Andrew had a small bag with him. It was the kind of thing that has replaced the satchel schoolchildren carry, a canvas backpack. As soon as Jason saw it he wanted to carry it himself. It was his. I was surprised when Andrew said no. He and Alison were usually indulgent parents. We climbed out of the window in their bedroom, it faced the rear and there was no mansard. Jason was better at it than they were, showing promise of being as skilled as once poor Wim had been. He shinned up over the stone ridge at the top of the architrave and began to shout that he had done it, he was on the roof. Silver, close behind him, told him to be quiet and laid a finger on his own lips. I gave Alison a hand, took her shoes from her and threw them up onto the leads. She scrambled up, cutting her hands and scraping her shin. Andrew needed a lot of help from Silver but finally we were there, all five of us, safe on the flat roof of Torrington Gardens, the long wide empty road. Then Silver had to go back.

We dared not leave the window open. Silver reminded me that the police knew the man who had attacked Wim had come across the roofs and entered by the window. They might remember that. He slipped down, stood on the ledge made by the architrave of the window below, and pulled down the sash. What he couldn’t do was fasten the catch on the inside. We banked on their not noticing. The open suitcases might deceive them into believing the family was still living there. They’d conclude they had gone out for the evening and maybe they’d wait outside for their return. Long before that we’d have them safe in 15 Russia Road and Exodus could as easily take place from there as from Louis Robinson’s. More easily, whispered Silver, climbing back up, because there’d be no Vivien Nyland living in the middle of the house and no Sean Francis to keep everyone dangling while he made up his mind.

“We should have done it before. We should have moved them out earlier.”

“We didn’t know,” I said. “How were we to know?”

For a while we lingered, trying to hear if anyone was attempting to enter the flat. We were as much concerned with their hearing our footfalls as with our hearing movement from them. A heavy silence had fallen. No more sirens, no police conversation, no birdlike bells twittering. The only sound was the wind. Alison retrieved her shoes, sat down on the parapet and put them on. The whole roof area was scattered with the green leaves of the plane trees, blown off by the high wind. A gust caught us now, sweeping the leaves along with a rattling sound, nearly making Alison topple backward.

“Be careful,” Silver said.