When the time had come, I returned to my captives. It was eleven o’clock at night. Standing at the foot of the stairs I addressed them.

‘I can now satisfy your curiosity. There is no gold and no diamonds.’

‘But the newspaper accounts – ?’ Howard, his stubbled face gaunt with fear, yet spoke protestingly as if even now he could not bear to see his dreams of fortune vanish.

‘There was a robbery. But I know nothing about it.’

‘Then – Then who are you? Why all this? What have we done to you?’

‘My name is Peter Cavendish. You know that already. I am the brother of Elaine Milne-Thompson.’

There was silence. I swear a grey sheen of impending death appeared on all three faces simultaneously. I described to them how I had found her, what her final state had been. How she had ended her life.

Adams began to babble pleas for mercy. Howard cursed him to silence. Shivering a little, he could still look me in the eye.

‘What are you going to do with us? You could have killed us at any time in the past two days. Why the delay? Why all this charade about getting us to – ?’

He broke off. All colour drained from his face and a look of horror appeared. He had discerned my intentions but dare not speak on the minuscule hope that he was wrong.

But he wasn’t.

I released Adams from the banister, led him downstairs. When he saw what faced him he fainted. And so gave no trouble. Metcalfe struggled and I was forced to knock him out. Having dealt with him I went back upstairs for Howard.

I suppose I should have knocked him out and carried him downstairs. But he seemed calm enough – I thought he was anaesthetised with shock – until we reached the cellar storeroom and he faced the unfinished wall. He turned to me.

‘For God’s sake, Cavendish, have mercy! At least put us out fast!’

‘Faster than you put Elaine out, but not as fast as you’d like.’

With that he jerked the upper part of his head forward. He was taller than I and the blow from his head struck me on eye and nose. Dazed, I stumbled over a cement bag and fell. If he had kept his head he might yet have turned the tables. Even with the halter he might have kicked me into unconsciousness. But his only thought was to get away. By the time I had got to my feet again he was in the scullery. I caught up with him as he hurled himself at the kitchen doors in a frenzy. I seized him and dragged him backwards, his screams of terror resounding through the house.