Duncan Craig moved rapidly along the tunnel towards the patch of light that streamed in through the broken wall from the cellar. When he reached the opening he paused to examine his watch, wondering if he had timed things right and a sudden, muffled explosion reverberating throughout the basement told him that he had.

He dropped into the cellar and moved out into the passage, a strange and sinister figure in his dark clothing, a nylon stocking pulled down over his face.

A cloud of dust and smoke filtered out through the half open door of the strongroom at the far end of the passage and he moved towards it cautiously and peered inside.

The room was full of dust and smoke and beyond through the half open vault door, he was aware of a vague movement. He stepped back into the passageway and slammed the strongroom door shut, jerking down the handle, the locking bolts clanging into their sockets with a grim finality. Without the key he was unable to actually lock the door, but the important thing was that it would be impossible for it to be opened from the inside. He turned and moved back along the passage.

As he passed the entrance to the service stairs, Fallon jumped on him from five steps up, fourteen stone of bone and muscle driving Craig into the floor.

For the moment, he was winded and as he struggled for air, the Irishman’s massive forearm wrapped itself around his throat. As the pressure increased, Craig rammed the point of his right elbow back hard, catching Fallon in the stomach just under the rib cage. Fallon gasped and again Craig drove his elbow home with all his force. As the Irishman’s grip slackened, Craig twisted round and slammed him backwards with the heel of his hand.

Fallon rolled against the wall, the instinct derived from a hundred street fights bringing him to his feet in a reflex action, but Craig was already up and waiting for him. As Fallon moved in, Craig’s right foot flicked out in a perfectly executed karate front kick that caught the Irishman in the stomach. He started to keel over, and Craig’s knee lifted into his face like a battering ram, sending him into darkness.

Ruth Miller waved the last of her guests goodbye and closed the door. She looked at her watch and smothered a yawn. One o’clock. A good party and the clearing up could wait till morning. She started across the hall and the ’phone rang.

Nick Miller and his brother were having a final drink in front of the fire when she looked in. ‘It’s for you, Nick. He wouldn’t say who he was. I do hope you don’t have to go out.’

‘On a night like this? Not on your life.’ He went out into the hall and picked up the ’phone.

‘That you, Miller?’

‘Yes, who is it?’