“On the ship itself, there is but one anomaly. It took my men a while to see it, it has been very well masked. Somewhere along your journey you had your cabin altered. It was very cleverly done. The proportions and look of the cabin were left entirely unchanged, but a narrow, L-shaped compartment was created behind the wood-panelling at the bow and starboard sides. A foot and a half in width, if this hasty drawing my men made is to scale, and perhaps five feet long in all. Not one of the crewmen we have located on shore knows a thing about this secret compartment, Captain van Huysmans, not even your first mate whom you had performing guard duty between the hours of ten and ten to one tonight, and who was dismissed by you the moment a certain coach pulled up at the end of the quay. You will understand that we are curious about this compartment. What in God’s name were you smuggling onto our shore, Captain?”

Of course it occurs to me to lie. An animal, I want to say, a tiger. Brought from farthest Sumatra, for a collector of exotic beasts.

But I am afraid to lie.

No, not just afraid. I recognise his authority. Not as a police officer but as a gentleman. His complexion is clear, his moral imperative beyond doubt.

So I ask instead: “What will you do to me?”

“For smuggling?” He weighs it, puffing out his cheeks, then letting out the air in a silent whistle. “Technically, it is a felony. A judge would have to hear the case. He might very well condemn you to the rope.

“Then again, we don’t really want to involve a judge. Who knows what you might tell him about this, our amiable chat? Square with me, Captain. Tell me all. If you do, we won’t touch a hair on your head. You can keep your money. Of course you are done doing business in this country. All travel privileges will be revoked. You will never clap eyes on fair England again. But then, this may be inevitable. There is a bill up for vote that will mark the end of foreign trade. One of our nobility, an illustrious earl, has lost his son to Irish hoodlums. He wants the borders shut for good.”

I consider his proposition. It is a damp country, this, no more beautiful than most. I shall not miss it. And I am, as he said just now, a rich man. It would be foolish to ask for guarantees. Or have him spell out the alternative. They are the secret police. They will do with me as they please.

“What,” he resumes, “did you transport in your secret compartment, Captain? Mind now, I won’t ask again.”

“The devil,” I answer. It feels good to say it. It has lain heavy on my heart. “The devil in the body of a child.”

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