Then came more footsteps from the bottom of the street, and a flash of light as if someone was carrying a torch. A voice called out, ‘You there!’ It was Pop, on his ARP rounds. Then there was a shout and more footsteps, this time running away from the front of her house. Carefully she drew back a corner of the curtain and saw the bulk of a figure running away. Pop began to give chase but stopped before the end of the road, she assumed because he knew he’d frightened the person away. His white hair made him clearly visible in the light of a waning moon.

She wanted to tell herself that it was just a random burglar, perhaps one who’d heard about the bike, or someone who’d chosen her house out of sheer chance. However, she didn’t really believe it. She’d only had the briefest of moments to pick out the fleeing figure, but that had been enough. It was Alfie Delaney.

Pop came back up the road and tapped gently on her front door. She cautiously unlocked it and opened it a little. The cold air rushed in. ‘You all right, Kitty? I saw your curtain move,’ Pop said.

‘Yes … yes, I’m fine,’ said Kitty, trying to convince herself as much as anything. ‘I heard what I thought was someone trying the handle of the door – and then when I looked out I thought I saw Alfie Delaney running away.’

Pop grunted. ‘There was someone, but I didn’t catch who it was. I’d be surprised if he dared show himself on Empire Street again after that affair with the poisoned meat. He’ll have the good sense to stay well away,’ he told her reassuringly. ‘Good night, now.’

‘You’re probably right,’ said Kitty, smiling at the kindly figure of her father before carefully shutting and locking the door once more. She wanted him to be right – but she had a sinking feeling he wasn’t.

‘Sylvia! Hang on, I’ll just put this lot of paper down.’ Frank dumped an armful of carefully clipped meeting agendas on to the nearest desk and then turned to smile at the pretty young Wren. ‘It feels as if I haven’t seen you for ages.’

Sylvia blushed a little. ‘Hardly ages, Frank. We went to the pictures to see Arsenic and Old Lace a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Well, two weeks seems like a long time,’ he grinned. ‘Fancy going again? I couldn’t stop laughing.’

‘It was funny, wasn’t it. And that Cary Grant is so good-looking.’ Sylvia smiled back but seemed more flustered than usual. Frank was surprised; he couldn’t remember seeing her rushed or panicked by anything.

‘So, how about it?’ he asked again. ‘We can go to anything you fancy. There’s bound to be lots of good ones on now we’re in the run-up to Christmas.’