‘Until then,’ said Hungerford, ‘this one was talking nineteen to the dozen. I was glad to shut him up.’

Irene smiled nervously. ‘I see.’

She glanced at the man sitting between them but he didn’t raise his eyes to meet her gaze. He seemed to be ashamed, embarrassed and overwhelmed by the situation. The policemen, however, were eager to catch the eye of such an attractive and smartly attired young woman and they clearly found her a more rewarding spectacle than the fields scudding past the windows. Irene stared at the handcuffs.

‘Does he have to be chained to one of you?’ she asked.

Hungerford smirked. ‘Would you rather be handcuffed to him?’

‘No, no, of course not — it’s just that he can hardly escape when the train is in motion. Besides, there are two of you against one of him.’

‘In other words,’ said Wakeley, ‘you’re sorry for him.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose that I am.’

‘Don’t be, miss. He deserves to be handcuffed, believe me. In fact, if it was my decision, I’d have him in leg irons as well.’

‘That would be dreadful.’

‘He’s a criminal. He has to be punished.’

‘So you won’t remove the handcuffs?’

‘Not for a second.’

Irene stifled the rejoinder she was about to make and opened her valise instead. Putting a hand inside, she brought out an object that was covered by a piece of cloth. The policemen watched with interest but their curiosity turned to amazement when she whisked the cloth away and was seen to be holding a pistol. Irene’s face hardened and her gentle voice now had some steel in it.

‘You have one last chance to release him.’