She broke off. Her head turned. From the direction of the kitchen a slithering sound had come. Their eyes staring at the closed double doors, the four listened intently. Behind the doors the slithering was repeated, softly and surreptitiously. And a heavy metallic, hollow thud was heard, familiar to Paul, agonizingly so because he could not place it. A scraping sound followed.

It seemed to Paul as if his spinal fluid had been replaced by ice-water. A wave of fear passed over him like a chill breeze from the roofless hall. Was it his imagination or did one of the doors actually ease towards them a little as if under a cautious, testing pressure from the other side?

There were more noises; a trundling sound which lasted all of four seconds was succeeded by a fresh bout of scraping and scratching. Somehow he managed to take the first step towards the kitchen doors.

‘What are you going to do?’ Joyce hissed.

‘Open them.’

‘No!’ Carol was on her feet by now.

‘They may only be noises.’

‘No. Don’t open the doors.’ Ann stared at them, her face white.

He thought feverishly: if it’s just another example of this unquiet house’s tricks . . . But even as he thought that he realized with a fresh surge of fear that at that last thud, the left-hand door had sagged forward a shade.

‘Ann, Joyce, Carol.’ A tiny part of him marvelled that his voice was steady. ‘Go upstairs and waken the others. Go on.’

There was another muffled rap. It seemed to change direction swiftly during its existence, seemed latterly to have a source within the dining-room. The women hesitated.

‘Go on!’ he urged.

Like sleep-walkers they approached the door to the hall, heads still turned towards the kitchen doors. Joyce stopped, her hand on the door-knob. An uncontrollable fit of trembling seized her. Her voice was low but distinctly audible.

‘Oh God! Oh God! Suppose I open this door and it’s there waiting outside in the hall – ’ She found herself utterly paralysed by the thought that whatever it was it might have circled round via the butler’s pantry and be waiting for them to emerge. She had never known that it was possible to feel such horror and avoid fainting.

Paul read her anguish, saw it spread to Ann and Carol. Somewhere deep inside him anger born of outrage seized him. It nerved him to stride to the kitchen doors. Taking a deep, trembling breath he seized the handle, turned it and pushed. The door did not budge. It was the last thing he had expected. He put all his strength behind his next attempt. The solid door creaked but did not give. Over his shoulder he cast a startled glance at the girls.

‘It won’t move. Either it’s locked or – ’

He looked down. There was no keyhole visible.

‘We’d better get the others.’