‘I think that’s it for tonight. I suggest we get back to bed and try to get some sleep for the rest of the night. Of course, if anything else happens we’d better wake each other.’

Pollard nodded. While he extinguished the oil-lamps, Hunt switched off the recorder. Paul, shivering with cold, thought of Carol lying asleep upstairs. A vision of their love-making surfaced in healthy contrast to the miasma of wretchedness, fear and long-dead crimes that clung to the musty decaying walls of the fabric. He followed Smith from the lounge, knowing that all he desired in the world at that moment was to snuggle under the blankets behind Carol. Behind him Pollard, last man from the lounge, cast his torch beam over the dark interior, listened for a moment. Whoever you are, God help you, he thought bleakly. He turned and began to cross the hall after the others.

11

11 The Intruder

Carol woke, not fully, but to a dim awareness that she was no longer asleep. She was conscious enough to know she lay on her side, her knees bent. The room was quiet; the dimmed oil-lamp faintly illuminated the furniture. Through half-closed eyes she saw the dark bulk of the huge, old-fashioned wardrobe to the left of the closed door. She had the same feeling she sometimes experienced when she woke after a particularly pleasant dream, a warm, comfortable emotional tone. Then she recollected the earlier events of the night. Her lips parted and she sighed, snuggling down still farther in the warm blankets.

Vaguely she wondered what had awakened her. She was conscious of Paul’s presence behind her. He shifted in the bed so that it creaked and she felt a gentle touch on her hip. His hand was cold through the thin fabric of her nightie. He must have been up to make his hand so cold. It moved down her flank in a stroking motion to the hem of the shortie nightwear on to the warm flesh of her upper thigh. She gasped. If he wanted to persuade her to co-operate with him again she was not unwilling to allow herself to be fully awakened. But he could wait until he had heated up. It was no fun having a hand like an ice block slipping under her nightie.

‘Darling,’ she breathed. ‘If every bit of you is as cold as your hand, please wait a little.’

His touch stroked higher, up to her waist and began to move round to her stomach. She gasped once more as her flesh shrank inwards. Her voice sharpened.

‘No, Paul, please. Wait.’

The touch tightened, the bed creaked again behind her and the first awakening of her pleasure was dispelled by annoyance at his heedless continuation. She was about to bring her own hand down to try to remove his icily exploring one when her eyes, open and fixed on the door, widened sharply. It was moving slowly inwards.