Then an instant of silence before Roy heard him again.

‘You’re not going to get away from me up there, you evil bastard, Roy!’ Esmonde’s voice was full of bitter anger. ‘You’ve put yourself into a trap – a rat trap! Tut tut, and I thought you were smart. Not too smart now, are you? I’m coming for you! I’ve got two very special cartridges with nice heavy shot for bringing down wild boars. Just right for shooting a pig!’

As silently as he could, aware he was taking the gamble of his life, Roy placed the tray down on a step below him. To his relief, the stone step was just wide enough for the tray to balance. Then he hurried on up to the landing.

He shone the light on the two-inch-thick insulated cable running from the base of the fuse box and down the wall, held by old, rusty metal clips all the way to the floor. Here, it disappeared into a small hole in the wood. Roy grabbed the bottom of the cable and wrenched it free of the clips. Then he yanked it up, hard. It rose a few inches, giving him the slack he had prayed for. He began sawing through the cable with the knife.

Shit, it was as hard as steel. And making a loud grinding noise.

Down below he heard footsteps.

He kept sawing away, desperately pushing the blade with all his strength, ignoring the noise. The footsteps were approaching. Coming closer.

Closer.

With one final effort, the blade cut through the cable.

Footsteps nearer still.

He had maybe thirty seconds. Desperately, gripping the bottom end of the sawn-off cable, he hacked away at the thick plastic insulation, working round until he had a good inch of bare copper wire exposed.

Roy could hear Esmonde breathing heavily. Coming closer.

Closer.

He put the cable on the metal handrail, winding the wires around it as best he could. Then he raised his arm, gripped the handle on the fuse box with his fingers and switched off the torch. He held his breath. Opened his mouth.

He could hear the footsteps and heavy breathing even more clearly now.

‘I’m coming for you, Roy!’ Wheezing, Esmonde called out, ‘How does it feel to be a dead man walking? Good, eh? Does it feel good?’

Then he heard a clank, signalling that Esmonde had reached the tray. It was followed, a second later, by a loud clattering, as if he had tossed it aside and it was now tumbling down the steps.

‘That your best effort to stop me?’ Esmonde shouted, wheezing even more. ‘You’d better try harder than that!’

Roy heard him panting, clearly struggling to climb. Roy desperately hoped that he was using the handrail to help himself up.

Then, praying he wasn’t making the most terrible mistake of his life, Roy pulled the fuse box handle down with all his strength.