Ash peered out through the gap. The performers were chatting again, apparently having dismissed the sound. Ash exhaled, and turned to sweep the inside of the tent.

There was no light, so she opened up her phone, bathing her surroundings in the eerie glow of the screen.

Lots of stuffed animals mounted on the walls – giant fish, rats with colossal fangs, a tortoise with the head of a meerkat. The centre aisle was lined with rows of things in jars – brains, feet, boggling eyes. Ash tried not to be distracted by the montage of horrors. She had a job to do.

She was looking for a bottled hand. Fake, like most of the other props – but wearing a ring that wasn’t. 18 carat rose gold, set with a 3 carat brilliant-cut diamond. Worth about $31,000.

The piece had been stolen from the Sultan of Qumar’s underground safe four days ago, when the circus passed through the capital. Benjamin spotted the ring on the bottled hand by chance, in a photograph posted on FaceBook by a tourist.

The light crawled up the foot of a pedestal as Ash approached. It was taller than it had looked in the photo, she’d have to work out a way to climb it to get to -–– the jar. It was gone!

Ash’s eyes widened. The top of the pedestal was bare. Someone had beaten her to it.

‘Abort,’ she whispered to Benjamin. ‘It’s not here, I –’

She froze. Footsteps, outside. One of the performers approaching the freak show. And if they found the hand missing, she realised, they’d start searching for a thief.