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Saturday 20 December

Grace sprinted back, through the room with the three limbless cadavers, avoiding the horror of looking at them. He scrambled along the tunnel, and out into the wine cellar. He ran past the racks, then back up the stairs into the kitchen, staring at his phone, willing a signal to appear. As he burst through the door, he almost collided head-on with Glenn Branson.

‘Searched the whole upstairs and ground floor again, and some of the team are up in the loft spaces,’ Branson said, breathlessly. ‘There’s no one here. Nothing. You?’

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