Cynthia looked around the large room and, spotting a large steel trunk, she went over to it. There was a large padlock protecting the contents. She sighed heavily. Looking round again, she grasped a large spanner from one of the shelves and attempted to break the chain with it. It was a fruitless exercise and the noise would alert them as to their whereabouts, but she tried anyway.

She could hear the men at the cellar door now, and she knew that the still-warm teapot would tell them that they might still be in the house somewhere. And now they knew where. She guessed they had come through the French doors in the lounge; they wouldn’t risk the neighbours hearing them kicking in the front or back doors.

The cellar door was another thing altogether though. It was well inside the house, and they were now kicking at the lock with a ferocity that told her they would be through at any moment.

Celeste was crying openly – she wasn’t even attempting to be quiet any more. Terror had taken her over and Cynthia knew that if they were to get out of this it would be down to her. Panic rising inside her, she gave the locked box one last wrench and, even though it didn’t open, she saw that if she lifted the lid there was a four-inch gap – just wide enough to get her hand inside. She did that and, feeling around, she gripped the first thing that came to hand. A few seconds later she was holding a small calibre gun. Whether it was loaded she had no idea, but in her blind panic she pulled the safety back and then, leaving her sister crying in fear, she walked deliberately behind the stairway.

She was shaking herself now, she felt as if she was going to pass out. She took a few deep breaths and, when the cellar door finally crashed open, she waited for the visitors to come down the stairs.

The man was like the anti-Christ. His anger was so consuming he looked willing to rip them limb from limb with his bare hands.

Emerging from the stairway silently, Cynthia pointed the gun at the back of his huge head and fired.

He dropped to his knees, and she felt the bile rising inside her as she saw the gaping hole that was left after his skull and brains had been ripped open.

Twenty seconds later she heard a muttered ‘Fucking hell’, followed by the sound of the other man leaving the house as quickly as possible. She went over and looked down at the man’s body. He wasn’t quite dead yet and, kneeling down beside him, she removed the heavy shotgun from his reach. Then, pointing the gun once more at his head, she pulled the trigger again.

That was when Celeste started to scream.