by the bridle as if he were a patron of the inn wishing to leave the animal in a safe place. As he found him an empty stall, he talked affectionately to the horse and got a responsive whinny. In the gloomy interior, there was a compound of smells. The stink of sweat on horseflesh blended with the stench of manure and was tempered by the aroma of fresh hay. But there was something else that Paul’s nostrils picked up. It was the odour of fear. The man was there. When he listened carefully, Paul could hear his laboured breathing. Pretending to leave, he tethered his horse and gave it a friendly slap on the rump before going out. Instead of walking to the inn, however, he waited outside the door.

The sound of movement inside the stables was almost instantaneous. Paul could hear the sound of feet descending a ladder followed by the rustle of straw. He guessed that the man was going to steal one of the horses to make his escape. First of all, he’d check to see that the coast was clear. It was the moment for which Paul was waiting. The second a head poked out from the stables, he came alive, hurling himself forward and dragging the man out into the courtyard. The element of surprise gave Paul an initial advantage but, even though he’d been fatigued by the chase, the man found reserves of strength and fought back. They grappled, punched, kicked and did everything possible to get the upper hand. Paul yelled in disgust when the man spat in his face. He reacted angrily, getting in a relay of punches to the body before stamping hard on the man’s foot to send him off balance. Using his shoulder, Paul knocked him to the ground, then dived on top of him, letting his weight hold his adversary on his back. He was now able to get in a series of powerful hooks to the head. Blood was soon cascading down the fugitive’s face, getting into his eyes and blurring his vision. Feeling the resistance weakening, Paul summoned up his strength for a decisive punch to the jaw. There was a grunt of pain and Kinnaird became too groggy to fight on.

Paul got to his feet and lifted his prisoner up by his hair.

‘What are you and Harry Scattergood up to?’ he demanded.