It smelled a bit damp, but Nell, who was fairly used to entering old houses in her work, had encountered a lot worse. She expected Benedict Doyle to come down to greet her, but he did not, so she went through the dining room into a big shadowy hall, and called out to him. ‘Hello? I got in all right. I’m Nell West – Nina’s friend, about the antiques.’ There was still no response, although she had the feeling there was someone quite nearby, listening. This was disconcerting and probably simply nerves, so Nell walked across the hall, deliberately clattering her footsteps to make extra noise. She waited for a few moments, but when he still did not appear she opened all the doors on the ground floor and looked into each room. Nothing moved in any of them, unless you counted a few drifting cobwebs, and the impression of an army of spiders indignantly scuttling away from the sudden ingress of light. There did not seem to be anything of particular interest in any of them, but Nina had said Holly Lodge had been rented for a number of years, so probably the main stuff was stored behind a locked door somewhere.
