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‘Ye-es,’ he said slowly. ‘Hold on to that thought, won’t you?’ It seemed to me that he was attaching more significance to his words than was warranted, but I said nothing. I merely watched as Miss Seymour nodded, biting her lower lip. Then she turned and walked briskly from the room, barely sparing me a glance as she passed.

I turned to follow. And as I turned I heard Harries’s voice. I kept going, but I paused in the corridor, just out of sight of the door. The irony that I was myself eavesdropping – again – so soon after admonishing Harries about the morality of such an activity was not lost on me. But I remained frozen and intrigued as I listened to them.

‘I met a Dr Friedlander in Wittgenstein several years ago.’ Harries was saying.

‘It wasn’t me,’ Friedlander responded. ‘I’ve not been to Wittgenstein for several – for a very long time indeed.’

‘I know it wasn’t you,’ Harries countered. ‘But he was a professor of forensic science. Something of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?’

I strained to hear the Doctor’s reply. ‘Rather a noncoincidence, surely. Since we are not the same person.’

‘But a relative perhaps?’

‘Perhaps,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘Relatives are so hard to keep track of, aren’t they?’

I could hear the tread of his feet on the polished wooden floor, and I hastened along the corridor. Like Harries, I believed that there was coincidence at work here. Or something more sinister.

The equipment that dominated the table appeared at first haphazard – a collection of wires and valves seemingly thrown together with no order to it. After a moment I began to recognise odd features – dials, meters, a transformer – in the midst of the confusion. Elizabeth was seated to my left, and on my right, at the end of the table, was Catherine. Harries was attaching a wire frame to her head, tightening it at the temples. The Doctor, Herr Kreiner and Susan sat on the opposite side of the table, and Harries moved to take his place at the head. George helped him to adjust a system of wires identical to Catherine’s on his own head, and then took his seat between his wife and me. George was closest to the apparatus, and it struck me how ordered the seating arrangements had become, despite the spontaneity.

‘All right, Richard; ready when you are.’

George reached for a switch set between the two dials.

‘Very well.’ Harries’s smile was like a knife slash across his face. His sister returned a somewhat more genuine, if nervous, smile.

‘What will you do if it doesn’t work?’ I asked as Wallace depressed the switch.

‘It will,’ he insisted, but nothing was happening.

‘The power will take a few moments to build up,’ murmured Wallace, and the Doctor leaned forward with evident interest, studying the mass of equipment. Elizabeth still seemed bewildered; Susan was biting her lower lip. Kreiner was lounging back in his chair as if bored with the whole business. Catherine gripped the wooden arms of the yoke-backed chair and watched for any reaction from her brother. There was none.

The low hum that had started when George pressed the switch was rising steadily in pitch and volume. But still nothing happened. The white of Catherine’s knuckles became more pronounced and George looked to Harries.

‘It’s taking too long,’ the Doctor said suddenly. His face was grave.

‘Yes,’ agreed Harries reluctantly, ‘something’s wrong.’

The equipment was vibrating now and the noise growing still louder. Elizabeth clasped her hands over her ears and Kreiner leaned back as if trying to escape the sound. Harries began to stand up. The Doctor was on his feet, reaching out.

‘Switch it off, man,’ the Doctor said loudly, but Wallace was close to the machine and its noise blotted out his words.

‘Wallace – switch off!’ he shouted across the table, and Catherine relaxed slightly as Wallace reached for the switch. Harries had risen to his feet and was also calling for George to shut off the power. He sat down again, breathing heavily.

But George Wallace’s finger