Now that he knew his given name, what others called him – what his mother must have called him – it changed how Raven perceived him. He thought of the revenges he had fantasised for this man, the strength of his desire to see him suffer. Now he was suffering beyond Raven’s imaginings and the sight shamed him for ever wishing it.

There was no sign of the family who lived here, still banished at the money-lender’s command. No sign either of the man himself.

‘Where is Flint?’

Even in the little light there was, Raven could see that Gargantua was uncomfortable at the question. He guessed it was for the same reason they did not wish to disclose where the shooting took place.

‘He’s away on some business that’s none of yours.’

Raven approached the bed. Alec was fevered, covered in a clammy sweat, his face contorted in the throes of his suffering. His hands were cold, his pulse small and frequent.

‘Take away … the pain,’ he implored.

‘Didn’t keep his medicine down for long,’ Gargantua grumbled from the corner, evidently unimpressed by Raven’s ministrations thus far. ‘You must give him something else, something stronger.’

Their eyes met. They both understood what Gargantua was asking.

Raven opened his bag and looked through the contents. The strongest thing he had was chloroform: destroyer of pain, gateway to oblivion. Should he use it? It would relieve the man’s suffering, no doubt about that, but wouldn’t it also hasten his demise? It was forbidden to deliberately kill a patient. The sacred Hippocratic injunction was primum non nocere. First, do no harm.

He thought once more of that alley in Berlin. He did not want the burden of knowing another man had died by his hand, but in this case not to act would be to hide behind the pretext of morality. A sin of omission was still a sin.

He had long desired to avenge himself upon this creature, to end the man’s life in retribution for the violence he himself had suffered. But this would not be vengeance. Vengeance would only be served by allowing his suffering to continue, and Raven did not wish that. He only had to think of the reason he bore his grudge, reflected upon earlier that very day. When a man was pinned and defenceless, defeated and posing no threat, to inflict pain and damage upon him was the act of a despicable coward. In similar circumstances, failure to relieve a man’s suffering felt equally craven.

Gargantua stepped closer, his heavy tread creaking the boards, bending the very floor.

‘What are you waiting for,’ he demanded, ‘a miracle?’

Raven removed the amber-coloured bottle from his bag and examined the contents. There would be enough.

‘What is that?’ the giant asked.

‘Chloroform. Considered by some to be miraculous.’

He poured a few drops onto a handkerchief and held it above the dying man’s face.