It occurred to him that it might not have been men “like” Rossett; it might well have been Rossett himself who’d come calling that morning.

It puzzled him that the boy hadn’t been on the inventory; the old man had hidden him well.

“Do you want something to eat?” Rossett broke the silence between them.

Jacob nodded. Rossett stood, took him by the arm, and led him through the station to the canteen.

As usual, space was cleared for him as he made his way through the nick. The only difference was that heads popped out of doorways once he had passed. People were curious to see the little boy with the star of David on his lapel clomping through the shiny-floored corridors in his oversized Wellingtons, holding the “Jew catcher’s” hand.

They entered the canteen to find it half full of breakfasting coppers and civilians. It was noisy with chatter and the crash of cups and plates, and Rossett felt the boy shrink slightly in his grasp.

There were rows of long tables with a few smaller, square, wooden four-seater tables for sergeants and inspectors who didn’t want to sit among the ranks.

Rossett normally sat alone at one of the square tables, facing the room so as to be able to see the comings and goings of the canteen. That would also give him some protection from the whispering that would take place behind his back. He sat the boy down at a small table and leaned down in front of him so as to speak face-to-face.

“I am going to the counter over there. Do not move from this seat. Do not think about running away. If you do, all of those policemen over there will catch you. And when they do, I will throw you in a dark cell with bad men until I can think of something really evil to do with you. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded and chewed his bottom lip.

“Say it; say ‘I understand.’ ”

“I understand. I won’t run away.”

Rossett stared at the boy for a moment, ramming home the point, then nodded. He turned and walked to the nearby counter and ordered two teas and two breakfasts. While he waited he glanced across to the child, who, true to his word, was sitting still and staring intently at the tabletop, suitcase held like a shield across his chest. Rossett pondered what to do with him and silently cursed old Galkoff for putting him in this situation.

“Two teas.” The lady behind the counter crashed the teas onto the worktop, managing to spill half of them in the process. Rossett nodded and made to pick them up. “If you want my advice, you give ’im some milk as well. Good for the little bones, see,” she said, looking across to Jacob.

“I’ll take some milk as well then.”

The woman poured a glass and passed it across the counter.

“Some of ’em don’t get enough now, what with it being rationed, bless ’em.” Rossett offered some coins and she waved him away, saying, “I’ll fetch the breakfast over when it’s done, Sergeant.” Rossett placed the money on the counter, ignoring her dismissal, then placed the drinks on a small tray and walked across to the boy.

He set the drinks down and slid the milk across first.

“Drink that, it’s good for you.”

The boy took the glass in both hands and drank the milk down quickly in almost one gulp. Rossett almost smiled when he saw the white mustache on the boy’s top lip, but instead he slid a napkin across for him to wipe it away. The boy ignored the napkin. He licked his finger, wiped it across his top lip, then licked it clean.

“Do you want some more?”

The boy didn’t reply, he merely looked down at the tabletop again, ashamed by his greed.

Rossett turned to glance around the canteen and saw the usual sudden swiveling of heads from people afraid to meet his gaze.

“Thank you.”

Rossett turned to look at the boy.

“What?”

“Thank you for the milk.”

“Uh, yes, well, it wasn’t me; it was the lady behind the counter. She suggested it.”

The boy nodded, face down to the table, the top of his head bobbing. Rossett turned back to the canteen again.

“Thank you for helping me.” Rossett turned to look at the boy and this time found Jacob staring at him. Rossett nearly fell into his almond eyes.

“I . . . I’m . . . just doing my job.”

The boy carried on staring until Rossett turned away. This time it was he who was avoiding someone’s gaze in the canteen, a strange feeling and one that he didn’t like.

The server arrived at the table with the breakfasts and another glass of milk.

“Here we go!” she said brightly. “Some growing-up juice and a lovely breakfast to warm you up!” She slid the plates off the tray and plonked the glass down in front of Jacob, who was shyly looking back down at the table. “Come on now, eat up! ’Ere, give me that case so the dog can see the rabbit!” She took the case from the boy, who gave it up more easily than he had done earlier that morning.

“Now then, would you like some hot buttered toast and—oh!” She stopped, frozen in midair as she was reaching for some butter to offer the boy.