THE HOUSE AT SEA’S END

it difficult to land. The launch pitches to and fro as the waves wash up over its sides. Ruth clamps her teeth together. Eventually, though, the skipper manages to get them close enough for his mate to jump ashore. He ties the boat onto the little landing jetty and stretches out a hand to help Ruth. Praying that she doesn’t slip, she puts one foot on the side of the wildly rocking boat. Thank God she wore trainers. She manages an ungainly leap onto the rocks. It feels wonderful to be on solid ground.
    Nelson jumps easily, he’s surprisingly nimble for such a big man, but Hastings stumbles and nearly falls.
    ‘Careful,’ says the crewman cheerfully. ‘If you fell in, we probably wouldn’t be able to get you out again.’
    An iron ladder leads from the jetty up to the lighthouse. Are these the steps referred to in the code? Ruth looks doubtfully at the rusty metal. How could anything be buried under here?
    Nelson doesn’t waste any time. He climbs the ladder, hand over hand, and disappears from view. Ruth follows, more slowly. She can hear Hastings behind her, breathing hard. The third man brings up the rear, struggling with the heavy drill.
    Now they are standing looking up at the lighthouseitself and Ruth sees that there are more steps, concrete slabs leading up to the heavily barred door. They all stand there in silence for a minute. Seagulls call plaintively from the surrounding rocks. Ruth thinks of stories of lighthouse keepers sent mad by loneliness and wild weather. Though they are not far from land, the shore is misty and uncertain. Easy to imagine yourself miles from the world.
    There are nine steps. ‘Any idea if it’s fourth step from the top or fourth step from the bottom?’ asks Nelson, rather sardonically.
    Ruth shakes her head, pulling her anorak tighter. It is colder than ever.
    ‘Let’s try fourth from bottom,’ says Nelson. ‘We need to get going before the weather gets any worse. Take it away, Charlie.’
    The man puts on ear-muffs and points the drill at the fourth step. There is an explosion of noise. Dust fills the air and the seagulls fly away, cawing angrily.
    The concrete breaks easily. Nelson doesn’t wait for more. He kneels down and starts pulling away the rubble with his bare hands.
    ‘Is there anything there?’ shouts Ruth.
    ‘I think … yes, there’s a box.’ He leans into the hole.
    ‘Hang on,’ says Ruth, her forensic instincts outraged. ‘You can’t do that. You have to plot the find, note exactly where it is.’
    Nelson ignores her. He reaches and straightens up, holding something that looks like a steel container, about the size of a shoe box. It seems unaffected by its sojourn underground; the metal gleams dully in the muted sunshine.
    ‘What is it?’ asks Ruth.
    ‘It looks like a radio case,’ says Hastings. ‘I’ve seen one like it before. Survival radios, they were called. The boxes were stainless steel. My father had one in the war.’
    Nelson shakes the box. Ruth winces.
    ‘There’s something inside,’ he says.
    ‘Is there a key?’ asks Hastings.
    ‘I’m not buggering about looking for a key,’ says Nelson. He drops the box onto the ground, grabs the drill and aims it at the lid.
    ‘Stop!’ yells Ruth. ‘You might damage whatever’s inside. And you should be wearing gloves.’
    Nelson looks at her darkly but he puts down the drill and asks Charlie if he can borrow his protective gloves. Then he tries the lid. It opens.
    ‘Well, I’m blowed,’ says Hastings. ‘It wasn’t even locked.’
    Ruth leans forward as Nelson lifts something from the box. It is black and round, rather like a miniature steering wheel.
    ‘What is it?’ asks Ruth.
    Again, it is Hastings who answers.
    ‘It’s a ciné film.’
    Jack Hastings invites them back to his house to screen the film. It turns out he has an old-fashioned projector. ‘I like old sixteen-millimetre films, it’s a hobby of mine. Of course, you could have it converted to DVD but that would take time.’
    Nelson hesitates. He knows he should take the film back to the station and have it converted but the excitement of finding it has made him reckless. He can’t bear to waitanother second without knowing what is on the film so carefully hidden and so cunningly traced. It’s almost as if Archie Whitcliffe is urging him on, congratulating him (okay, Ruth) for having cracked the code, for following the clues all the way from the dusty paperbacks to the steps of the lighthouse. Who hid the