He could tell that his vagueness and lack of concern irritated her. He wondered what he could say to please her, but there was a jerk and then the noise of gunshot, immensely loud in the enclosed space of the room. It came as an awful surprise to them both. He never knew if she meant to fire the gun, but he could see that she was angry to have missed him. It was another failure.

“No one blackmails me,” she said, and he knew then that she meant to kill him.

He turned to look at the water again, thinking that even if he was shot, he could be watching the sea at the same time. The next wave was so big that it reached the walls of the cottage, and the spray ran down the glass of the window. The silence inside the room surprised him, and a little reluctantly he turned back to face the woman. The scene which met him was so unexpected that he stared dazed and openmouthed, and he could do nothing to help. He watched the cottage door open and George Palmer-Jones appear suddenly behind her. She had straightened her arm to fire again, but George reached out one long and powerful hand and clamped it around the chamber of the revolver. So, although she pulled again and again at the trigger the chamber containing the cartridges could not revolve, and there was no bullet in the barrel to be fired.

The scene took place in silence. It was only when she seemed to realise that with George’s hand around the gun she was quite powerless that she screamed. She released her hand from the grip and her finger from the trigger, and with her arms at her sides she shouted at them both, a stream of loud and furious oaths. George went to the open door and flung the gun into the churning waves, then turned back to them, astounded by their stupidity.

“Come on!” he shouted. He seemed the only person with the wit to move. Rosco was still staring, bewildered. “The walls won’t hold much longer. We’ve got to move.” Then, directly to Louis, he added, “ Rose will never forgive me if anything happens to you.”

The mention of Rose’s name seemed suddenly to release Rosco from his trance. He picked up the canvas bag and walked across the room to the door. He passed within inches of the woman who had tried to shoot him, but she took no notice and stood quite still, her face in her hands. Outside there was still little wind, but as he waited, a huge wave swept over one of the birdwatcher’s cars which had been parked on the shore. It was turned on its side, as if it were a toy. Now is was Rosco’s turn to urge hurry.

“Look out,” he said. “ We’ll have to go.”