The woman stood in a doorway in Leadenhall Street, in the City of London. Dressed in shabby-genteel clothes, she looked upwards at the drizzling rain, pulled the three-cornered hat more firmly over her head and waited. Fifty yards from the prestigious offices of the Honourable East India Company, John Smith and Company’s headquarters was smaller but equally stylish. Doric pillars supported a pediment above the front door, while an array of tall, multi-paned windows faced the street.
The woman saw candlelight reflected inside the windows and the occasional shape of somebody inside. She watched as a succession of men entered or left the building, all well-dressed, well-fed and seemingly prosperous. She examined each man and discarded them without interest.
At seven in the evening, with the
