Taking his weight on his hands, he pulled himself forward along the ridge tiles until he came to the part of the house that overlooked the garden and which was obscured from the stables by a high wall. It looked like the safest place to descend. On a raw evening like that, he still faced hazards. A biting wind had sprung up and a sudden gust whipped off his hat before sending it downwards in a spiral. For an anxious moment, Daniel feared that it would land in the courtyard and be spotted by someone but, unseen by him, it swung sharply to the left and came to rest in a flower bed.

With the wind plucking at his cloak, he inched himself slowly back down the roof until his boot eventually made contact with the guttering. Daniel worked his way along it until he came to a drainpipe then he knelt down and put a first tentative leg over the parapet. He did not dare to look down. Getting a grip on the drainpipe, he brought his other leg over then swung his body across. The drainpipe was old and rusted and, even with his gloves on, he could feel how cold it was but it had a brute solidity that cheered him.

Descent was slow and laborious. Even in daylight, it would have tested his mettle. Groping in the darkness, with his cloak flapping in the wind like a pair of oversized wings, he needed all his strength and concentration. It seemed to take an age and Daniel began to wonder if he would ever reach the bottom of the pipe. He clung on tightly and persevered, sweat oozing from every pore in spite of the cold. At long last, his toe finally brushed the ground. He let go of the pipe and stood there until the fierce ache in his limbs slowly subsided.