‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’

‘I – well, I didn’t know why this man was here. For all I knew there was some good reason why he did not appear for meals.’

Pollard scrutinized the occupants of the dining-room.

‘I take it no one knows anything of this man?’

No one spoke.

He looked at Meredith.

‘Well, what do you make of it? We all met at the house yesterday afternoon. Is it likely that there was an extra man in one of our vehicles? Or that someone was already in the house, concealed, when we arrived? There is that broken window.’

‘But why? What’s the point?’ Ann Parish, perhaps all the more alarmed because of her voluntary ignorance of the situation, glanced questioningly, almost imploringly, at the others. ‘What would anyone gain, hiding in this ghastly old house in appallingly cold conditions, coming out to . . . to do this?’ Her arm swept out, indicating the bizarre state of the dining-room.

‘That we don’t know,’ Bourne replied slowly, thoughtfully. ‘But what I do know is that we must search the house.’

Cliff Swanson nodded. ‘We should have done it before.’

‘We would have done it last night,’ Meredith pointed out, ‘if we hadn’t been so busy trying to make the place reasonably livable-in.’

Joyce Mair shivered.

‘Can’t we get this place tidied up first? It gives me the creeps.’

‘Not before we’ve got it on film,’ Hunt interjected. ‘Okay, Mr Meredith? Dr Bourne?’

They glanced at each other then nodded. Hunt rubbed his hands.

‘Fine! Harry, Cliff, set up the camera and lights. Just inside the door for the camera. Dr Meredith. Perhaps you could do the commentary? Joyce: give him a throat-mike.’

Pollard, a trifle impatiently it seemed to Paul, turned to the others.

‘All right: I suggest we get out of the way. Let’s go back to the lounge. We’ll spend the time working out a search plan. When you people have finished, come through. But don’t be too long about it. I’d like to get this search carried out before daylight goes completely.’

In the lounge Paul, his arm round Carol’s shoulders, sat on the couch they had previously occupied and listened to Pollard, Smith and Bourne thrash out a procedure. The three men sat opposite them, Pollard in the middle, the xeroxed copies of the house plans spread on his knees. The two oil-lamps had been lit to augment the fading daylight. The one on the mantelpiece cast its mellow pool of light over the three men bent over the plans. Ann Parish sat in one of the armchairs, next to Carol.