And now the sounds changed and it seemed as if a heavy box or trunk was being dragged across an uncarpeted floor. How Carol could sleep through the noise beat him. . . . But the slow regular rhythm of her breathing continued.

Gently he pulled back the bedclothes and slid out of bed. Almost immediately he began shivering as the chill air drained his body heat. Quickly he put on slippers and the new dressing-gown Carol had given him. He crossed to the bay window and drew the thick, musty curtain aside. Total blackness lay outside with no moon to light up the surrounding countryside. Not even a star. And if any room on the two sides of the house meeting at this corner was illuminated it must have its windows tightly curtained. A trunk rumbled across the ceiling again. What on earth were they up to?

He padded across to the dressing-table and picked up the diagrams of the house. In the pool of light from the torch he checked the bedroom allocation. He had remembered correctly. According to the list, they were all sleeping on this floor.

He was about to lay the sheets of paper down when he noticed the narrow flight of stairs ascending from the end of the corridor in which the door to their bedroom lay. So there was an upper storey, the plans of which had been kept from them. Why?

He glanced across at Carol, lying curled on her side under the bedclothes. He was seized with completely conflicting needs – to get out of this ice-house atmosphere back into bed beside her where warmth and sleep could be found, and to find out what was going on upstairs. The second desire appalled him. It seemed foolhardy and reckless in the extreme. He looked at the ceiling again. From the centre of an ornamental plaster rose dangled the electric light, in a big old-fashioned grubby shade. He saw that the disturbance upstairs had set it swaying gently to and fro at the end of its thick flex. As a fresh thump occurred, he saw it quiver. The bulb tinkled in its holder.

He was not aware of having made any decision. With an odd feeling of detachment he found himself opening the bedroom door and peering through the gap. The stairwell was pitch-black. Indeed it was impossible in the total blackness to make out any part of the first floor.

Now, he thought. Now is the time to close the door and go back to bed. If you go along that corridor to the left, Carol might wake up and find you gone. She’d be scared stiff. That’s a good sensible reason for getting back to bed.