He felt a strange sensation of longing and nostalgia for what already felt like simpler times, conscious of a distance that felt so much greater than the miles of the journey. He had such happy memories of his year abroad, learning and expanding his horizons with Henry. It had seemed a time of endless possibilities, when every day was new, and discovery lay around every corner. But what lay around one particular corner had soured everything, and its shadow fell upon him now as he realised that to have reached here so soon, Henry must have penned the letter perhaps only a day or so after Raven left. What could have occasioned such urgency? Nothing good, he would wager.

Raven opened the letter hurriedly, his eyes playing impatiently over the text as he skimmed past the polite enquiries after his health and the welfare of the Simpson household. His gaze alighted on the real reason for writing:

We had a visit from the Berlin police. A man was found dead the morning after we were attacked, in the very alley where I was shot. The police said he had a kerchief wrapped around his face, covering all but the eyes, undoubtedly one of the same ne’er-do-wells.

Perhaps our assailants turned upon one another in their anger, or perhaps having been unsuccessful in their attempt to rob us, they set upon someone else and fared even worse. Certainly it appears that one of them encountered someone with an appetite for mayhem.

So Henry knew. Without saying as much, he was telling Raven he knew.

It seems one of our neighbours must have observed our unquiet ingress that night, noting my injury. After the uprising last year, sadly there are many locals who know a gunshot wound when they see one. They questioned myself and Liselotte, who informed them that you had bravely fought off our assailants.

I am curious, and I would admit troubled, as to why the police should be concerning themselves with the death of some itinerant brigand. I wondered if there was any light that you might shed upon the matter?

Raven most certainly could not, beyond the aspect that Henry had already deduced. Then he thought about the masks, the kerchiefs wrapped around their faces. He had assumed this was to prevent their being subsequently identified. But rather, could it have been to avoid being recognised?

He had killed a man whose face he never saw, but until now Raven had not thought to consider that he had a name. Henry did not know it, or he would have surely said, but it seemed likely the police did.

He put the letter down as the door opened, then hurriedly set it aside as Sarah walked in.

‘I need to speak to you,’ she said in a low voice, as though mindful of being overheard.