Grimly Pollard directed his torch beam to the door leading to the scullery. It was closed. At the same time Paul became conscious of two things – the stench of calor gas and the fact that he could not see the portable stove or the two big calor-gas cylinders. And he realized that he now recognized the hollow clanking sound he had heard as the sound a gas cylinder makes when it hits a stone floor.

A premonition of danger brought a prickling sensation to the back of his neck. What lay behind the scullery door? Had whatever it was retreated from the kitchen to the scullery? The kitchen became fully illuminated as Meredith brought an oil lamp into it. He surveyed the debris, the lamp held at head level. Bourne appeared at the other door, his expression one of amazed disbelief and distaste. Paul glanced over his shoulder through the doorway to the dining-room. There Ann, Joyce and Carol stared in stupefaction at the scene of devastation within the kitchen. He turned back. Pollard’s hand was on the door knob of the scullery door. The set of his back screamed his tension. He rotated the knob and pushed. The door opened easily. And the smell of gas increased in strength. A deadly hissing sound came to their ears. Pollard coughed chestily.

‘The scullery’s full of it,’ he called.

He stepped back. A wave of cold as if the door of a deep-freeze had been opened swept over the kitchen bringing with it the overpowering stench of the gas. Meredith approached Pollard.

‘Where are the gas cylinders? Do you see them?’

‘No. I can’t. They could be in the scullery. It’s pitch black in there. They could be under the old sinks. But one at least is leaking.­’

‘Or turned on.’ Meredith’s voice was bleak.

Pollard coughed again.

‘Get everyone out of here into the dining-room. I’ve got to find the cylinders and turn the gas off.’

Paul and Smith moved forward to help Pollard. Meredith shouted to the others to move back. Smith slipped on a pool of peach juice and nearly fell. Pollard was now back in the scullery. Paul took a deep breath and joined him in the freezing cold, stinking atmosphere. Quickly they searched the scullery before retreating again to the kitchen. There they took in gasping breaths. And all the time the hissing continued.

‘They must be downstairs,’ Pollard muttered. His troubled eyes stared at Paul and Smith. The latter swore.

‘How could they get down there?’

‘Never mind that. The point is that if we can smell it so strongly up here, the cellars must be full of it. God knows how long it’s been building up there. It’s heavier than air. This place is a potential bomb.’ He sucked in his breath sharply. ‘Oh my God! The dining-room fire! Quick! Everybody out of the house. Now! Before the place goes up.’