“What do you mean? It’s always about winning!”

“Not this time,” Cheung said.

“This is our chance to show those Japanese bastards who the real boss is around here!”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Cheung. “This is the time to lose strategically, so that we live to fight a real battle when the odds are more in our favour.”

“The odds are in our favour now!”

“Sure, for something that matters only as an exercise to stay in the good graces of the Japanese. Sometimes you need to think, my son.”

“I always think. Cricket is a thinking man’s game! Anyway, it’s up to the team captain to decide, not the umpire,” Tak-Wing said, and stormed off to talk to Richard Hancock.

Cheng shot Hancock a desperate look. Hancock had no reason, however, to protect Tak-Wing in particular from Noma’s wrath. Still, Cheung’s piqued red face was so sad that Hancock put Tak-Wing in the normally low-value nightwatchman position.

Tak-Wing pouted.

In the end, the opening batsman was Vandeleur Grayburn, the chief manager of the Hongkong and Shanghai Banking Corporation. At the other end was Charles Hyde, Grayburn’s counterpart at the Kowloon branch of the HSBC. The opening bowler was Harada Goro, of the Yokohama Specie Bank. Before the war he had been a pitcher for the Osaka Tigers baseball team and still played a bit of baseball with a wartime league here in Hong Kong. Though the techniques for baseball and cricket were not identical, he had an arm that was well-practised at propelling balls.

Now at the edge of the pitch in his role as the second umpire, Colonel Noma chuckled, pleased with the little drama he’d staged for himself.

Grayburn, under detention at the Sun Wah Hotel, was gaunt and thin. Day in and day out for the last four weeks, he signed massive stacks of unbacked banknotes that he and his compatriots hadn’t had time to burn before the invasion. The currency was not legal, but Hong Kong was already an extra-legal place, doubly so since December 25, 1941. Grayburn put on a fierce, brave face. But he was unsteady on his legs. Harada bowled low and fast.

As umpire, Cheung saw Harada’s foot move out too far. Grayburn tapped the ball, and it flew high into the sky, then dove in a steep arc onto the field. An easy catch for the outfielder.

Cheung contemplated what to do. The Supreme Court was mercifully quiet today because all the interrogators and interpreters were out here. Their buckets were empty and their swords, machetes, and pliers lay quiet on the bloody tables inside. But Harada’s foot really had moved out too far.

“No ball!” Cheung shouted.

“What?” shouted Noma.

“His foot went over the line.”

Noma grunted.

“One run for Britain,” said Cheung. The scorekeeper put it up on the board.

“I like you, Cheung,” Noma yelled across the field, “but don’t get cocky.”