"Beans or—" Ricky's hand closed upon Val's arm with a nipper-like grip. "What," her voice was a thin thread of sound, "was that?"
Above the steady beat of the rain they heard a noise which was half scratch, half thud. Under Rupert's hand the latch of the cupboard clicked.
"Back door," he said laconically.
"Well, why don't you open it?" Ricky's fingers bit tighter so that Val longed to twist out of her grip.
The key grated in the lock and then Rupert shot back the accompanying bolt.
"Something's there," breathed Ricky.
"Probably nothing but a branch blown against the door by the wind," Val assured her, remembering the tangled state of the garden.
The door came back, letting in a douche of cold rain and a black shadow which leaped for the security of the center of the room.
"Look!" Ricky laughed unsteadily and released Val's arm.
In the center of the neat kitchen, spitting angrily at the wet, stood a ruffled and oversized black tom-cat.