‘I’m truly glad that Edie’s come clean at last,’ he told her. ‘But I think there’s something wrong with your wireless set, dear. It’s making the most peculiar whining noise.’

Tess cocked her head on one side and listened hard. She could hear nothing, except the sound of one of her favourite tunes, ‘How High The Moon’, and when Albert persisted in saying that the wireless had a squeak she frowned. Surely he was not criticising the melody? But when he went on frowning and staring at the set she got up and turned it off. Immediately, as though on cue, she too heard the noise. It was almost a howl, and for a moment she stared at the set, unable to believe that it could still make a racket when switched off. She turned to Albert. ‘What on earth . . .?’ she began.

‘It’s not coming from your wireless set; I think it’s outside,’ Albert said. ‘Dear me, it sounds like an animal in distress. Had we better go down? If it’s a dog or cat that’s been hit by a car . . .’

Tess was already at the door and the pair of them thundered down the stairs. Oddly, as the two of them erupted on to the pavement the noise immediately stopped. Tess stared all around her. Darkness had fallen and the street lamps flared, lighting up pavement, roadway and shops. Had there been an injured animal it too would have been illuminated, but both road and pavement were empty.

Tess looked at Albert and they both shrugged, and Tess, remembering how delicious the meat and potato pie had tasted, turned back towards the stairs which led to the flat. ‘Whatever it was, it’s gone,’ she said. ‘Come on, Albert. We don’t want our grub to get cold.’

They were back in the kitchen when they both heard the noise again. It was almost a wail, and seemed to be coming from the cupboard in which the Williamses kept their food. Tess flew across the room, snatched the door open, and scanned every shelf with keen attention. Nothing lurked in the bread bin, or behind the jars of jam, or amongst the tinned goods neatly arranged. Tess emerged from the cupboard and shut the door with some force. ‘This is absurd,’ she said angrily. ‘The sound must be travelling from somewhere else. We had better ignore it and get on with our meal.’

But once they had both acknowledged that the sound was not the radio, nor their imaginations, it became increasingly difficult to ignore. They finished their meal in rather uncomfortable silence, and then Albert banged his hand down on the table and pointed downwards. ‘We want our heads examined!’ he exclaimed. ‘Miss Foulks has been gone two or three days, during which time her place has been empty and no one has so much as peered inside. That noise is coming from her shop . . . coming up through the floorboards into your kitchen, plain as plain. Some animal has got itself trapped in there and of course during the day no one would hear its yowls because Heyworth Street is both busy and noisy. And in the evenings you are either visiting your gran, playing your gramophone or listening to the wireless, and anyway, it probably didn’t realise it couldn’t get out at first. It would only have been as it got hungrier that it realised it was trapped, and began to shout for help. Do you have the keys?’