With his heart in his mouth, he made his way back down the spiral staircase, silently, stealthily, guided by the beam of the phone torch. He stopped when he reached the landing beneath the fuse box. Stared at the handle. It was a big, old-fashioned handle, like a lever. Like the one in his parents’ house. Could a lightning strike have tripped it? No. A strike might have taken the power out by causing a short. But it wouldn’t have lifted this heavy handle.

Someone, he realized with a chill, had done that deliberately.

He studied it for some moments, looking at the thick cable that ran down from it into the floor, and the other two thinner cables hanging loose. For a moment he was tempted to reach up and pull the handle down, which might bring the lights back on.

But then what? Back in England he could have called for back-up. He would have had a dozen officers, including an Armed Response Unit, on the scene in minutes. But not here, in deep countryside in a foreign land. In the middle of sodding nowhere.

Right now he was safer under the cover of darkness. Stealth. The element of surprise on his side. He checked his pockets for loose change, or anything else that might clink or jangle and give him away. Removing a handful of coins, he laid them on the step. He thought about taking off his shoes to prevent any squeak from his rubber soles – then decided that running barefoot along the road wasn’t a clever idea. He switched off the torch and, on tiptoe, carried on down the steps until he felt the landing.

Still on tiptoe, and fearful of a creaking floorboard giving him away, he moved along, feeling the wall to his left and then the first door – to Kaitlynn’s room. Then the door to Bruno’s room. He carried on, slowly, slowly, slowly. Silently. Until he felt the head of the stag. He edged around it and felt the banister post at the top of the staircase. Holding his breath, he began to descend into the pitch darkness. One slow, delicate step at a time. Until he reached the bottom.

He paused, remembering something he had been taught many years ago, and opened his mouth. You could hear better with your mouth open.

He listened. Silence. Trying to locate himself. He knew that over to his left would be the front door, some distance across the hallway. To his right, the patio doors and windows either side. He could see them in the faint glow through the windows from the moonlight outside.

Breathing as quietly as he could, he quickened his pace, tiptoeing towards them. Closer and closer. As he neared, he could see the glass doors even more clearly.

He was unaware that he was being watched, in sharp detail, through the green of night-vision goggles.