‘My turn,’ said Joyce and got up. She wore her red ski-outfit. Carol took her place.

Paul and Joyce, torches in hand, climbed the wet, slippery staircase to the first floor gallery. So far all seemed to be in order. As they came to the narrow, steep flight of stairs leading to the attics, Paul found himself uneasily expectant. On previous nights about this time the noises had been heard.

They ascended, the beams darting ahead like hunting dogs. Once or twice they stopped as stray rustlings, scrapings just on the threshold of audibility, came to their ears. It was impossible to pin down the directions from which these noises came. Paul fought away the idea of something, out of sight behind the wall on his left, keeping pace with them. The second time they stopped, with Joyce gripping his arm so fiercely he knew bruises would result, she breathed the one word ‘Rats?’ in his ear.

‘Possibly,’ he murmured, but did not believe it. The house had lain empty so long no rats would have remained.

Joyce pressed close behind him as they descended to the first floor again by the other stair. He knew she was thinking that there was nothing behind her back. When they came down the main staircase, they felt snowflakes settle on their heads. They crossed the wet hall and entered the dining-room.

Ann stood in front of the fire, her back to it, as taut as a migraine sufferer in the throes of an attack. Her head flicked round expectantly.

‘All quiet,’ Paul murmured. He saw her frown.

‘I feel terrible,’ she said abruptly. ‘I feel utterly sure something is going to happen, something awful. I feel cold. It is cold, isn’t it?’

Carol, from her seat beside the fire, looked up at her.

‘Yes, it is. This fire doesn’t really do anything for this room. Are you feeling ill, Ann? Do you think you have caught a chill?’

‘No. It isn’t that.’

‘Perhaps a reaction from . . . well . . . what happened this afternoon?’ Joyce suggested. There were dark shadows under her own eyes.

‘No.’ Ann shook her head. ‘It’s not . . . what’s already happened. It’s what’s going to happen. It’s worse because I don’t know what’s going to happen.’

‘Well, everything seems quiet upstairs,’ Paul repeated.

‘But you didn’t go into the empty rooms,’ she accused.

‘Well, no. But they’re secure.’ He almost flinched from the look of bleak dismissal on her face.

‘How about some coffee?’ he suggested. ‘Remember I’ve got to do the rounds again in fifteen minutes’ time.’

She laughed brittlely, her eyes mocking his attempt to occupy her.

‘All right, I’ll make some.’