Terry was terrified by the storm. He watched the huge clouds roll in from the sea like giant waves. He did not understand what was happening. He had no memory of any other storm. The house he had built was no protection against the noise of thunder and lightning and the rain. He crouched under the dripping gorse bushes and the rain ran in a stream across his feet. The wind blew straight into his face and lifted the corrugated iron roof at one corner so that it banged. He felt cold and miserable. Then there came a gust of wind so strong that it lifted the roof away from the bushes and Terry watched with horror as it was carried down the hill, bouncing and twisting as if it were no heavier than a piece of cardboard. Now there was nothing between him and the sky and the lightning. He forgot his discomfort and felt only terror. His fear of the storm was stronger than any vague, previous fear.

He remembered suddenly and vividly Mrs. Black and the solid house in the village. He thought of warm food and he wanted to go home. He ran down the hill, exposed, the only person in the world, it seemed, who was out in the storm. On the road between Skeffingham and Rushy a van driver stopped and gave him a lift home.

When the electricity went off Mrs. Black lit candles and thanked heaven for the coal stove. There was a knock on the door and she carried a candle with her to answer it. It would be the police, she thought. Who else would be out on such a night? But even as she went to answer it, daring not to hope, she thought that it was a sheepish knock, not a policeman’s knock. Terry stood there, grinning, pushing his dripping hair away from his eyes with his fist.

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically, the grin becoming guilty. Then with excitement: “I ran away.”

He was surprised because she did not scold him. She held him to her just for a moment, then took him in and ran him a bath, and fed him. He talked about running away, and the house he had built. He had already forgotten the storm. She listened and then talked to him about his reasons for running away. They were sitting in the dark by the fire. She talked to him about Tom French, taking him back to the morning of the murder, slowly gaining from him information which he never knew he had. She tried to telephone George Palmer-Jones, but there was no reply. Only then did she contact the police station. When a police car came to take Terry away, she went with him.

Ella sat by the telephone all evening. It rang incessantly. The birdwatchers had discovered her home phone number years ago and she had never been able to discourage them from using it. It was always busy on Friday nights, when they were deciding where to go for the weekend, but tonight, it was exceptional. She played her part well. She had always been a good actress. George would be proud of her.