Tom is dancing with the vicar’s wife and I watch Allan pour another brandy. The Venns are nowhere in sight in the drawing room, the smoking room or on the lawn. However, the house is big and the garden bigger. I run through all I know about them and it’s not much. They are not a couple from the Midwest of America who like to swing, but something far more sinister.

I leave the drawing room and stick my head into the small kitchen. It is spotless with things ready for breakfast tomorrow. The lights in the keeper’s cottage are off. Hopefully the Hoskines are sound asleep and haven’t witnessed any unusual activity. The dining room is deserted so I head again to the smoking room. Lord and Lady Fox are dancing and the Vicar is availing himself of the drinks tray. Stepping out through the French windows, I begin a head-count. Most of the guests are staying over but the Venns aren’t.

‘As always a fabulous celebration.’ Anthea yawns. ‘I’m going to call it a night.’ She kisses my cheek. ‘If you see my husband, tell him where to find me.’

I chuckle. ‘Not expecting him to wander into someone else’s room, are you?’

‘Not after the quantity of wine and the other delights he’s consumed.’ She waves. ‘No one would want him. Believe me.’ She walks through the dining room and I lose sight of her. I know that Anthea’s husband, Rupert, has wandered in the past, and Anthea has as well. It doesn’t matter to them, and in my heart, I could dismiss Allan’s wandering if we were normal – but we aren’t normal.

By the time I reach the drawing room via the garden I have a head-count of seventeen. No sign of the Venns. Allan is by the piano, singing. I take a deep breath, grab a glass and pour myself a single malt.

‘That sort of night?’ Tom asks as he walks up to me.

‘Yes.’

He stares at me. ‘You look a bit peaky,’

I smile. ‘The whisky will help.’

‘If you think so.’ He raises an eyebrow.

I glance down at his shoes. Could he have been out there? Old habits die hard.

‘A good night’s sleep might be better.’ He looks pointedly at the generous measure I have poured.

‘Indeed, my friend, but you know I will not disappear until all my guests have.’

‘Not much hope of that for a while.’ He smiles.

‘Thus far I seem to be down three.’

He scans the room. ‘Doing your sheepdog impression?’

‘Of course.’ I turn to him and kiss his cheek. ‘You haven’t seen the Venns, by any chance?’

‘As it happens, I noticed them setting off in their tender about twenty minutes ago.’

‘Hmm.’ I raise my glass to my lips. Their deed done, no need for the politeness of saying goodnight to your hostess.