‘Perhaps they have gone to bed,’ Tilda thought to herself.
There was only one door leading out of the kitchen.
She knocked, but there was no reply and she opened it.
Again the windows were uncurtained and in the moonlight she could see a large bed occupying almost the whole room.
Whoever the owner might be, he was away from home.
It was important now, Tilda knew, to see to Rudolph’s wound.
She went back to find him still leaning against the wall, but his eyes were closed and she could see even by the moonlight that there was an unnatural pallor to his skin.
“Come inside,” she said, “there is no one here. I can look at your leg.”
As if it was too much effort to argue, Rudolph put his arm across her shoulders and let her lead him into the bedroom.
She helped him down onto the bed an
