We went back to see them, ringing the doorbell in code and finding them about to go to bed, Alison in a dressing gown, shivering from the cold shower she’d just taken. Their water heater had gone wrong again. It made us see even more strongly how right we had been not to consider postponing their escape till the winter. The weather was warm still and washing in cold water would be possible for ten days without too much anguish. Andrew also saw it that way. They must go as soon as it could be arranged and he made less fuss about the cost of the flights than I had expected. That didn’t mean he could give us the money there and then, though. They kept their money, he said, in a safe in Jason’s room. Jason was asleep and mustn’t be disturbed. Confirming what I had suspected, Alison said she’d have been quite willing to stop there till December. They had been there for six months, they could stay another three. Showing a touching faith in us, she said she was sure we could find someone to mend the water heater. We had found a photographer, so why not an electrician?

“We’re going,” Andrew said. “Jason’s going on the twenty-second and we’re going on the twenty-third and that’s all there is to it. If I don’t get out of here soon, I’ll go out head-first and they can pick my body up off the pavement.”

He flew into a rage when Silver told them Sean Francis knew. Knew and would keep quiet, but not deny them and defend them if circumstances came to that. They wouldn’t have a quiet moment, he shouted, they’d not sleep. Every ring at the door, every time the phone rang . . .

“But we often can’t hear the doorbell, darling, and the phone never rings.”

“That’s just it. That’s what I’m worried about. How we’re going to be when it does ring, when the phone does go.”

She told him, very gently, to calm down and, surprisingly, he did. We said good night to them and went home by way of the roofs. The scaffolding between the last terrace in Torrington Gardens and the first in Peterborough Avenue was still there, though weeks had gone by since the builders had last used it, and no scaffolding had yet gone up by the burned houses. We examined the tarpaulin once more. It was untouched, apparently, since we were last there, unmarked except by the gray-white splashes of pigeon droppings. Silver asked if we should try the crossing again. I nodded. We both crossed the tarpaulin with no more to worry us than a few creaks from below and a showering sound that was probably powdered plaster falling from a crack we had caused to shift a little.