We plunged forward into mist. I felt its icy dampness on my face and all sound seemed to be deadened, apart from the heavy tread of Robbins’s boots. I was trying to stop the rising panic I felt. If I ran off into the mist, would they shoot me before I could get away? If we were ambushed when we reached their motorcar, they’d shoot me without a moment’s hesitation.

“Where’s that bloody lake?” he muttered. “We don’t want to go anywhere near that. I almost copped it when I had to drop that toffy-nosed hunting bloke into the bog.”

“We should be well to the right of it if we stay on this path,” she said. “It will drop down behind the pub soon.”

Far below us a dog howled again, an eerie sound that seemed to echo all around us. I remembered that the hound of the Baskervilles hunted on this very moor. Right now I’d have welcomed the sight of him.

We plunged on in silence. Then Robbins said, “We should be right above that pub by now. The path should be starting to go down.”

But it didn’t.

Then Trixie spoke. “I don’t think this is a proper path. It’s just an animal track.”

“Then where is the damned path?” he snapped back.

“How should I know?”

“You’re the one who has had five years to scout out the place. Hurry up, I’m freezing.”

“You’re freezing? I’m freezing in this stupid getup.”

Then through the darkness I thought I heard a flapping sound. The others heard it too.

“One of them bloody swans,” Trixie said. “If the lake’s over there then we must have swung too far to our left. No wonder we didn’t find the right path. Come on. This way.”

She took the torch from him and struck out to her right. Robbins gave me a rough shove and forced me ahead of him.

We forged ahead in silence, stumbling now that we no longer had the least semblance of a path to follow. Mist swirled, cleared, then closed in again. It was a world of unreality and I lost all track of time. It felt as if I had been stumbling forward for eternity.

Suddenly the mist parted again and he cried out, “You stupid cow. You’re leading us astray. Look, that must be the tor over there. We’re going down the wrong side.” And with that he strode out ahead of us. Trixie jammed the gun into my side again. “Get going. Keep up with him.”

We half ran, half stumbled as he vanished into the mist. Suddenly we heard him swear.

“Watch your step,” he called back. “I’m into a bloody bog.” We heard him swear again under his breath. Then he shouted, with panic in his voice, “Trix, I can’t move my feet. Give me a hand.”