Unable to conceal my agitation, I greeted Jack at the door.

Seeing my expression, the colour leached from his face. ‘What’s happened?’

‘We need to look at what the CCTV’s picked up. He was there again – in next door’s garden.’

‘Who was there?’

‘The man – the one who looks like Frank Barley.’

Incredulous, he stared at me. For a moment, I really believe he thought I’d finally lost my mind. He seemed to be struggling to remain composed, but rather than shouting, he lowered his voice.

‘If you’re sure you saw someone, why the hell didn’t you ring the police – or me?’

‘I … I don’t know. I couldn’t think straight. Please, just play the footage.’

We went into the living room and, his face stony, Jack sat at the table and booted up his laptop, which was linked to the camera. I stood behind him, staring in trepidation at the screen as he scrolled on fast-forward through the film. Suddenly, he paused the footage.

‘There – see him?’ I said.

The blurred outline of a man was frozen on the screen, his hand on Mrs Barley’s gate. Jack pressed ‘play’ once more and my heart began to race. I watched as the man I had seen earlier walked up the path and stopped abruptly, staring at the ground. The remainder was as I had experienced it first-hand, with Jobie’s heroics plain for all to see. But of course, the coldness of the man’s eyes wasn’t adequately represented by the slightly grainy quality of the film. His face, however, was plain enough.

Jack turned to me. He spoke quietly, his complexion suddenly pale. ‘I’m sorry that I doubted you before. I mean, all that talk of ghosts threw me off track. To think you’ve been in that house by yourself …’ He bit his lip.

I peered at the image before me. There was no denying the fact that the man looked exactly like the pictures I’d seen of Frank Barley.

‘So, any thoughts as to who he might be?’

‘That’s what I intend to find out,’ Jack said. ‘I’m going to call the police and tell them we’ve got a prowler. They’ll have to manage without me at the surgery. I’m not leaving you and Elodie on your own here until he’s caught.’

*

Two plain-clothes police officers, a middle-aged man and a younger woman, arrived within the hour. They watched the CCTV footage with interest.

‘You’ve got a good dog there,’ the woman remarked.

I smiled. ‘He’s wonderful. I don’t know what I’d have done without him today.’

‘And you say this is definitely the same chap you’ve seen before?’ The man scrutinised me from over the top of his steel-rimmed glasses. I felt uncomfortable.