She murmured, ‘Are you the police?’

‘No, but I’m going to make you safe.’

‘Those men … They …’

‘Don’t you worry about them. They’re never going to harm anyone again.’

He lifted her down from the altar and carried her back through the trees towards the tunnel shaft entrance. She was slender and not too heavy, but he’d have carried her if it ripped every tendon in his arms.

This could have been Grace, if these lunatics had taken her alive. And he might not have been here to save her. That thought was unbearable to him.

Ben reached the steps and hurried down them, careful not to stumble and drop her. At the bottom of the steps he turned into the main shaft and broke into a fast trot back towards the house. The return journey seemed like a longer way and it was hard to hold the weapon light steady while carrying her. He clasped her tight and tried not to shake her around too much as he ran, but she didn’t seem to care. She was as trusting and limp as a child in his arms, drifting in and out of consciousness, now and then murmuring things that he didn’t understand. Then he realised that she was saying, ‘Baby … baby.’

It hit him with a jolt. He paused in his step and let some light shine over her face. ‘What?’

She looked up at him and made a supreme effort to form the words clearly. ‘There’s … a baby. Heard … crying.’

Ben’s blood chilled. ‘What baby?’

She was fading again. Her eyes were closing.

He thought perhaps she was imagining it. Shock and drugs mixing up her mind. The alternative was too unthinkable. He shook her and said, ‘Chrissie. Tell me about the baby.’

Her eyes fluttered open again and she whispered, ‘They have it. Keeping it.’

‘Where?’

She pointed further down the tunnel. ‘There.’

‘Show me.’ Ben ran on. The light beam jerked and wobbled ahead of them. His footsteps rang rapid-fire off the walls, but inside his heart was beating faster. They reached a side passage on the left that he’d passed on his way out, and she pointed again. ‘That … way.’

Ben turned into the passage. It was low and narrow and its confined space made the deathly stink in the air seem stronger than ever. His light picked out a pair of doors set deep into the passage wall to his right, some fifteen feet apart. The nearest door was made of heavy riveted steel and had no visible lock, just a heavy bolt holding it shut from the outside. The door on the left was taller and wider, made of oak that looked a hundred years old and marked with strange carvings.

‘Chrissie, I have to put you down for a moment. Okay?’

Her eyes flared in fear. ‘Don’t leave me!’