Cordelia and Lindsay sat in a companionable quiet, broken only by the hiss of the gas fire. Finally, Cordelia got to her feet and stretched languidly. “I’m off,” she said. “You coming now or staying up a bit?”

“I’ll be up in a little while. I’ll have one last smoke before I get my head down.”

“Okay. See you in the morning. And thanks—again.”

“Don’t mention it. It was little enough.”

“One day, when all this horrible business is over, I shall cook you a special banquet as a thank you. I’m famous among my friends for my cooking, I promise you.”

“I’ll look forward to that.”

“Goodnight, then.” And she was gone, leaving Lindsay alone to stare into the fire and conjure her own dreams out of its flickering light. It was very late indeed when she finally climbed the long stairs to her bed.

Sunday dawned dull and misty on Axe Edge. Lindsay shivered as the raw cold bit through her jacket when she and Paddy emerged from the warmth of Longnor House at a quarter to eight. They were both silent on their walk through the trees, wrapped up in their own thoughts. Paddy unlocked the science block and led Lindsay to a compact but well-equipped darkroom on the first floor.

“There you are,” she announced. “Hope you’ve got everything you need. I’ll leave the keys so you can lock up after yourself. Sorry it’s so cold in here; we always turn off the heating in this block at lunchtime on Saturday. How long will you be?”

“Half, three-quarters of an hour? No longer.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in my rooms at around half-past eight, then.” Paddy left her curiously illuminated by the blackout lighting.

Lindsay quickly checked the light-proofing, then started work on her film. She pulled it from its cartridge and shoved it into the tray of developer she had laid out. She moved it round, then put it into the fixer, washed it, and snapped on a lamp to look at it more closely. Even in an unfamiliar darkroom she worked swiftly and efficiently, slotting the frames one by one into the enlarger, fumbling the photographic paper out of its light-proof envelope, and then exposed her prints. Half an hour later, she was looking at a dozen prints of Lorna Smith-Couper with her head thrown back in laughter.

It was not a bad picture, thought Lindsay. Though it was rather grainy, it would still reproduce quite well. It didn’t look too much like an unauthorized snatch.