We reached the cottage. Belinda did not hesitate. She turned the key and we stepped into the living room that still felt pleasantly warm with the lingering ashes of the fire. It also smelled of this morning’s toast and of something else: cigarette smoke. I looked at Belinda.

“Someone’s here,” I whispered.

She nodded, went over to the fire and picked up the poker. “Right. Let’s investigate,” she said. She pushed the bedroom door slowly open. Nothing.

“Must be down in the cellar,” she mouthed to me and started down the stairs. Halfway down she froze and motioned for me to freeze too. I heard the tinkle of water and saw to my embarrassment that a man was standing in the far corner, peeing into the lavatory. She gave me an inquiring glance, looking first at the poker, then at him. I got her message. Hit him while he is otherwise occupied. I shook my head furiously and began to retreat silently up the stairs. She followed suit, waited a respectable amount of time and then called out in a loud voice, “Is somebody down there? Show yourself instantly or I’ll have you up for trespassing.”

We heard scrambling and a voice saying, “Belinda? Is that you? It’s only me. Uncle Francis.”

He came into view, staring up at us, looking horribly embarrassed.

“What are you doing here?” Belinda asked. It seemed as if the last few hours had been a repetition of that phrase. Everybody was surprised to see everybody else in this part of the world.

“I had the boat out so I thought I’d just take a look at the old place, remind myself whether it was as ghastly as I remembered it.”

“How did you get in?” Belinda asked.

“Oh, you know. The way we always used to,” he said, looking even more embarrassed now. “Through the cave. There are steps in the wall.”

“You do know that’s trespassing, don’t you?” Belinda said. “Now, if you would please come up and leave by the front door?”

He came up the steps, eyeing her with suspicion. “You can put down that poker. I’m not a burglar,” he said.

“Only because there is nothing worth stealing,” she said.

“What an awful thing to say to your old uncle, who is so fond of you.”

“Uncle Francis, I know perfectly well that you would strip the rings from your dying grandmother’s fingers. Now please go down to your boat and sail into the sunset.”

“Well, I must say,” he answered huffily. “There’s family spirit for you. Your old uncle pays you a friendly visit and you cast him out into the storm without even the offer of a cup of tea.”