The crawl kicked off at four o’clock, and started well, although the unit remained divided into its two camps. By the time they had reached the fourth bar, there were already a few dropouts—Maclaren, Marston, Simpkin and Prain—and a number of others were looking a little unsteady. Lockhart still felt sober, and by the looks of things, Worstead, Hull, Andreae, Catchpole and Allan had an equally large capacity for drink.

On their way to the fifth bar, Lockhart urgently needed to urinate. Knowing that he could not wait until they had reached the bar, a good ten minutes away through the thick crowds, he seized the opportunity to peel off down one of Hildesheim’s many tight alleyways. Luckily, a few yards down on the right, he spied a semi-derelict house that would afford him the dignified cover required of an officer. It still had a front door, which was ajar.

The interior was a mess, and it appeared that the building had suffered a fairly major fire, judging by the charred ceiling timbers and the extensive water damage to the remaining furnishings. There was a privy toward the rear, and although the only part of it that remained was a hole in the ground, it was more than sufficient for Lockhart’s purposes. As he neared the end of his piss, looking forward to resuming a contest he felt confident of winning, he heard a muffled scream.

At first he thought nothing of it, taking it for a noise from the crowd. He finished urinating and made his way through the wreckage toward the front door. But then he heard it again, this time louder, much clearer, and coming from upstairs. It was a woman’s scream, and she was evidently in great distress. Then came a male voice:

“Shut up, bitch, or I’ll break your fucking neck!”

He heard the sound of slapping and more screams, but muffled this time, as though a palm had been clamped over her mouth.

Lockhart removed his Luger from his holster. Despite what he had drunk, he felt sober enough for the adrenaline to take effect, causing his heart rate to increase massively.

“Take that, you whore!”

The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t put a face to it. Even though the Luger wasn’t loaded, it would prove an effective deterrent. At first, Lockhart wanted to rush up the stairs, but that might give the man too much time to react. Instead, he trod softly, avoiding the rubble and fragments of glass and timber.