In the early hours, he heard a muffled cry and sat up in bed, his heart thudding. Grabbing a dressing gown, he groped his way along the corridor and saw with alarm that a light was showing under her door and there were frantic movements going on inside. As he got closer, the door was flung open, and Miss Young fell into his arms.
“Oh!” she gasped, then recognising him, clutched his arm. “There’s something under my bed, Arthur. I can’t bear to look.”
“Take it easy,” he soothed. “I’ll see to it. You stay here.” Advancing into the room with more of a show of courage than he felt, he steeled himself and peered under the bed. To his relief all he could make out was Mrs M’s tabby cat huddled in the corner hissing and the great bulk of Mis Young’s dog taking up an unnaturally cautious position
