Spoder said he had served as a Raba detective for years, gradually promoted, committed to the work he was doing, enjoying the increasing responsibility. He said nothing about his present status with the force, and once again I did not enquire.

Then he said: ‘I have to tell you what happened to the other young people who escaped from the ship at the same time. Most of them became cops, like me. It’s not widely known, but there are former deserters and fugitives on almost every police force in the Archipelago. I began to find this out after I started regular work, and was part of the team. It makes sense, of course. Once you’re in the police the black caps are no longer a problem, and the life you have been forced to live while on the run turns out to be the best basic training you could get. If you can survive several years of island hopping, having to look out for yourself, then you end up self disciplined, capable, knowing the difference between right and wrong, and you’ve found out about human nature from the ground up.’

‘That makes you into a cop?’ I said.

‘It makes you suitable to become one.’

‘Some people have a more sceptical view of the police,’ I said, suddenly remembering the ex-cop Jeksid, for some reason hunting me down and allegedly wanting to kill me. When I noticed Spoder’s reaction to that, I added: ‘As a matter of interest how many other fugitives are in the police? Here, on Raba?’

‘When I first joined the Raba force there were sixteen ex-deserters on the roll. One of them was my immediate superior, and the station superintendent had been on the run thirty years before. At the moment there are about a dozen, all of them junior to me. There’ll be a new intake of cadets later this year, and some of those will almost certainly be fugitives.’

A swift twilight had passed while Spoder was telling me his story, and now we were sitting in the humid darkness of the early evening. I turned on the patio lights, and the ones in my study behind us. Large insects soon swarmed towards the deck. We retreated inside, closing the windows and doors. I was hungry – a dilemma because Spoder was showing no signs of leaving, and I would either have to cook something for us both or send out for food.

Then I remembered that apart from about fifty thalers I had in my wallet, I was broke. For the first time in my life I felt a fleeting sense of panic about money. I was no longer so sanguine about the crashing economy.

I said to Spoder: ‘Do you have any money on you? I’ve been wiped out today.’

‘My bank foreclosed yesterday,’ he said. ‘I have about a hundred thalers in cash. Plus some savings in an account I can’t get at.’