‘This is Martin Bengough,’ said Ann rather formally. ‘He’s a great help.’

‘Hullo,’ said Laura. She wanted to ask what Claud had said or done, whether he had threatened—she decided it would be a waste of time. ‘Come on, then,’ she said to Martin. ‘I don’t believe he has a gun,’ she said, climbing the stairs. ‘I feel sure he can’t shoot.’

‘That’s good.’

‘I know you, you were one of the people who used to shadow Clug.’ She climbed on, hurrying.

‘Yes,’ said Martin, keeping up. ‘I was. I’ve been in Washington since then.’

‘He loved it,’ said Laura, reaching the top landing. ‘Here we are, he must have put something on the trap to weigh it down. There’s no bolt. I suppose they tried?’

‘Told them to bugger off or he’d throw himself out of the window.’

‘I don’t think he would care to do that—’ She started up the ladder.

Martin stood below, looking up at her; she was wearing grey jeans and a black cotton jersey. She had admirable ankles. Clug had been right.

‘He has weighted it with something. I shall have to ask you to help me heave, I’ll give him a shout first. Claud,’ she shouted, ‘Claud? It’s me, Laura.’

There was no reply.

‘Come on,’ said Laura, ‘help me.’ She swung sideways on the ladder so that Martin could join her. He put his left arm round her to balance and pushed up strongly with his right. A heavy weight on the trap-door shifted. ‘And again,’ panted Laura. Martin put his head down, stepped higher on the ladder and heaved. His mouth was full of Laura’s hair; the trap shuddered and gave way. ‘Let me go first,’ he said, ‘if he’s got a gun.’

‘Don’t be stupid.’ Laura climbed past him into the loft, pushed aside a load of books which Claud had used to block their entry. Claud lay face down on the bed, fully clothed. There was a whisky bottle empty by the bed and an empty bottle of pills.

Laura found Claud’s pulse; Martin opened the windows wide, then picked up the pill bottle. ‘Nitrazepan,’ he said, holding it to the light. ‘Mrs A. Kennedy. Two to be taken at night.’

‘I can feel his pulse,’ said Laura. ‘Help me roll him onto his side. He must have stolen them.’

Martin rolled Claud over, pulling one leg up in the recovery position. ‘He is stinking drunk,’ he said.

‘And drugged?’ Laura pushed up Claud’s eyelids; she was not sure what she was looking for.

Martin said, ‘I don’t think these are killers.’ He showed Laura the bottle.

‘It’s the combination,’ she said. ‘D’you think you could call a doctor? I’ll stay here.’