The daytime bustle of the docks had dwindled, but when I jumped off the boat, I was careful to keep to the shadows. The breeze on my face as the boat travelled downstream and now being back on solid ground had sobered me a little, and with what I knew about the security arrangements here I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. There were a couple of porters with wheelbarrows full of goods. A group of sailors gathered round a barrel drinking rum and yarning to one another. I could just about handle myself if one of them spotted me, but if I was caught by a customs officer, I’d have no excuses.

When I got to the warehouse, it was in total darkness and no windows to peer through. If I was going to confirm the Leopard Lady was here, I had no choice but to go inside. I looked over my shoulder but there was no one to see me. The sailors had started singing shanties – something about a drop of Nelson’s blood. I reached into my hair and pulled out a pin, remembering with a pang the night Eustace had taught me this Blackbird trick. The corrugated-iron door screeched as it swung open, and I froze, terrified that someone had heard. But no. The only sound was my breathing, harsh in the quietness of the night. Courage, Zillah. I slipped inside and closed the door softly shut behind me.

Inside the warehouse was even bigger than I’d thought, the size of Leicester Square and then some. Crillick could fit hundreds of Leopard Ladies in here. I remembered the conversation he and Vincent had had over breakfast – something about tribes and villages – and I felt a shudder ripple through me. There were one or two boxes here and there, but in the far corner there was something more, though it was hard to make out from where I stood. As I walked towards it my footsteps echoed on the ridged concrete flooring and I heard the sound of rats scurrying into their hidey-holes. When I got closer, I called out, but I could already tell I was the only living person here. That had not always been the case, though.