Even at the age of nine, Charlie knew that Mab was talking about his mother, and that he was The Creature. That was why Mummy and Daddy had been so keen to ship him off to school in England and never set eyes on him again. That was why they had deserved to die. But he didn’t want to think about such things now. There were other people who needed dealing with.

‘Show me the quarry, Mrs V. And then perhaps we’ll go for a little drive.’

*

Lydia did not need a thermometer to know that Klara had a fever. She put a hand to her forehead. The girl was burning up. This was more than just exhaustion. In her mind, she went through the possible childhood illnesses: scarlet fever, measles, chicken pox, German measles, polio, influenza, diphtheria. Now, which one of those started with a fever, and which might have taken a few days to incubate? She should know all this as the daughter of a doctor and a mother herself.

She found a clean facecloth in an airing cupboard and soaked it in cold water, then knelt by the side of Klara’s bed and gently patted her brow. She moaned quietly in her sleep. Lydia felt hopelessly inadequate. This wasn’t something that required hospital treatment, but in normal circumstances your GP would come out to check on the child, something that she couldn’t risk with Klara.

Lydia put her hand to Klara’s neck; she was pretty sure the glands were inflamed. Childhood fever . . . the very words struck terror into her heart.

*

Leaving Mrs Vickery in the car, Jung approached the house. Wrapping his jacket round his arm, he punched out a downstairs casement window at the front, then reached in and eased it open. Without hesitating, he climbed in, pushing the blackout aside. The sound would have woken the occupants, but he had the Sten gun and the element of surprise on his side.

Back against the wall, gun held across his chest, he stood by the door into the next room, which he took to be a hallway, and listened. No sound. Had he really not woken anyone? Perhaps the blackout curtain had muffled the sound of the shattering glass.

He waited a full minute. Still nothing. He turned the handle and pulled the door towards him, then flicked a switch and a low wattage bulb lit the room. It was some sort of study, with shelves full of books and a radiogram. It was difficult to gauge the layout of this house. Where were the bedrooms? Most crucially, where was the girl? Jung opened another door and switched on another light. Now he was in the hallway. To his right the front door and a telephone, to his left a carpeted staircase. Slowly, step by careful step, he ascended the stairs to the landing. The light from the hallway gave a faint glow. He had a choice of doors.

*