Pollard was coming downstairs now, his own torch-beam lighting up the slushy treads. He reached the foot of the stairs. Paul experienced a surge of relief, realized how near to breaking-point he had been. Pollard darted a glance at him, crossed the hall, lifted off the glass cover of the oil-lamp and relit the wick. The warm glow was one of the most pleasant sights Paul had seen for long enough. A snatch of St John’s Gospel surfaced in his mind. ‘For everyone that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light . . .’ God! He hadn’t thought of that since he was a boy.

Someone else was descending the stairs. Paul saw that it was Meredith, addressed Pollard.

‘There’s something in the kitchen. Those screams came from there.’ He quickly explained the situation with the doors. Mere­dith arrived to listen without interruption. By the time Paul had finished, Smith and Hunt were also on the stairs. Finally Bourne appeared.

They stood in a group on either side of the threshold, Paul, Smith and Meredith within the room, beside the table facing the double doors, the girls just within the room. In the hall Pollard, Hunt and Bourne faced the passageway leading to the back premises and the other entrance to the kitchen. With a sick numbness in his stomach Paul realized that whatever it was that had been in the kitchen could already have escaped while he and the girls were in the dining-room. Before any of the other men had come downstairs it could have slipped upstairs and be in hiding anywhere in the house.

Paul and Smith approached the double doors knowing that Pollard and Hunt would be advancing cautiously along the passage towards the other door. Paul glanced at Smith and pressed his ear to the panel near the division. Beside him Smith did likewise, his strained face towards Paul’s. There was nothing to be heard. Moistening his lips, Paul turned the door knob and pushed. The door creaked but otherwise resisted his pressure. Smith applied his own shoulder to the other door but made no impression.

Someone called from the corridor. Meredith listened intently, turned towards them.

‘The other door’s stuck too. Do you detect any light in the kitchen?’

Smith put his eye to the division between the doors.

‘No.’ He gazed at the doors. ‘On TV they never have any difficulty in forcing doors. One good shove with the shoulder and in it goes.’ He bit at a fingernail. ‘Look, suppose we give it a try. Count of three and we give it all we’ve got. You take the left; I’ll take the right. We might force it. Okay?’

Paul nodded.