‘Much like yourself,’ Henry added pointedly. He was of the belief that Raven had a gift for attracting trouble.

‘I had no role in bringing down those men upon us.’

‘And once again, here I am, in your company in the bloody aftermath of a fight.’

‘Maybe you are the one who courts mayhem and you are merely fortunate to have me on hand to assist. Have you thought of it that way?’

‘Not once. But often have I said you’d be the death of me.’

Raven searched his memory.

‘You have never once said that.’

‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but I must have thought it. So please prove me wrong. And don’t forget to wash the knife.’

Raven dripped more chloroform into the cone and bade Gabriela hold the muslin while he poured water over the blade. He watched the blood dilute and run from the steel, trickling into the dish he had placed below.

He thought of something Gabriela had told him about her former home in Madrid. She had grown up in a place called Lavapies. It was at the foot of a hill, where the rainwater from the city had flowed down its carefully maintained gutters for centuries. People would wash their feet there, hence the name.

Unfortunately, there was only so much that mere water could wash away.

Raven cleared his mind, hoping the wine he had imbibed served to steady his nerve rather than tremble his hand. He tentatively touched the area around the wound. Then with the lack of a response from Henry confirming that he was unconscious, he was able to feel for the hard lump where the ball was lodged.

Upon his instruction, Liselotte drizzled water from a cloth to gently wash the blood away as Raven made a small incision. Mercifully, the shot had not struck any of the major blood vessels, though it had been perilously close to the femoral artery. The difference between life and death on this occasion was less than half an inch.

Raven tugged the ball free with a pair of tongs. He was about to discard it but decided that Henry might like it as a memento.

Liselotte drizzled more water to clean out the wound, her face intent upon the task.

The blood and water were soaking into the fabric beneath Henry as Raven commenced his suturing. He tried not to think what their terrifying landlord, Herr Wolfburg, would make of the staining to his couch.

Henry came to a short while later, blinking and groaning. Gabriela looked to Raven, ready with more chloroform, but Henry was awake enough to refuse her.

‘Thank you, my dear, but I am impatient to survey Raven’s handiwork.’ He grimaced. ‘Gods, it looks like a pigskin football.’

Then he offered Raven a smile.