They began to relax as dawn broke softly over the canal, preceded by a symphony of birdsong, and their surroundings came into view—a water meadow, grazing cows, a hawthorn hedgerow in flower, and not an enemy in sight. The canal grew busier. Slow and steady, Ben maneuvred the Sparrowhawk along, passing oncoming boats with inches to spare, responding to greetings with a nod as Nathan always used to. Beside him, seated on the storage seat, Elsie had assumed her habitual driving position: upright, ears flicked forward and muzzle raised as the breeze ruffled the hair around her neck. Ben felt a rush of love for her and for the Sparrowhawk. This was where he belonged, on the water with his dog and his boat. He could stay like this forever. He glanced over at Lotti, who was sitting opposite Elsie with Federico on her lap, her face tilted to the sun.

“All right?” he asked.

“More than all right,” Lotti smiled.

About an hour after daybreak, when they had been going for over six hours, they stopped for a short rest. Ben brought the Sparrowhawk alongside the bank, and showed Lotti how to drive pegs into the ground to make a mooring. Then, while the dogs nosed about the towpath, Ben made tea while Lotti spread margarine and jam on slices of bread, and he explained the plan for the rest of the day.

“We’ll get to our first lock at Emlyn this afternoon,” he said. “I’ve been thinking. If I was a policeman and I was looking for a boat on the canals, the first thing I’d do is ask the lock-keepers if they’d seen her. Now, Skinner’s not back till Wednesday, as we know. Hopefully, by the time he comes looking for the Sparrowhawk, no one will remember us. We just need to be as inconspicuous as possible.”

“I’ve never even been in a lock before,” said Lotti, a little nervously.

“You’ll be fine,” Ben assured her. “You just drive the Sparrowhawk and I’ll do the rest.”

They came to Emlyn Lock at about three o’clock and took their place at the back of a queue of boats waiting to go through.

“It’s good that there are lots of other boats,” said Ben. “Means it’s less likely anyone will remember us. And I can’t actually see the lock-keeper, only that girl over there with the baby.”

Lotti looked in the direction Ben was indicating and saw a girl of about fourteen standing by the lock with a baby on her hip, talking to the helmsman of a narrowboat which had just pulled in.

“I don’t see why that helps,” she said. “Skinner could interview her just as well as a lock-keeper.”

“Yes, but nobody’s ever interested in what children say.”