Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency
Douglas Adams
(1987)
to my mother,
who liked the bit about the horse
[::: AUTHOR’S NOTE ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
The physicaldescriptions of St Cedd’s College in this boionk,so far asthey are specific atall, owe a little tmo y memories of St
John’s College,Cambridge , although I’avleso borrowed indiscriminately
from other colleges as well. Sir Isaac Newton was atTrinityColinlege
real life, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge was at Jesus. The point is that St Cedd’s College is caompletely fictitious
assemblage, andno correspondence is intendebdetween any institutions or characters in this book and any real instituotironpseople, living,
dead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment.

This book was writtenand typeset on an Apple Macintosh Plus
computer and LaserWriter Plupsrinter usingMacAuthor word-processing software.
The completed document watshen printed using a Linotro1n00 at The Graphics Factory, LondoSnW3, to produce a finhailgh-resolution image of the text. My thantkos MikeGlover of IconTechnology for his help with this process.
Finally, my very special thanks are due to Sue Freefsotornaell her help in nursing this book into existence.
Douglas Adams
London, 1987
[::: CHAPTER 1 ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
This time there would be no witnesses.
This timethere wasjust the dead earth, a rumblethoufnder, and theonset of thatinterminable light drizzle from the north-east by whichso many of the world’s most momentous events seem to be accompanied.
The storms of the day beforaen, d of the day before that, and the floodsof the previousweek, hadnow abated.The skiesstill bulged with rain, but athllat actuallyfell in the gathering evening gloom
was a dreary kind of prickle.
Some wind whipped across the darkening plain, blundered throtuhgeh

lowhills and gusted across a shallow valley where stood a structure, a kind of tower, alone in a nightmare of mud, and leaning.
It was ablackened stump of a tower. It stoliokde an extrusion of magma from onoef the morepestilential pits of hell, and it leaned at
a peculiarangle, as if oppressed by something altogether more terrible thanits own considerableweight. It seemed a deatdhing, long ages
dead.
The only movement watshat of a river omf ud that moved sluggishly along the bottom of the valley past the towmeri.leAor so further on, the river ran down a ravine and disappeared underground.
But as theevening darkened it became apparent that the towwears notentirely withoutlife. There was saingle dim red light guttering deep within it.
The lightwas only jusvt isible -- except of course that thweraes
no one to seneo,
witnesses, not this timbeu, t it was neverthelesas
light.Every fewminutes it grew a little strongerand a little
brighter and then faded slowly away almtoosnt othing. At the same time a low keeninngoise driftedout onthe wind, builut p to a kindof
wailing climax, and then it too faded, abjectly, away.
Time passed, andthen another light appeared,a smaller, mobile
light. It emerged gartound level and moved in a single bobbing circuit
of the tower, pausing occasionaollny
its way around. Theitn, and the
shadowy figurethat could justbe discerned carrying idt,isappeared
inside once more.

An hour passed,and by the end of it the darkness was total. The world seemed dead, the night a blankness.
And thenthe glow appeared again near thtoewer’s peak, thistime growingin power morepurposefully. It quicklyreached the peakof brightness iht ad previously attained, and then kept going, increasing, increasing. The keening sounthdat accompaniedit rose in pitch and stridency until it became a wailsincgream. The scream screamed oannd on till it became a blinding noise and the light a deafening redness. And then, abruptly, both ceased.
There was a millisecond of silent darkness.
An astonishing palenew light billowed and bulged frodmeep within themud beneath the tower. The skyclenched, a mountain of mud convulsed, earthand sky bellowed at each othtehre, re wasa horrible pinkness,a suddengreenness, a lingering orangenestshat stained the clouds,and then the light sank andthe nightat last was deeply, hideously darkT. here was no further sound other than the soft tinkle of water.
But in the mornintghe sun rose with an unaccustomed sparkle on a
day that was, oseremed to be, or at least wohualdve seemedto be if
there had been anybodthyere to whom
citould seem to be anything at
all,warmer, clearer and brighter-- an altogetherlivelier day than anyyet known. A clearriver ran through the shattered remaionfs the valley.
And time began seriously to pass.

[::: CHAPTER 2 ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
High on a rocky promontorsyat anElectric Monk on a borehdorse. Fromunder itsrough woven cowtlhe Monk gazed unblinkingly down into another valley, with which it was having a problem.
The day was hot, thseun stoodin an empty hazsyky and beat down uponthe grey rocksand the scrubby, parched grass. Nothing moved, not even the Monk. The horseta’isl moved a little, swishingslightly to
try andmove a little airb,ut that was all. Otherwise, nothing moved.
The Electric Monk was a labour-saving devilcikee,
a dishwasher or a
video recorder. Dishwashers washed tedious dishes for tyhouus,saving youthe bother ofwashing them yourself, video recorders watched tedious television for you, thsuasving you the bother of looking at it yourself; Electric Monks believed things yfour , thus saving you what was becomingan increasingly oneroustask, that of believing athlle things the world expected you to believe.
Unfortunately this Electric Monkhad developed afault, andhad started tobelieve all kinds of things, more or alet ssrandom. It was evenbeginning to believe thingsthey’d have difficultybelieving in SaltLake City. It had never heaorfdSalt Lake City , of course. Nor had it ever heard oqf uaingigillion, which was roughly thneumber of miles between this valley and theGreat Salt Lake ofUtah .
The problem withthe valley wasthis. The Monk currentlybelieved that the valley anedverything in the valley anadround it, including
the Monk itselafnd the Monk’s horse, was a uniform shade of pale pink.

This madefor a certain difficulty in distinguishing any one thing from any otherthing, and therefore madedoing anythingor going anywhere impossible,or atleast difficult and dangerous. Hencthee immobility
of the Monk and the boredom of the hworhsiec,h had hadto put up with a lot of silly things in its timewabsust ecretly of the opinion that
this was one of the silliest.
How long did the Monk believe these things?
Well, asfar as the Monk wasconcerned, forever.The faith which moves mountainso, r atleast believes themagainst all the available evidenceto be pink, wasa solid and abiding faith,a great rock
against which the world could hwuhrlatever it would, yeit would not be shaken. In practice, thoerse knew,twenty-four hours wasusually about its lot.
So what of this horse, thetnh,at actually held opinionsa, nd was scepticalabout things?Unusual behaviour fora horse,wasn’t it? An unusual horse perhaps?
No. Although it was certainaly handsomeand well-built example of its species, it was none the lepsesrfaectly ordinary horse, such as convergent evolution has produced minany of the places that life is to be foundT. hey havealways understood a great deal more than they let on. It idsifficult to besat on aldl ay, every day,by some other
creature, without forming an opinion about them.
On the other hand, it is perfecptloyssible tosit all daye, very day, ontop of anothercreature and nothave theslightest thought about them whatsoever.
When theearly models of these Monks were builwt, aist
felt tobe

important that thebye instantly recognisable as artificiaol bjects.
There must bneo danger of their looking at liaklel
realpeople. You
wouldn’t want your videroecorder lounging around on thseofa all day whileit was watching TV. You wouldn’wt ant it picking itsnose, drinking beer and sending out for pizzas.
So the Monks were built witahn eye for originality odfesign and alsofor practical horse-ridingability. Thiswas important.People,
and indeedthings, looked more sincere oanhorse. So twolegs were held to be both more suitable cahnedaper thanthe more normal primes ofseventeen, nineteen or twenty-three; the skin the Monks were given waspinkish-looking instead of purple, soft and smooth insteadof crenellated. They were also restricted to ojunset mouth and nose, but were giveninstead an additionael ye, making for a grand total of two. A strange-lookingcreature indeed. But truly excellent at believing the most preposterous things.
This Monk had firsgtone wrong whenit was simply given too much to believein one day. Itwas, by mistake, cross-connectetdo a video
recorder that was watching elevTenV channelssimultaneously, and this causedit to blow a banokf illogic circuitsT. he video recorder only
had towatch them, of course. It didnh’at ve to believethem all as well. This is why instruction manuals are so important.
So after a hectic week of believitnhgat war was peaceth, at good
was bad, thatthe moon was made of blue cheeasned, that God needed a lot of monesyent to a certain bonxumber, the Monk started to believe thatthirty-five percent of atlal bles were hermaphrodites,and then

broke down. The man from the Msohnokp said that inteeded a whole new motherboard,but thenpointed out that the newimproved Monk Plus modelswere twice as powerful, had anentirely new multi-tasking NegativeCapability featurethat allowed themto hold up tsoixteen entirelydifferent and contradictoryideas inmemory simultaneously
without generating any irritating system errors, wtweriece as fast and at leasthree times as glib, and you could havewhaole new one for less than the cost of replacing the motherboard of the old model. That was it. Done.
The faulty Monkwas turned out into thedesert where it could believewhat it liked, includintghe ideathat ithad been hard done by. Itwas allowedto keep its horse, since horsews ere so cheap to make.
For a numberof daysand nights, which it variousblyelieved to be three,forty-three, and five hundredand ninety-eight thousand seven hundred andthree, it roamed the desert, puttinigts simple Electric trustin rocks, birds, cloudsand aform of non-existent elephant- asparagus,until at last it fetched up here, onthis highrock, overlookinga valley that was not, despitethe deep fervour of the Monk’s belief, pink. Not even a little bit.
Time passed.
[::: CHAPTER 3 ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
Time passed.

Susan waited.
The more Susan waitedt,he more the doorbell didnr’itng. Or the phone.She looked ather watch. She feltthat now was aboutht e time that she could legitimately begtoin feel cross. She was cross already, of course, but that had beenheirn owntime, so to speak. Thewy ere welland truly into his time now,and evenallowing fortraffic,
mishaps, andgeneral vagueness and dilatorinessit, was now well over half anhour past the time that hhead insistedwas the latestime
they could possibly afford to leave, so she’d better be ready.
She tried to worrtyhat something terrible hahdappened to him, but
didn’t believe
fitor amoment. Nothing terrible ever happened to him,
though she wabseginning to think that it was time it damn well did. If nothing terrible happenetdo him soon maybe she’ddo itherself. Now
there was an idea.
She threw herself crossly into tahremchair and watched the news on television. The news made hcerross. She flipped the remote control and watched something on another channfoelr a bit. She didn’t know what it was,but it alsomade hercross. Perhaps sheshould phone. She was
damned if she wagsoing to phone. Perhaps if she phoned he would phone her at the same moment and not be able to get through.
She refused to admit that she had even thought that.
Damn him, where wahse? Who caredwhere he was anywayS?he didn’t, that was for sure.
Three times in arow he’ddone this.Three times in a row was
enough.She angrily flipped channels one moretime. There was a

programme about computers and somineteresting new developments in the field of things you could do with computers and music.
That was it. That was really it. She kntheawt she had told herself that that was it only seconds earlier,thbisutwas now thefinal real ultimate it.
She jumped to herfeet andwent to the phone, grippingan angry
Filofax. She flipped briskly through it and dialed a number.
‘Hello, Michael? Yes, it’s Susan. SusWanay. Yousaid I should call youif I wasfree this eveningand I saidI’d rather be dead in a
ditch, remember?Well, I suddenly discover thatamI
free, absolutely,
completely andutterly free, and theriesn’t a decentditch for miles around.Make yourmove while you’ve goyt our chance is my advice to
you. I’ll be at the Tangiers Club in half an hour.’
She pulled on her shoes and coat, paused when she remembereidt wasThursday andthat sheshould put a freshe,xtra-long tape on the
answeringmachine, and two minutes laterwas out of the front door.
that
Whenat last the phone did ring the answering machine said sweetly that
SusanWay could not come to tphheone just at the momenbtu, t that if the caller would like to leave a message, she wgeotulbdack to them as soon as possible. Maybe.
[::: CHAPTER 4 ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
It was a chill November evening of the old-fashioned type. The moonlooked pale and wan, asitisfhouldn’t beup on a night

likethis. It rose unwillingly and hung like an ill spectre.
Silhouetted againsitt, dim andhazy through thedampness which rose from the unwholesome fens, stood the assorted towanedrsturrets of St
Cedd’s, Cambridgea,
ghostly profusion of buildings thrownup over
centuries, medievanl ext to Victorian, Odeon next to Tudor. Only rising through the mist did they seem remotely to belong to one another. Between them scurried figures, hurrying from odniem poolof light
to another, shivering, leaving wraiths of breath which folded themselves into the cold night behind them.
It was seven o’clock.Many ofthe figures wereheading for the collegedining hall which dividedFirst Courtfrom Second Court, and from which warm light, reluctantly, streamed. Two figurpeasrtiincular seemed ill-matched. One, yaoung man, wastall, thin and angular; even muffledinside a heavy dark coat he walked a lliitktlee an affronted heron.
The other was small, roundish, and moved with an ungainly
restlessness, like a number of eldesrqlyuirrels trying toescape from
a sackH.
is own age was othne older side of completely indeterminate.
If you picked naumber at randomh, e was probably laittle older than that, but-- well,it was impossibleto tell. Certainly hifsace was
heavily lined, and the small amount of hair that escapedunfdroemr his
red woollen skiing hat was thin, whainted, had very much its own ideas about howit wishedto arrange itself.He too was muffleidnside a
heavycoat, but over it he wore a billowing gown with very faded purple
trim, the badge of his unique and peculiar academic office.

As they walked the older manwas doingall thetalking. He was pointing at itemosf interest along the wadye, spite the fact that it
wastoo dark to see any of them. The younger man was saying ‘Ah yes,’
and‘Really? How interesting...’ and ‘Well, well, well,’ an‘dGood heavens.’ His head bobbed seriously.
They entered, not through the main entrantocethe hall, but through a smaldl oorway onthe east side of the court. This letdhetoSenior CombinationRoom anda dark-panelled anteroom where the Fellows of the college assembledto slap their hands and ma‘kberrrrrr’ noises before
making their way through their own entrance to the High Table. They were late and shookoff their coats hurriedly. This was complicated for the oldmeran by the necessity first of taking off his professorial gowna, nd then of puttinigt back on again once his coat
was off, then ostfuffing his hat in his coat pocket, then of wondering where he’d puhtis scarf, andthen of realising that he hadn’t brought
it, then of fishining hiscoat pocket for hihsandkerchief, thenof fishingin his other coaptocket for his spectacles, and finally of
findingthem quite unexpectedly wrapped in his scarf, whicthurinted
out he had brought after baultl
hadn’tbeen wearing despite thdeamp
and bitterwind blowing in likae witch’s breath from across the fens. He bustled the younger mainto the hall ahead of him and they took the last two vacant seats at the High Table, braavfilnugrry of frowns
and raised eyebrows for interrupting the Latin grace to do so. Hall was full tonight. It was always more popular with the undergraduates inthe colder months. More unusually, the hall was
candlelit, as it wansow only on very few specoiaclcasions. Two long,

crowdedtables stretched off into the glimmering darkness. By candlelight, people’s faces were more alive, the hushed sooufndthseir voices, theclink of cutlery and glasses, seemmedore exciting, and in
the darkrecesses of the great hall, all the centuries for which it had existed seemed present at once. High Taitbselelf formed a crosspiece
at the top, and wraasised about a fooatbove the rest. Since it was a guest night, the table wsaest on both sidetso accommodate theextra numbers,and many diners therefore swatith their backs to the rest of the hall.
‘So, youngMacDuff,’ said the Professoronce he was seatedand flapping hisnapkin open, ‘pleasureto see you again, my dear fellow.
Glad you could come. Nidoea what all this is about,’ he added, peering roundthe hall in consternation.‘All the candles and silverand business.Generally means aspecial dinner inhonour ofsomeone or something noone can remember anything aboutexcept that it means
better food for a night.’
He paused and thoughftor a moment, and thesnaid, ‘Itseems odd, don’tyou think, that the qualityof the foodshould vary inversely
with thebrightness of the lighting. Makesyou wonder what culinary heightsthe kitchen staffcould rise to if you confinedthem to
perpetual darknessC. ould be worth a try, I think. Got some good vaults inthe college thact ould be turned over ttohe purpose. I thinkI
showed you round them once, hmmm? Nice brickwork.’ All this came assomething of arelief tohis guest. It wasthe
firstindication his host had given that he had the faintest

recollection who he was. Professor Urban Chronotis, the Regius Professor of Chronology, o‘Rr eg’ as heinsisted on being called had a memorythat he himself had once compared to the QueenAlexandra BirdwingButterfly, in thaitt wascolourful, flitted prettily hither
and thither, and was now, alas, almost completely extinct.
When he had telephoned with the invitataionfew days previously, he
had seemed extremely keeton
see his former pupil, and yet when Richard
hadarrived this evening, a little on tlhaete side,admittedly, the
Professor had thrown opethne door apparently in anger, had staritned
surprise on seeing Richard, demandteod know if he was having emotional problems, reactedin annoyance to being reminded gently that it was now ten years since he had been Richard’s college tutorf,inaanlldy agreed
that Richard had indeed come for dinner, whereuhpeo, nthe Professor, hadstarted talkingrapidly andat lengthabout the history ofthe
college architecture, a susreign that his mind was elsewhere entirely.
‘Reg’ had neveractually taught Richard, he had onlybeen his college tutorw, hich meant inshort thathe had hadcharge of his
general welfare, tolhdim when the exams were anndot to take drugs, and soon. Indeed, itwas not entirely cleairf Reg hadever taught anybodyat alland what, if anything, he wouhladve taught them. His professorship wasan obscure one, tosay the least, and since he dispensed withhis lecturing dutiesby thesimple and time-honoured technique of presenting ahlils potentialstudents with anexhaustive
list of books that he knew for ahafadctbeen outof print for thirty
years, then flyinignto atantrum if they failed
ftoind them, no one
had ever discoveretdhe precise nature ohfis academicdiscipline. He

had,of course, long agotaken the precaution of removintghe only extant copies of thbeooks on his readinlgist from the university and college libraries, as reasult of which he had plenty of time to, well, to do whatever it was he did.
Since Richard had always managed to get on reasonably well thweith
oldfruitcake, hehad one dayplucked up courage toask him what,
exactly, theRegius Professorship of Chronology was. It had been one of thoselight summery days whenthe worldseems aboutto burst with
pleasure at simply being itself, and Reg had been in an uncharacteristicallyforthcoming mood as they had walked over the bridge where the River Cadmivided the older parts othfe college from the newer.
‘Sinecure, my dearfellow, an absolute sinecure,’ he hbaedamed. ‘A small amount omf oney for a very small, or shall we say non-existent, amount of workT.hat puts mepermanently just ahead of the game, which isa comfortableif frugal placeto spend your life. I recommend it.’ Heleaned over the edgeof thebridge and started to point out a
particular brick thahte found interesting‘.But what sort of study is itsupposed tobe?’ Richard hadpursued. ‘Is ithistory? Physics? Philosophy? What?’
‘Well,’ saidReg, slowly, ‘sinceyou’re interested, the chair was originally instituted by King George III, whoy,ouas know, entertained a number of amusing notions, including the beliefontheatof the trees in Windsor Great Park was in fact Frederick the Great.
‘It was his own appointment, hence “RegiuHs”i.s own idea aws ell,

which is somewhat more unusual.’
Sunlight played along the RivCeram. People in punts happily shouted at each other to fuck off. Tnhaitnural scientists who had spent months locked away in their rooms growwinhgite and fishlike, emerged blinking into thelight. Couples walking along the bank got so excited about the general wonderfulness oift allthat theyhad topop inside for an
hour.
‘The poorbeleaguered fellow,’Reg continued,‘George III, I mean, was,as you mayknow, obsessed withtime. Filled the palacewith
clocks. Wound them incessantly. Sometimes would get up imn idthdele of the night and prowrolund the palacein his nightshirt winding clocks. Hewas veryconcerned that time continuetdo goforward, you see. So many terriblethings hadoccurred in his liftehat he was terrified
thatany ofthem might happen again if time were ever allotwo esdlip backwardseven for a moment. vAery understandable fear, especially if you’rebarking mad, as I’mafraid to say, with the very greatest
sympathy for the pooferllow, he undoubtedly was. He appointemde, or
rather I should say, my offitcheis,
professorship, you understand, the
post that aIm now privileged tohold to -- where waI?s
Oh yesH. e
institutedthis, er,Chair of Chronology to see if therewas any
particular reason why one thing happened aafnteorther and if there was any way of stopping it. Since the answetrhse ttohree questions were, Iknew immediately,yes, no, andmaybe, I realised I could then take the rest of my career off.’
‘And your predecessors?’
‘Er, were much of the same mind.’

‘But who were they?’
‘Who were they? Well, splendfidellows of course, splendid to a man. Remind me ttoell you about them some day. See tbhraitck? Wordsworth was once sick on that brick. Great man.’
All that had been about ten years ago.
Richard glancedaround the great dining hall to see what had changed in the timea,nd the answer was, of course, absolutneolything. In the darkheights, dimly seen by the flickering candlelight, were the
ghostly portraits of primmeinisters, archbishops, political reformers
and poets, any of whom might, in dthaeyi,r have been sick on that same brick.
‘Well,’ said Reg, in a loudly confidential whisper, as if
introducing the subject onfipple-piercing in a nunnery, ‘I hear you’ve suddenly done very well for yourself, at last, hmmm?’
‘Er, well, yes, in facts,a’id Richard, who was as surprised at the fact as anybody else, ‘yes, I have.’
Around the table several gazes stiffened on him.
‘Computers,’ he heardsomebody whisper dismissivelyto a neighbour furtherdown the table.The stiff gazes relaxedagain, andturned
away.
‘Excellent,’ said Reg. ‘I’m so pleased for you, so pleased.’
‘Tell me,’he went on, and it was a moment beRfoicrheard realised thatthe Professorwasn’t talkingto himany more, but had turned to theright to address his otherneighbour, ‘what’sall this about,
this,’ heflourished avague hand over the candles and college silver,

‘...stuff?’
His neighbour,an elderly wizenedfigure, turned very slowly and
looked at him as if whaes rather annoyed at being raised from the dead like this.
‘Coleridge,’ he said in a thin ra‘sitp’,s the Coleridge Dinner you oldfool.’ He turned very slowblyack untilhe wasfacing thefront again.His name was Cawley, he waas Professor of Archaeology and Anthropology, andit was frequently saiodf him, behind his back, that heregarded itnot so muchas a serious academic study, moares a chance to relive his childhood.
‘Ah, is it,’ murmured Reg‘,is it?’ and turnedback to Richard.
‘It’s theColeridge Dinner,’ hesaid knowledgeably.‘Coleridge wasa member of thceollege, you know,’ haedded after a moment. ‘Coleridge. SamuelTaylor. Poet. I expect you’ve heaorfd him. This is his Dinner. Well, noltiterally, of course.It would be cold by now.S’ilence.
‘Here, have some salt.’
‘Er, thank you, I think I’ll wait,’ said Richard, surprised. There was no food on the table yet.
‘Go on, take it,’ insistethde Professor, profferinghim the heavy silver salt cellar.
Richard blinkedin bemusementbut with an interior shrug he reached to take it. Ithne moment that he blinked, however, the salt cellar had completely vanished.
He started back in surprise.
‘Good one,eh?’ said Reg ashe retrievedthe missing cruet from behindthe ear of his deathly right-hand neighbour, provoking a

surprisinglygirlish giggle from somewhere else at the table. Reg smiled impishly. ‘Very irritatinhgabit, I knowI.t’s nexton my list for giving up after smoking and leeches.’
Well, that wasanother thing that hadn’ct hanged. Some people pick their noses, others habitually beat up old ladies osntrethetes. Reg’s vicewas a harmless if peculiar one --an addictionto childish
conjuring tricks. Richarrdemembered the first time he hbaeden to see Reg witha problem -- it was only nthoermal /Angst/ that periodically takes undergraduatesinto itsgrip, particularly when they have essays to writeb, ut it had seemed a dark and savage weightht eattime. Reg hadsat and listened to his outpourings with a deep frown of concentration, andwhen at last Richardhad finished, he pondered seriously,stroked his chin a lot, and at last leanefdorward and
looked him in the eye.
‘I suspect that your problem,’ shaeid, ‘is that you havtoeo many paper clips up your nose.’
Richard stared at him.
‘Allow me to demonstrate,’ saRideg, andleaning across the desk he pulled from Richard’nsose a chainof eleven paper clipasnd a small rubber swan.
‘Ah, thereal culprit,’ he said, holding up the sw‘Tanh.ey come in cerealpackets, you know, and cause neond of trouble. Well, I’m glad we’ve had this littclehat, my dear fellow. Please feel free to disturb me again if you have any more such problems.’
Needless to say, Richard didn’t.

Richard glanced around the tabtloe
see if there was anybody else he
recognised from his time at the college.
Two placesaway tothe left was the don who had beeRn ichard’s Director of Studies in English, who showed no sigrnescoogfnising him at all. Thiws as hardly surprising sinceRichard had spent his three years here assiduouslayvoiding him, often to the extent gorfowing a beard and pretending to be someone else.
Next to him was a man whoRmichard had never managetdo identify.
Neither, infact, had anyone elseH.
e was thin anvdole-like and had
the most extraordinarily long bony noseit r-e-ally was very, very long andbony indeed.In factit looked a loltike the controversial
keel whichhad helpedthe Australians win thAe merica’s Cupin 1983, and this resemblanchead been much remarkeudpon at the time, though not of course to his face. No onesahidadanything to his face at all. No one.
Ever.
Anyone meeting him for the first time was too startled and
embarrassed by his nose to speaankd,
the second time was worse because
ofthe first time, and so on. Years had gonneowby, seventeen in all. In all that time he had been cocooinnesdilence.In hall iht ad long been thehabit ofthe college servantsto position aseparate set of
salt, pepper and mustard on eitshiedre of him, sincneo one could ask him topass them, and to ask someone sittoinng theother side of him wasnot only rude but completely impossible because of his nose being in the way.
The other odd thing about hwimas a seriesof gestures he madaend

repeated regularlythroughout every evening. They consisted toapf ping
each ofthe fingers of hisleft hand inorder, and then one of the
fingers of his right hanHde.
wouldthen occasionally tap someother
part of his body, a knuckle, an elbow or a knee. Whenewvaesr fhoerced to stop this bthye requirements of eating he would start blinking each of his eyeisnstead, and occasionallynodding. Noone, of course, had ever daredto ask himwhy hedid this, though all were consumed with curiosity.
Richard couldn’t see who was sitting beyond him.
In theother direction, beyond Reg’s deathly neighbouwra, s Watkin, the ClassicsProfessor, aman of terrifying drynessand oddity. His heavy rimless glasses were almost solid cubes of wgliathsisn which his eyesappeared to lead independenetxistences like goldfish. His nose
was straight enough and ordinabryu,t beneath it he wore the same beard as ClinEt astwood. His eyes gazesdwimmingly around the table as he
selected whowas going to be spoken at tonight. He had thought that his preymight be oneof the guests, thenewly appointedHead of Radio Three,who wassitting opposite -- butunfortunately he had already beenensnared bythe Music Director of the college aandProfessor of Philosophy. These two were busy explainingtheto harassed man that the phrase ‘too much Mozart’ was, given any reasondaebflienition of those
three words, an inherentslyelf-contradictory expression, and that any sentencewhich contained such a phrase would bethereby rendered meaninglessand could not, consequentlyb, e advanced aspart ofan
argument infavour of any given programme-scheduling strategy. The poor

man was already beginnintog grip his cutlery too tightlyH. is eyes
darted about desperately lookinfgor rescue, and made the mistake of lighting on those of Watkin.
‘Good evening,’ saidWatkin with smiling charm, nodding in the most friendly way, and thelentting hisgaze settle glassily on to his bowl
of newly arrived soufpr,om which position it would not allow itself to
be movedY.
et. Let the bugger suffaer little. He wanted the rescue to
be worth at least a good half dozen radio talk fees.
Beyond Watkin, Richard suddenly discovered the source of the little girlish gigglethat had greetedReg’s conjuringtrick. Astonishingly
enough it was a litgtlierl. She was about eight years
wolidth blonde
hair and galum look. She was sitting occasionally kicking pettishly at the table leg.
‘Who’s that?’ Richard asked Reg in surprise.
‘Who’s what?’ Reg asked Richard in surprise.
Richard inclined a fingersurreptitiously inher direction. ‘The
girl,’ he whispered, ‘the very, very lgititrlle. Isit some new maths professor?’
Reg peered round at her. ‘Dyoou know,’ he said in astonishment, ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Never known anything like it. How extraordinary.’
At that moment the problem was solvedthbeyman fromthe BBC, who suddenly wrenchedhimself out of the logical half-nelson into which his neighbourshad got hima, nd told the girl off for kicking the table. Shestopped kicking the table, and instead kicked the airwith
redoubled vigour. Hteold herto try and enjoy herself, so she kicked

him. This did something btroing abrief glimmer of pleasure into her glum eveningb, ut it didn’ltast. Her father briefly shared withe
table atlarge his feelings about baby-sitters who let people down, but nobody felt able to run with the topic.
‘A major season of Buxtehude,’ resumed Dthierector of Music, ‘is of courseclearly long overdue.I’m sureyou’ll be lookingforward to remedying this situation at the first opportunity.’
‘Oh, er, yes,’replied the girl’sfather, spilling his soup‘,er, that is... he’s not the same one as Gluck, is he?’
The littlegirl kickedthe table leg again. Whehner father looked
sternly at hers,he put her head on one side and mouthed a question at him.
‘Not now,’ he insisted at her as quietly as he could.
‘When, then?’
‘Later. Maybe. Later, we’ll see.’
She hunched grumpilyback in herseat. ‘You always say laters,h’ e mouthed at him.
‘Poor child,’murmured Reg. ‘There isn’at
don at this table who
doesn’t behave exactllyike thatinside. Ah, thankyou.’ Their soup arrived, distracting his attention, and Richard’s.
‘So tell me,’ said Reg, after theyhad both had a couple of
spoonsful and arriveidndependently at the same conclusion, that it was not a taste explosion, ‘what you’ve been up to, mychdape.arSomething to dowith computers, I understand,and also to dowith music. I thoughtyou read English when you wehreere -- though only, I realise,

in your spare time.’ He looked at Richard significantly over tohfe rim
hissoup spoon.‘Now wait,’ he interruptebdefore Richardeven had a
chance to star‘t,don’t Ivaguely remember that you had some soft
computer when you were here? When was it? 1977?’
‘Well, what we called acomputer in 1977was reallya kindof electric abacus, but...’
‘Oh, now, don’t underestimate the abacus,s’aid Reg. ‘Inskilled handsit’s a verysophisticated calculating device. Furthermoreit
requires no power, can be made with any materials youtohahvaend, and never goes bing in the middle of an important piece of work.’
‘So anelectric one would be particularly pointless,’ said Richard.
‘True enough,’ conceded Reg.
‘There really wasn’t a lotht is machine could dtohat you couldn’t doyourself in halfthe time witha lot less trouble,’ said Richard,
‘butit was, on the other hand,very good at being a slow and dim- witted pupil.’
Reg looked at him quizzically.
‘I had no idea they wesruepposed tobe inshort supply,’ he said.
‘I could hit a dozen with a bread roll from where I’m sitting.’
‘I’m sure.But lookat it this wayW.
hat really isthe point of
trying to teach anything to anybody?’
This question seemed toprovoke a murmurof sympatheticapproval from up and down the table.
Richard continued, ‘What Imean is that ifyou reallywant to understand something, the best way is to tryexapnldain it to someone
else.That forces you to sort it oiunt your own mindA. nd the more

slow and dim-witteydour pupil,the more you have to break things down intomore and moresimple ideas. And that’sreally the essence of programming.By thetime you’ve sorted out a complicatedidea into
little steps that even a stumpiadchine can deal with, you’ve certainly learned somethingabout it yourself. Theteacher usually learns more than the pupil. Isn’t that true?’
‘It would be hard to learmnuch less thanmy pupils,’came alow growlfrom somewhereon thetable, ‘without undergoing pare-frontal lobotomy.’
‘So Iused to spenddays struggling to writeessays onthis 16K
machine that would have takaencouple ofhours ona typewriter, but what was fascinating to me was the proocfestsrying toexplain to the
machine what
wit as I wanted ito do. I virtually wrote mowy n word
processor in BASICA.
simplesearch and replace routine wouldtake
about three hours.’
‘I forget, did you ever get any essays done at all?’
‘Well, not assuch. No actual essays, but the reasons why not were absolutely fascinating. For instance, I discovered that...’
He broke off, laughing at himself.
‘I was also playing keyboardins
a rock group, of course,’ he added.
‘That didn’t help.’
‘Now, that I didn’t know,’ saRideg. ‘Yourpast has murkier things in it thaIn dreamed possible. A qualitIy,might add, that it shares with thissoup.’ He wiped his mouth whitihs napkin very carefully. ‘I
must go and have a word wthieth kitchen staff one day. I would like to

besure that they are keeping the right baintsd throwing the proper bitsaway. So. A rocgkroup, you say. Well, well, well. Good heavens.’
‘Yes,’ said Richard. ‘We called ourselves The Reasonably Good Band, but infact we weren’t. Our intentiownas to be theBeatles ofthe
earlyeighties, but we got much better financial and laedgvailce than
the Beatles evedrid, which was basically ‘Don’t bother’, so we didn’t. I left Cambridge and starved for three years.’
‘But didn’t Ibump into you during that period,’ said Reg, ‘and you said you were doing very well?’
‘As a roadsweeper, yes.There was anawful lot of mess onthe
roads. Morethan enough, I felto,
support an entire career. However,
I got the sack for sweeping the mess on to another sweeper’s patch.’ Reg shook his head. ‘The wrong career for Iy’omu,sure. Thereare
plenty of vocations where such behaviour would ensure rapid preferment.’
‘I tried a few-- none of them much grander, though. And I kept none
of them very long, because I
awlwasays too tiredto do them properly.
I’d be found asleep slumpoevder the chicken sheds or filing cabinets -
-depending on what the job waBse.en up all night witthhe computer you see, teachinigt toplay “ThreeBlind Mice”. It waasn important goal for me.’
‘I’m sure,’agreed Reg.‘Thank you,’ he said to the college servant who tookhis half-finished plateof soup from him‘,thank you very
much. “Three Blind Micee”h, ? Good. Good.So nodoubt yousucceeded eventually, and thiasccounts for your present celebrated status. Yes?’
‘Well, there’s a bit more to it than that.’

‘I feared there might bPei.ty you didn’t bring it with you though. Itmight have cheeredup the poor young ladwyho iscurrently having our dull and crusctyompany forced upon her. Aswift burst of“Three
BlindMice” would probably do much to revive her spirits.’ He leaned forward to look past his two right-hand neighbours agtirlt,hewho was still sitting sagging in her chair.
‘Hello,’ he said.
She looked up in surprise, and then dropped her eyes shyly, swinging her legs again.
‘Which do you think is worse,’enquired Reg, ‘the soup or the company?’
She gave a tiny, reluctant laugh and shrugged, still looking down.
‘I think you’re wise not to commit yourself at this stage,’
continuedReg. ‘Myself, I’mwaiting tosee the carrots beforIe make
any judgements. They’ve been boiling them since the weekendI, fbeaurt
it may not be enougThh.e only thing thactould possibly be worse than thecarrots isWatkin. He’sthe man withthe silly glassessitting
between us. My nameR’seg, by the wayC. ome over and kick me when you havea moment.’ The girl giggledand glanced up at Watkin, who
stiffenedand made anappallingly unsuccessful attempt to smigleood- naturedly.
‘/Well/, little girl,’he said to her awkwardly, and she had desperately tosuppress a hootof laughter at hisglasses. Little conversation thereforeensued, but the girl had an alalyn,d began to
enjoy herself a tiny litbtliet. Her father gave her a relievsmedile.

Reg turned back to Richard,who said, suddenly‘,Do you have any family?’
‘Er... no,’ saidReg, quietly.‘But tell me. After“Three Blind
Mice”, what then?’
‘Well, to cut a longstory short, Reg,I ended upworking for
WayForward Technologies...’
‘Ah, yes, the famous Mr Way. Tell me, what’s he like?’ Richard was always faintly annoyed by this question, probably because he was asked it so often.
‘Both better andworse than he’s represented in the preIslsi.ke hima lot, actually. Like any driven man he bceana bittrying at
times, but I’vkenown him since the very early days of the company when
neither he noIr hada bean to ournames. He’s fineI.t’s just that
it’sa good idea not
lteot him haveyour phone number unless you
possess an industrial-grade answering machine.’
‘What? Why’s that?’
‘Well, he’s one of those people who canonly think whenhe’s talking. Whenhe has ideas, hehas totalk them out to whoevwerill listen.Or, ifthe peoplethemselves are not available, which is increasingly the caseth, eir answeringmachines will do just awsell.
He just phones them
aunpd talks atthem. He hasone secretary whose
solejob is to collecttapes from people he might have phoned,
transcribe them, sort them agnidve him the edited text the next day in a blue folder.’
‘A blue one, eh?’
‘Ask me why hedoesn’t simply use a tapreecorder,’ said Richard

with a shrug.
Reg consideredthis. ‘I expecthe doesn’t use a tape recorder because he doesn’t like talking to himself,’ he said. ‘Thelroegiics a
there. Of a kind.’
He took a mouthful of hisnewly arrived/porc au poivre/ and ruminatedon itfor a whilebefore gently laying hiksnife and fork aside again for the moment.
‘So what,’ hesaid at last, ‘is the roloef young MacDuff in all
this?’
‘Well, Gordon assigned me
wtorite a major piece of software for the
Apple Macintosh. Financiaslpreadsheet, accounting, that sort of thing, powerful, easy to use, l ofs graphics.I asked him exactly what he wantedin it, andhe just said, “Everything.wIant the toppiece of
all-singing, all-dancing business softwafroer that machine.” And being of a slightly whimsical turn of mind I took him literally.
‘You see, a patteronf numbers can represent anythinygou like, can
be used to map any surface, or modualnaytedynamic process -- and so on. Andany set of company accounts airne, the end, just a pattern of numbers. So I sat down and wropterogaram that’lltake those numbers anddo what you likwe ith them. If you just want a bar graphdoit’ll
themas a bar graph, if you want them as a pie ocrhascrtatter graph it’ll dothem asa pie chart osrcatter graph.If you wantdancing
girls jumping out of the cphieart in order to distract attention from
the figures the pciehart actually represents, then the program will do that aswell. Or you catnurn your figures into, for instance, a flock

ofseagulls, and the formation they filny and theway in which the wings of each gublel at will be determined bthye performanceof each divisionof your company. Great for producing animated corporate logos that actually /mean/ something.
‘But the silliest feature of all was that ifwyaonuted your company accounts represented aas piece ofmusic, it could dtohat as well. Well,I thought it wassilly. Thecorporate worldwent bananas over it.’
Reg regarded him solemnly from over apiece of carrot poised delicately on his fork in front of him, but did not interrupt.
‘You see, any aspect of apiece of music can beexpressed as a
sequence or pattern of numberesn,’thused Richard. ‘Numbers can express the pitchof notes, thelength ofnotes, patterns of pitches and
lengths.’
‘You mean tunes,’ said Reg. The carrot had not moved yet. Richard grinned.
‘Tunes would be a very good word for it. I must remember that.’
‘It wouldhelp youspeak more easily.’ Rergeturned the carrot to
his plate, untasted. ‘And this software did well, then?’ he asked.
‘Not so muchhere. Theyearly accountsof most Britishcompanies emerged sounding like thDeead March from/Saul/, but in Japan they wentfor it likea pack of ratsI.t producedlots of cheery company anthems that startewd ell, but if you were going tcoriticise you’d
probablysay that they tended to get a bit loud and squeaky at the end. Didspectacular business in the Statesw, hich wasthe main thing,
commercially. Though the thing thaitn’steresting me most now is what

happensif you leave thaeccounts outof it. Turn the numbersthat represent theway a swallow’s wings beat directly intomusic. What
would youhear? Not thesound of cash registers, according to Gordon.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Reg, ‘quitefascinating,’ and popped the carrot at last into hmisouth. He turned and leaned forwartod speak to his new girlfriend.
‘Watkin loses,’ he pronounced. ‘The carrohtasve achieved a new all- time low. Sorry, Watkin, bauwt ful as you are, the carrots, I’m afraid, are world-beaters.’
The girl giggled more easiltyhan last timeand she smiled at him. Watkin wastrying to take all this good-naturedly, but it was clear as his eyes swam Rateg that hewas more used to discomfiting than being discomfited.
‘Please, Daddy, can I now?’ With her new-found, if slight, confidence, the girl had also found a voice.
‘Later,’ insisted her father.
‘This is already later. I’ve been timing it.’
‘Well...’ He hesitated, and was lost.
‘We’ve beento Greece,’ announced the girl ina small but awed voice.
‘Ah, have you indeed,’ said Watkiwn,ith a little nod. ‘Well, well. Anywhere in particular, or just Greece generally?’
‘Patmos,’ she said decisively‘.It was beautiful. I think Patmioss
themost beautiful place inthe wholeworld. Exceptthe ferry never
came whenit saidit would. Never,ever. I timed iWt. e missedour

flight but I didn’t mind.’
‘Ah, Patmos,I see,’ saidWatkin, who wasclearly rousedby the
news.‘Well, what you have to understand, young ladyis,
thatthe
Greeks, not content widthominating the culture of the Classical world, are also responsible for the greatest, some would saoynltyh,e work of truecreative imagination produced this centurays well. Irefer of
courseto the Greek ferry timetables. A wofkthe sublimest fiction.
Anyone whohas travelled in the Aegean wciollnfirm this. Hmm, yesI.
think so.’
She frowned at him.
‘I found a pot,’ she said.
‘Probably nothing,’interrupted her father hastily. ‘Youknow the wayit is. Everyone who goetso Greecefor the first time thinks they’ve found a pot, don’t they? Ha, ha.’
There were general nods. This was true. Irritating, but true.
‘I found it in the harbour,’ she said, ‘inwathteer. While wewere waiting for the damn ferry.’
‘Sarah! I’ve told you...’
‘It’s just what you calledit. Andworse. Youcalled it words I didn’t thinkyou knew. Anyway, I thoughtht at ifeveryone here was meant to be so clevtehre, n someone would be able to tell mite wifas a proper ancient Greek thing or not. I thin/kveirty’s/ old.Will you please let them see it, Daddy?’
Her father shrugged hopelesslyand startedto fish about under his chair.
‘Did youknow, young lady,’ saidWatkin toher, ‘that the Book of

Revelation waswritten onPatmos? It was indeed. By SaintJohn the Divine, as you know. Tmoe itshows very clearsigns of having been written while waiting for a ferry. Oh, ytehsin, kI so. It startosff, doesn’t itw, ith that kind of dreaminess you get whyeonu’re killing time,getting bored, you know, just making things up, and then gradually growsto a sort of climax ohfallucinatory despair. I find thatvery suggestive. Perhapsyou shouldwrite a paperon it.’ He nodded at her.
She looked at him as if he were mad.
‘Well, here it is,’ said her father, plonkthinegthingdown on the table. ‘Justa pot, as yosuee. She’s only six,h’e added with a grim smile, ‘aren’t you, dear?’
‘Seven,’ said Sarah.
The pot was quite small, about five inchehsigh and fourinches
across at its widepsot int. The bodywas almost spherical, with a very
narrow neck extending aboaunt
inchabove the body. The neck and about
half ofthe surface area were encrustewdith hard-caked earth, but the parts of the pot that could be seen were of a rough, ruddy texture. Sarah took it and thrust it into htahneds of the don sitting on her
right.
‘You look clever,’ she said. ‘Tell me what you think.’ The don took ita, nd turnedit over with salightly supercilious air.‘I’m sure if you scraped awaythe mud from the bottom,’ he
remarked wittily, ‘it would probably say “Made in Birmingham”.’
‘That old, eh?’ saiSdarah’s father with a forceladugh. ‘Long time

since anything was made there.’
‘Anyway,’ said thedon, ‘not myfield, I’m a molecular biologist. Anyone else want to have a look?’
This question was notgreeted with wildyelps of enthusiasm, but nevertheless the pot was passed from htaondhand around the far end of the tablein a desultory fashionI.t was goggled at through pebble
glasses,peered at through horn-rimsg, azed at over half-moons, and
squintedat bysomeone who had left his glasses
hinis othersuit,
which hevery muchfeared had now gone to the cleaner’s. No one seemed to knowhow old it waso, r tocare very much. The younggirl’s face
began to grow downhearted again.
‘Sour lot,’ said Reg to Richard. He pickuepd asilver salt cellar again and held it up.
‘Young lady,’ he said, leaning forward to address her.
‘Oh, not again, you old fool,’ mutteredthe aged archaeologist
Cawley, sitting back and putting his hands over his ears.
‘Young lady,’ repeated Reg, ‘regard this simple silver salt cellar. Regard this simple hat.’
‘You haven’t got a hat,’ said the girl sulkily.
‘Oh,’ said Reg, ‘amoment please,’ and he wenatnd fetched his woolly red one.
‘Regard,’ he said again, ‘thissimple silver salt cellarR. egard
this simple woollhyat. I put the sacletllar inthe hat, thus, and I passthe hat to you. Thneext part of the trick, dear lady... is up to you.’
He handedthe hatto her,past their two intervening neighbours,

Cawley and Watkin. She took the hat and looked inside it.
‘Where’s it gone?’ she asked, staring into the hat.
‘It’s wherever you put it,’ said Reg.
‘Oh,’ said Sarah, ‘I see. Well... that wasn’t very good.’
Reg shrugged. ‘Ahumble trick, but it gives me pleasuhree,’ said,
and turned back to Richard. ‘Now, what were we talking about?’ Richard lookedat him with a slight sense of shock. He knew that the Professor had always been protnoe sudden and erratimc ood swings, but itwas as if all the warmth had drainedofohuitm in aninstant. He
nowwore the samedistracted expression Richard had seen on hfaisce whenfirst he had arrived at his door that evening, apparently
completely unexpected. Resgeemed then tosense that Richard was taken aback and quickly reassembled a smile.
‘My dear chap!’ he said. ‘My dear chap! My dear, dear Wchhaapt !was
I saying?’
‘Er, you were saying “My dear chap”.’
‘Yes, butI feel sure it was a prelude to something. A sort of short toccata on thteheme of what a splendid fellow you are priorto
introducing themain subjectof my discourse, thenature ofwhich I
currently forget. You have no idea what I was about to say?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. Well, I suppose sIhould be pleased. If everyonkenew exactly what I was going to say, then twheorueld be no point in msayying it, would there? Now, how’s our young guest’s pot doing?’
In fact it hadreached Watkin, who pronounced himself no expert on

what the ancients hamdade for themselves to drink out of, only on what they had written a result. He saitdhat Cawley was the one to whose knowledge and experience they should all baonwd, attempted to give the pot to him.
‘I said,’ he repeated, ‘yourws as theknowledge and experience to whichwe should bow. Ohf,or heaven’s sake, takyeour hands offyour ears and have a look at the thing.’
Gently, but firmly, he drew Cawley’s right hand from hisear, explainedthe situation to him oncaegain, and handed himthe pot. Cawley gave it a cursory but clearly expert examination.
‘Yes,’ he said‘,about two hundred years old, I woutlhdink. Very rough.Very crude example of itstype. Utterly withoutvalue, of course.’
He put itdown peremptorily and gazed off into the old minstrel gallery, which appeared to anger him for some reason.
The effect on Sarah wasimmediate. Alreadydiscouraged, she was thoroughlydowncast by this.She bit herlip and threw herself back againsther chair, feelingonce againthoroughly out ofplace and childish.Her father gave hera warninglook about misbehaving, and then apologised for her again.
‘Well, Buxtehude,’ hehurried on to say, ‘yesg,ood old Buxtehude. We’ll have to see what we can do. Tell me...’
‘Young lady,’ interrupted a voice, hoarse witahstonishment, ‘you are clearly a magician and enchantress of prodigious powers!’ All eyes turnedto Reg, theold show-off.He was gripping the pot
andstaring at it with manic fascination. He turned his sleoywesly to

the little girl, aifs for the firstitme assessing the power of a feared adversary.
‘I bow to you,’ he whispered. ‘I, unworthoyugh I am tsopeak in
the presence of such a power as yours,lebavege to congratulate you on oneof thefinest feats of the conjurer’s art it has been my privilege
to witness!’
Sarah stared at him with widening eyes.
‘May I show these peopwlehat you have wrought?’ he asked earnestly. Very faintly shenodded, and hefetched her formerly precious, but
now sadly discredited, pot a sharp rap on the table.
It split into two irregular partthse,
caked clay with whichwiat s
surrounded falling in jaggesdhards onthe table.One side of the pot fell away, leaving the rest standing.
Sarah’s eyes goggledat the stained and tarnished but clearly recognisable silver college sacletllar, standing jammed in the remains of the pot.
‘Stupid old fool,’ muttered Cawley.
After the general disparagement andcondemnation of this cheap parlour trick hadied down -- none ofwhich could dim the awe in Sarah’s eyes -- Reg turned to Richard and said, idly:
‘Who was that friendof yours when you were here, do you esvee him?Chap withan odd EastEuropean name. Svlad something. Svlad Cjelli. Remember the fellow?’
Richard looked at him blankly for a moment.
‘Svlad?’ he said. ‘Oh, you meanDirk. Dirk Cjelli. NoI.never

stayed intouch. I’vebumped into him a coupolef times in the street
but that’s all. I think he changesnahmise fromtime to timeW.
hy do
you ask?’
[::: CHAPTER 5 ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
High on his rocky promontory tEhleectric Monk continued to sit on a horse which wagsoing quietly and uncomplainingly spare. From under its roughwoven cowl the Monk gazed unblinkingly down into the valley, with which it wahsaving aproblem, but theproblem wasa new and hideous
one to the Monk, for it was this -- Doubt.
He never sufferedit for long, but when he did,gnitawed at the very root of his being.
The daywas hot; the susntood in anempty hazy sky anbdeat down
upon the grey rockasnd the scrubby, parched grass. Nothing movneodt,
even the Monk. But strange thinwgesre beginningto fizz in its brain,
as they did fromtime to time whean piece of data became misaddressed as it passed through its input buffer.
But then the Monk began to beliefvitef,ully and nervously at first, butthen with a great searinwghite flame of beliewf hich overturned allprevious beliefs, including the stupid one about the vablleeiyng
pink, thatsomewhere down in the valley, about a mile from where he was sitting,there would shortly open up a mysterious doorwayinto a
strange and distant worlad, doorwaythrough which he might enter. An
astounding idea.

Astoundingly enough, however, on this one occasion he was perfectly right.
The horse sensed that something was up.
It pricked up its ears and gensthlyook its head. It had gone into a sort oftrance looking at the samcelump of rocks for so long, and was on the verge of imagining thteombe pinkitself. It shook its head a
little harder.
A slighttwitch on the reins, and a prod fromMthoenk’s heels and they were off, pickinthgeir way carefully down throecky incline. The way was difficult. Much itowf as loose shale -- loose brown agnredy shale,with the occasional brown and green plant clinging to a precarious existence on it. The Monk noticed this without
embarrassment. It waasn older, wiser Monnkow, andhad putchildish thingsbehind it. Pinkvalleys, hermaphrodite tables, these were all naturalstages through which onehad to passon the pathto true enlightenment.
The sun beat hard othnem. The Monk wiped the sweat and dust off its face andpaused, leaning forwardon the horse’sneck. It peered down through the shimmering heat haazte a large outcrop of rock which stood out onto thefloor of the valley. There, behind thaotutcrop, was
where the Monk thought, roarther passionately believed ttohe core of itsbeing, the door would appear. It tried to fomcourse closely,but
the details of the view swam confusingly in the hot rising air. As itsat back in its saddle, and was about tporod thehorse
onward, it suddenly noticed a rather odd thing.

On a flattishwall of rocknearby, in fact so nearby that the Monk was surprised not to have noticebdefiot re, was alarge painting. The paintingwas crudely drawn, thougnhot without a certain stylish sweep ofline, and seemed very old, possibly very, very old indeed. The paint was faded, chippeadnd patchy, and it was difficult to discern with any clarity whathe picture was. The Monk approached the picture more closely. It looked like a primitive hunting scene.
The group of purple, multi-limbed creatures were clearly early
hunters. Theycarried rough spears, and were in hot pursuit laorfgea
hornedand armoured creaturew, hich appeared to have been wounded in the hunat lready. Thecolours were nowso dimas to be almost non- existent. In fact, all that cobueld clearly seen watshe white of the
hunters’ teeth, whicsheemed to shine with a whiteness whose lustre was undimmed by the passage of what must have mbeaenny thousands of years. In fact they even put the Monk’s toewetnh to shame, and he had cleaned them only that morning.
The Monk had seenpaintings like this beforeb,ut only in pictures or on the TVne, ver in real life.They were usuallyto be found in
caves where they were protected frtohme elements, otherwise they would not have survived.
The Monklooked more carefully at the immediate environs of the rock walland noticed that, though not exactly in a cave, it was
nevertheless protected by a larogveerhang and waswell sheltered from thewind and rain. Odd, though, that it shohualvde managed to last so long. Odderstill that it should appenarot to have been discovered.
Such cave paintings athsere were were all famous and familiar images,

but this was not one that he had ever seen before.
Perhaps this was a dramatic and historic find he had made. Perhaps if hewere to return to thceity and announce this discovery he would
be welcomed backg,iven anew motherboardafter all and allowedto believe --to believe-- believe what? He paused, blinked, asnhdook his head to clear a momentary system error.
He pulled himself up short.
He believed in a door. Hmeust find that door. The door was the way to... to...
The Door was The Way. Good.
Capital letters were always the best woafydealing with thingysou didn’t have a good answer to.
Brusquely he tugged the horse’s head round uarngded it onwardand downward. Withina few minutes more oftricky manoeuvring they had reachedthe valley floor, and he wasmomentarily disconcerted to discoverthat the fine top layer of dust that had settled on the brown
parched earthwas indeed a very pale brownish pink, particularly on the banksof the sluggish trickleof mudwhich was all that remained, in
thehot season, of the river that flowtherdough the valley when the rainscame. He dismounted and bent down to feel the pinkanddustrun itthrough hisfingers. It was very fine and soft and felt pleasant as herubbed iton his skinI.t was abouthe samecolour, perhaps a
little paler.
The horse was looking at him. He realised,a little belatedly

perhaps, that thheorse must be extremely thirsty. He was extremely thirstyhimself, buthad tried tokeep his mindoff it. He unbuckled thewater flask from the saddle. It was pathetically light. He unscrewedthe top and tookone single swig. Thenhe poured a little into his cupped hand and offeirtedtothe horse, whoslurped at it greedily and briefly.
The horse looked at him again.
The Monk shook his head sadly, reseatlheed bottle andreplaced it. Heknew, in that small partof his mind wherehe kept factual and logical informationt,hat it would not last muchlonger, and that, without it, neithewr ould they. Itwas onlyhis Belief thakt ept him going, currently his Belief in The Door.
He brushed the pink dustfrom hisrough habit, and then stood
lookingat the rocky outcrop, a mehruendred yardsdistant. He looked atit not without a slight, tiny trepidation. Althotuhgehmajor part
of hismind was firm in itesternal and unshakeable Belief that there
would be a Door behind the outcrop, and that the Door would WbeayT, he
yet the tinpyart of his brain thuant derstood about the water bottle couldnot help but recall past disappointmenatnsd sounded a very tiny but jarring note of caution.
If heelected not to go and see TDhoeor for himself, then he could continueto believe in it forever.wIot uld be thelodestone of his
life (what littlwe as left of it, said the part of his brain that knew about the water bottle).
If onthe other hand he went to payrehsips ects to the Door and it
wasn’t there... what then?

The horse whinnied impatiently.
The answer, ofcourse, was verysimple. He hada whole boardof circuitsfor dealing with exactly thipsroblem, in facthis was the
very heart of his function. He would continue to beliietvewhinatever the facts turned out to be, what else was the meaning of Belief? The Door would still be there, even if the door was not.
He pulled himself together. The Door would be there, anmdushtenow go to it, because The Door was The Way.
Instead of remounting hihsorse, he led iTt.he Way was but a short way, and he should enter the presence of the Door in humility.
He walked, braveand erect, with solemn slowness. He approached the rocky outcrop. He reached it. He turned the corner. He looked.
The Door was there.
The horse, it must be said, was quite surprised.
The Monk fell to his knees in
ande bewilderment. So braced was he
for dealing with the disappointment twhaats habitually his lot that, though he woulndever know toadmit it,he was completelyunprepared for this. He stared at The Door in sheer, blank system error.
It wasa door such as hhead never seen before. Allthe doors he knewwere greatsteel-reinforced things,because of all the video recorders and dishwashers thwatere kept behind themp, lus of course all the expensive Electric Monks that were neetodebdelieve in it all.
Thisone was simple, wooden and small, aboutohwisn size. A Monk-size door, painted white, with a single, slightly debnrtaesds knob slightly
less than halfway up one side. It was set simplyroinckthfeace, with

no explanation as to its origin or purpose.
Hardly knowing how he dared, the poor starMtleodnk staggered to his feetand, leadinghis horse, walkednervously forward towards it. He reachedout and touched iHt. e was so startled when no alarms went off that he jumped back. He touched it again, more firmly this time.
He let his hand drop slowly
thoe handle -- again, naolarms. He
waited to be sure, and then he tuirtn, evdery, very gently. He faelt
mechanismrelease. He held his breath. Nothing.He drew thedoor
towards him, anidt came easily. He looked inside, but the interior was so dimin contrast withthe desert sun outside thathe couldsee
nothing.At last, almost dead with wonder, he enteredp,ulling the horse in after him.
A few minuteslater, a figure that had been sittinogutof sight aroundthe next outcrop ofrock finished rubbing dust onhis face, stoodup, stretched his limbasnd made his way back towards dthoeor, patting his clothes as he did so.
[::: CHAPTER 6 ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
‘In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:’
The reader clearlybelonged tothe school ofthought whichholds
that a sense of tsheeriousness or greatness of a poem is best imparted

byreading it in a silly voice. Hseoared and swooped at thwe ords until they seemed to duck and run for cover.
‘Where Alph, the sacred river ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.’
Richard relaxed back into hisseat. The wordswere very, very familiar to him, as they conuoldt help butbe to any English graduate of St Cedd’s College, and they settled easily into his mind.
The association of the college with Coleridge was taken very
seriously indeedd, espite the man’s well-known predilection for certain recreationalpharmaceuticals underthe influenceof which this, his
greatest work, was composed, in a dream.
The entire manuscript was lodged in the safe-keeping of the college library,and it was fromthis itself,on theregular occasion of the Coleridge Dinner, that the poem was read.
‘So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.’

Richard wondered how long it took. He glanscieddeways at his former
Director of Studieasnd wasdisturbed by the sturdy purposefulneossf his readingposture. The singsong voice irritatedhim at first, but
after a while it began to lull him insatnedad,he watched a rivulet of waxseeping over theedge of acandle that wasburning low now and throwing a guttering light over the carnage of dinner.
‘But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!’
The smallquantities ofclaret that hehad allowed himself during
the courseof the meal seeped warmtlhyrough his veinsa, nd soon his
own mind began to wander, and provoked by Reg’s question eatrhlieer in
meal, hewondered what had lately become ohis former... was friend
the word? He seemed more likseucacession of extraordinary events than a person. The idea of haicmtually having friends as such seemed not so much unlikely, morae sort of mismatching of concepts, like the idea of the Suez crisis popping out for a bun.
Svlad Cjelli. Popularly known as Ditrhko, ugh, again, ‘popular’was hardly right. Notoriousc,ertainly; soughtafter, endlessly speculated
about,those too were true. But popular?Only in thesense that a
seriousaccident on the motorway migbhet
popular -- everyone slows
downto have a good loobku, t no one will get too close to the flames.

Infamous was more like it. Svlad Cjelli, infamously known as Dirk. He was rounder than the averaguendergraduate and wore morheats. That isto say,there wasjust the one hawt hich he habitually wore,
buthe woreit with a passiotnhat was rarein one so young. The hat
was darkred and round, with a very flat brim, and it appeamreodveto
asif balanced ongimbals, whichensured its perfect horizontality at alltimes, however its owner moved his head.As a hat it wasa remarkable rather than entirely successful piece of persona! decoration. It would makaen elegantadornment, stylish,shapely and
flattering,if the wearer were a small bedside lamp, but not otherwise. People gravitated aroundhim, drawn in bythe storieshe denied
about himself, buwt hat the sourceof these stories might be, if not his own denials, was never entirely clear.
The tales had to dowith the psychicpowers that he’dsupposedly inherited from hims other’s side ofthe familywho heclaimed, had livedat the smarter end of Transylvania. Thiast to say, hdeidn’t
make anysuch claim at all, ansdaid it wasthe most absurd nonsense. He strenuouslydenied that therewere bats of any kinadt all in his familyand threatened to sue anybody who put aboutsuch malicious fabrications, buthe affectednevertheless towear a large and flappy leathercoat, and had oneof those machines in hisroom which are
supposedto help cure babdacks ifyou hang upside down from them. He wouldallow people todiscover him hanging from thims achine at all
kindsof odd hoursof the day, and moreparticularly of the night,
expressly so that he couvlidgorously deny that it had any significance

whatsoever.
By meansof an ingenious series of strategically deployed denials of themost exciting andexotic things,he was able to create thmeyth
that he was a psychic, mystic, telepathic, fey, clairvoyant, psychosassic vampire bat.
What did ‘psychosassic’ mean?
It was hisown word and hveigorously denied that it meant anything at all.
‘And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced: Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted...’
Dirk had also been perpetually broke. This would change. It was his room-mate who started it, a credulous fellowcalled Mander,who, if the truth were known,had probably been specially selected by Dirk for his credulity.
Steve Mander noticed thatif ever Dirkwent to bed drunhke would talk in his sleep. Noontly that, but the sort of thinghse would say
in his sleewp ould be things like‘,The opening up otfrade routes to
the mumblemumble burble was the turning point for the growth of empire in the snore footle mumble. Discuss.’
‘...like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:’
The first timethis happened SteveMander sat bolt upright in bed. This was shortly before preleimxams in the second yeaarn, d what Dirk hadjust said, orjudiciously mumbled, sounded remarkably like a very likely question in the Economic History paper.
Mander quietlygot up, crossed over
Dtoirk’s bed and listened very
hard,but other thana few completely disconnectedmumblings about Schleswig-Holsteinand the Franco-Prussian war, the latter being largely directed by Dirk into his pillow, he learned nothing more. News, however, spread -- quietly, discreetly, and like wildfire.
‘And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.’
For the next monthDirk foundhimself being constantly wined and dinedin the hopethat he would sleep very soundly that nigahnt d
dream-speak a fewmore exam questionsR. emarkably, it seemed thatht e better he was fed, and the finer the vinotfagtheewine he was given
to drink, the lehsse wouldtend tosleep facingdirectly into his pillow.
His scheme, therefore, watso exploit his alleged gifts without ever actually claiming to have them. In fact he would resatoctrietos about
his supposed powers with open incredulity, even hostility.

‘Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!’
Dirk was also,he denied, a clairaudient.He would sometimes hum tunesin his sleepthat two weeks later would turn out to be a hit for someone. Not too difficult to organise, really.
In fact,he had alwaysdone the bareminimum of research necessary to support thesme yths. He waslazy, andessentially what he diwd as allow people’s enthusiasticredulity to dothe work for him. The laziness wasessential -- if hissupposed featsof the paranormal had
beendetailed and accuratet,hen people might have been suspicious and lookedfor otherexplanations. On theother hand,the more vague and ambiguous his‘predictions’ the more other people’s own wishful
thinking would close the credibility gap.
Dirk never made mucohut of it -- at least, he appeanreodt to. In fact, the benefitto himself, as a student, of being continually wined
and dinedat other people’sexpense was moreconsiderable than anyone would expect unless they sat down and worked out the figures. And, of course, he never claime-d- in fact, he activedlyenied --
that any of it was even remotely true.
He wastherefore well placed to execute a very nice and tasty little scam come the time of finals.

‘The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!’
‘Good heavens...!’ Reg suddenly seemetod awake with a start from the lighdt oze intowhich he had gently slipped under the influence of thewine and the reading, and glanced about himself with blank surprise,but nothing had changed.Coleridge’s words sang througah
warmand contented silencethat had settled on the great hAalflt.er another quick frown, Resgettled back into another doze, bthuits time a slightly more attentive one.
‘A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora.’
Dirk allowed himself to be persuaded to make, uhnydpenr osis, a firm predictionabout whatquestions would be setfor examination that summer.

He himselffirst planted the idea by explaining exactly the sort of
thing thaht e would never, under any circumstancbese,
prepared to do,
thoughin many ways hewould like to,just tohave the chanceto disprove his alleged and strongly disavowed abilities.
And itwas on these grounds, carefully prepared, theateventually
agreed-- only because it would once and for all scotch the whole silly
-- immensely, tediously silly -- business. He would make his
predictions by means of automatic writing unpdroerper supervision, and they wouldthen be sealed in an envelope andeposited at the bank until after the exams.
Then they would be openetod
see how accurate they had be/aefnter/
the exams.
He was, notsurprisingly, offered some pretty hefty bribferosm a pretty hefty numbeorf people tolet them see the predictionhse had writtendown, but he was absolutely shocked by the idea. That, he said, would be /dishonest/...
‘Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me, That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! Those caves of ice!’
Then, a short timelater, Dirk allowed himself to be seaernound
town wearing something ofveaxed andsolemn expression. Atfirst he

waved asideenquiries as towhat it was thatwas bothering him, but eventually helet slip that his mother was gointgo have to undergo
some extremely expensive dentwalork which, for reasons that he refused to discuss, woulhdave tobe doneprivately, only there wasn’tthe
money.
From here, the path downward to accepting donations fomr ohtihser’s supposedmedical expenses in returnfor quickglances at his written exam predictions proved to be sufficiently staenedp well-oiled for him to be able to slip down it with a minimum of fuss.
Then it further transpired that the only dentist wcohuold perform
this mysteriousdental operation wasan East European surgeon now
livingin Malibu, and it wains
consequence necessary tioncrease the
level of donations rather sharply.
He stilldenied, ofcourse, that hisabilities were all that they
were crackedup to be, in fact he denied that they existed aantdall,
insisted that he would never have embarkedtheonexercise at all if it wasn’t todisprove the wholething -- and also, since other people seemed, atheir own risk, to have faith in hisabilities that he
himself didnot, he was happy to indulge thteomthe extent of letting them pay for his sainted mother’s operation.
He could only emerge well from this situation. Or so he thought.
‘And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!’
The exam papers Dirpkroduced under hypnosis, by means of automatic writing,he had, in fact, pieced together simpblyy doing thesame minimumresearch thatany student taking exams woulddo, studying previousexam papers, andseeing what, if any, patterns emergeadn,d
making intelligent guesses abowuthat might come up. He was pretty sure of getting(as anyone wouldbe) a strike rate that wasusfficiently
high tosatisfy the credulous,and sufficiently low for thewhole exercise to look perfectly innocent.
As indeed it was.
What completely blew him out of the water, and caused a furore which ended with himbeing drivenout of Cambridgein theback of aBlack
Maria, was thfeact that all the exam papers shoeld turnedout to be the same as the papers that were actually set.
Exactly. Word for word. To the very comma.
‘Wave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise...’
And that, apart from a flurry of sensational newspraeppeorrts which exposedhim as a fraud, then trumpeted him as the thrienagl so that
theycould have another round of exposing him as a fraud again and then
trumpeting himas the real thing again, until they got bored and found

a nice juicy snooker player to harass instead, was that.
In theyears since then, Richard had run into Dirk from time to time and had usually been greeted with kthinadt of guarded half smile that wants to knowif you think it oweysou moneybefore it blossoms into
one thathopes youwill lend it some. Dirk’s regular namechanges suggested to Richard that he wasn’t alone in being treated like this. He felt atug of sadness thatsomeone who had seemed so shiningly
alive withinthe smallconfines of a university communistyhould have
seemedto fadeso much in the light of common day. And he wonadtered
Reg’s asking after hilmike that, suddenly and out of the blue, in what seemed altogether too airy and casual a manner.
He glancedaround himagain, at his lightly snoring neighbour, Reg; atlittle Sarah rapt in silent attentioant; thedeep hall swathed in darklyglimmering light; at thpeortraits of oldprime ministers and
poets hunghigh in the darkness with just the odd glint of candlelight gleamingoff their teeth; at thDe irector of English Studies standing readingin hispoetry-reading voice; at the book of ‘KuKblhaan’ that theDirector of English Studies held in his hand; and finally,
surreptitiously, at his watch. He settled back again.
The voicecontinued, reading the second,and altogetherstranger part of the poem...
[::: CHAPTER 7 ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]

This wasthe eveningof the last daoyf Gordon Way’slife, and he was wondering if the rain would hold oftfhefowr eekend. Theforecast had said changeabl-e- amisty night tonightfollowed bybright but
chilly days on Fridaaynd Saturday with maybe a few scattered showers towardsthe endof Sunday when everyonwe ould be heading back into town.
Everyone, that is, other than Gordon Way.
The weatherforecast hadn’t mentioned that, of course, that wasn‘t
the job of the weather forecast, thbeunt
his horoscope had been pretty
misleading as welIl.t hadmentioned an unusual amountof planetary activity in his sign and had urged him to differentiate bewtwhaetenhe thought he wanted anwdhat he actuallyneeded, andsuggested that he shouldtackle emotional or work problems with determination and completehonesty, buthad inexplicably failed to mention that he would be dead before the day was out.
He turnedoff the motorway neaCr ambridge andstopped at asmall filling station for sompeetrol, where he saftor a momentf,inishing
off a call on his car phone.
‘OK, look, I’llcall you tomorrow,’ he said, ‘ormaybe later
tonight. Or call me. I should be actottaege in half an hour. Yes, I
knowhow important the project is to you.All right, I know how
important it is, full stop. You want it, Iitw. aOnft
course I do. And
I’m not sayintghat we won’t continue
stoupport it. I’mjust saying
it’s expensive anwd e should look at the whole thing with determination
and complete honesty. Loowk,hy don’t you come out to the cottage, and
we cantalk it throughO.
K, yeah, yes,I know. Iunderstand. Well,

think about it, Kate. Talk to you later. Bye.’
He hung up and continued to sit in his car for a moment.
It was a large caIrt. was a large silver-grey Mercedoefs the sort thatthey use in advertisements,and not just advertisements for Mercedes.Gordon Way, brother ofSusan, employer of RicharMd acDuff, was a rich matnh,e founder and owneorf WayForwardTechnologies II. WayForward Technologiesitself had ofcourse gone bust, for the usual reason, taking his entire first fortune with it.
Luckily, he had managed to make another one.
The ‘usual reason’was that he habdeen in the business of computer hardwarewhen every twelve-year-old in thecountry had suddenly got bored with boxetshat wentbing. His second fortunhead been madein software instead. As a result of two mpaijeocres ofsoftware, one of whichwas /Anthem/(the other, more profitable one had nesveeern the light of day), WFT-II was othnely British softwarecompany that could be mentionedin the samesentence as such majorU.S. companies as Microsoft or LotusT. he sentence would probably ruanlong the lines of
‘WayForward Technologies, unlikseuch major U.S. companies as Microsoft or Lotus...’ but it wastaart. WayForward wasin there. And he owned
it.
He pushed a tape into the slot on the stereo consaoclec.epIted it with a soft and decoroculsick, and a moment or twolater Ravel’s
/Boléro/floated out ofeight perfectly matched speakers with fine- meshedmatte-black grilles. Thestereo was so smooth and spacious you
couldalmost sense the whole ice-rink. He tapped his fingers lightly on

thepadded rimof the steering wheel. Hegazed at the dashboard. Tastefulilluminated figures and tinyim, maculate lights gazeddimly
back at him. After a while he suddenly realisedwatshisa self service station and got out to fill the tank.
This tooka minute or two. Hsetood grippingthe filler nozzle,
stamping his feeint
the coldnight air, then walked over to the small
grubby kioskp, aid for the petrorl,emembered to buy a couple of local maps, and thesntood chatting enthusiastically to the cashier for a few minutesabout the directions the computer industry was likely to take
in the following year, suggesting that parallel proceswsiansg going to bethe key to really intuitive productivity software, but also strongly doubting whether artificial intelligence research /per se/, particularlyartificial intelligence research based on the ProLog
language, was reallgyoing to produce any serioucsommercially viable productsin the foreseeable future, laetast as far as the office desk top environment was concerned, a topic that fascinated ctahsehier not at all.
‘The man just liketdo talk,’ he would later tell pthoelice. ‘Man,
Icould have walked awatyo the toilet for ten minutes and he would’ve told it all to the Itifll.I’dbeen fifteen minutesthe tillwould
have walked awatyoo. Yeah, I’msure that’s him,’ he woualddd when
showna picture of Gordon Way. ‘I only wassunr’et
at first because in
the picture he’s got his mouth closed.’
‘And you’re absolutely certain you didn’t see anything else suspicious?’ the policeman insisted. ‘Nothing that struck yoouddasin any way at all?’

‘No, like I said, itwas just an ordinary customoern an ordinary night, just like any other night.’
The policeman stared at him blankly. ‘Just for the sake of
argument,’he went on to sa‘yi,f I were suddenly to do this...’ -- he made himselfgo cross-eyed, stuck his tonguoeut of the corner of his mouth and danced up and down twistingfinhgisers in his ears -- ‘would anything strike you about that?’
‘Well, er, yeah,’ said thecashier, backing away nervously‘.I’d think you’d gone stark raving mad.’
‘Good,’ said the policeman, putting his notebooakway. ‘It’sjust that differenpt eople sometimeshave adifferent idea ofwhat “odd” means, you see, siIrf. last nighwt as an ordinary night just like any
othernight, then I ama pimple on the bottomof the Marquess of
Queensbury’s aunt. We shablel
requiring a statemenlat ter, sir. Thank
you for your time.’
That was all yet to come.
Tonight, Gordonpushed the maps in hispocket and strolled back towardshis car. Standing under the lights in the imt ihsat d gathered
a finely beadecdoat of matte moisture on aint,d looked like -- well, itlooked like an extremely expensive Mercedes-Benz.Gordon caught himself, just for maillisecond, wishing thaht e had something like
that,but he was now quite adept at fending off that particular line of thought, whichonly led offin circlesand left him feeling depressed
and confused.
He pattedit in a proprietoriaml anner, then, walking aroundit,

noticed that thbeoot wasn’tclosed properly andpushed it shutI.t closed witha good healthy clunk. Well,that made it all woritth, didn’tit? Good healthy clunk like that. Old-fashioned valuesof
quality and workmanship. He thought of a dozen thinhgasdheto talk to
Susan aboutand climbedback into the carp,ushing the auto-dial code
on his phone as soon as the car was prowling back on to the road.
‘...so ifyou’d like toleave a messageI,’ll get back to yoaus soon as possible. Maybe.’
/Beep./
‘Oh, Susan, hii,t’s Gordon,’ he saidc,radling the phone awkwardly on hisshoulder. ‘Just onmy wayto thecottage. It’s erT, hursday
night, andit’s, er... 8.47.Bit mistyon the roads. ListenI, have
those people from the States comoinvger this weekend to thrash out the distribution on /AnthemV/ ersion 2.00, handling the promotion, all that stuff,and look you know I don’t likeastko youthis sort of thing,
but you know I always do anyway, so here it is.
‘I justneed to know that Richard is on the case. I mean /really/ on
the case. I can ask haimnd,
he says, Oh sure, ifti’nse, but half the
time -- shit, that lorry had bright lignhotnse,
of these bastard lorry
drivers ever dips them properly, it’ws oander Idon’t end up deaidn the ditcht,hat would be something, wouldni’t,t leavingyour famous
last words on somebody’s answering machine, there’sreansoon why these lorries shouldn’t have automatic light-activated dipper switcLheoso.k,
can you make a nofoter me totell Susan -- not you, of course, secretary Susan at thoeffice -- to tell hetro send a letter from me
tothat fellow atthe Department of the Environment sayinwg e can

provide the technology if he can provide the legislaItti’osn?forthe
publicgood, and anyway hoewes me afavour plus what’s the poiinnt
havinga CBE ifyou can’t kick a little assY?ou can tell I’vbeeen talking to Americans all week.
‘That reminds me, God, I hope I remembered to pack the shotguns. What is it with these Americans that they’re alwsoayms ad to shoot my rabbits? Ibought them some maps in the hope thcaat nI persuade them
to go on long healthy walks and take their mofifnsdhsooting rabbits. Ireally feelquite sorry for the creatures. I think I shpoutldone
of those signs on my lawhnen the Americans are coming, you know, like they have in Beverly Hills, saying `Armed Response’.
‘Make a note to Susan, would ypoleuase, to get an `Armed Response’ signmade up with saharp spike on the bottom at the right height for rabbitsto see.That’s secretary Susan at the officenot you, of
course.
‘Where was I?
‘Oh yes. Richard and /Anthem/ 2.00. Susan, tthhiantg has goto be in beta testing in twwo eeks.He tells me it’fsine. But every time I
see himhe’s got a picture of a sofa spinning on his computer screen. He says it’asn important concept, but alIl see is furniture. People
who wantheir company accountsto singto them do not want to buy a revolvingsofa. Nordo I think he should be turningthe erosion
patterns of the Himalayas into a flute quintet at this time.
‘And as for whaKt ate’s up to, Susanw, ell, I can’thide thefact that I get anxiouast the salariesand computer timeit’s eating up.

Important long-termresearch and development it might be,
tbhuetre is
also thepossibility, only a possibility, I’m saying, nbeuvt ertheless a possibility which I think owwee itto ourselves fullyto evaluate andexplore, which is thait’s alemon. That’s odd, there’s naoise coming from the boot, I thought I’d just closed it properly.
‘Anyway, the main thing’sRichard. And thepoint is that there’s
only oneperson who’s reallyin a position to know if he’s getting the important workdone, or if he’s just dreaming, and that one person is, I’m afraid, Susan.
‘That’s you, I mean, of course, not secretary Susan at the office.
‘So can you, I don’t likeastok youthis, I really don’t, caynou
really get on hcisase? Makehim see how importantit is? Just make surehe realises that WayForward Technologies is meant to be an expanding commercial business, not aadnventure playgroundfor crunch-
heads. That’s the problem wcitrhunch-heads -- they have one great idea that actuallyworks and then they expect you to caornryfundingthem foryears while they sit andcalculate the topographies of their
navels.I’m sorry, I’m going to have to stopand close theboot properly. Won’t be a moment.’
He put the telephone down on the seat beside phuilmle,d over on to
the grassverge, and gotout. As he went to tbhoeot, it opened, a
figure rose out of it, shot
thhirmough the chest with both barreolfs
a shotgun and then went about its business.
Gordon Way’sastonishment at being suddenly shot dead was nothing to his astonishment at what happened next.

[::: CHAPTER 8 ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
‘Come in, dear fellow, come in.’
The door toReg’s setof rooms in college was up a windsientgof wooden stairsin the corner ofSecond Court, and was not well lit, or ratherit wasperfectly welllit when the light wawsorking, but the lightwas not working, so the door was not well lit and was, furthermore,locked. Reg was having difficulty finding the key from
acollection which looked like something that a fit Ninja warrior could hurl through the trunk of a tree.
Rooms inthe older partsof the college havedouble doors, like airlocks,and like airlocks theayre fiddly to open. The outer door is asturdy slab of grey painted oak, with no features tohtahnera very
narrow sliftor letters, and a Yale lock, to which suddenly Reg at last found the key.
He unlockedit and pulled it open. Behind it lay an ordinary white- panelled door with an ordinary brass doorknob.
‘Come in, come in,’ repeated Reogp,ening this andfumbling for the
light switch. Foar moment only the dying embers of a fire in the stone gratethrew ghostly red shadows dancingaround theroom, but then electriclight flooded it anedxtinguished the magic. Reg hesitated on
the thresholdfor a momento, ddly tense,as if wishing to bseure of somethingbefore he entered, then bustled in with at least the
appearance of cheeriness.

It was alarge panelled room, which caollection of gently shabby
furniturecontrived tofill quite comfortably.Against the far wall
stood a large and battered
moladhogany table with fat ugly legs, which
wasladen with books,files, folders and teeterinpgiles ofpapers.
Standing inits own space on the desk, Richwarads amused to note, was actually a battered old abacus.
There wasa small Regency writing desk standing nearby whmicihght
have been quite valuable had it not bkeneoncked about so much, also a couple of elegant Georgian chairs, a portentVouicstorian bookcase, and so on. Iwt as, inshort, a don’sroom. It had a don’s framed maps and printson the walls athreadbare and faded don’s carpet on the floor, andit looked as ilfittle had changedin it for decades, whicwh as
probably the case because a don lived in it.
Two doors led out from either end of the oppowsaitlel, and Richard knew fromprevious visits that one ledto a study which looked much like a smaller anmdore intenseversion of this room -- largcelur mps ofbooks, taller piles of paperin more imminent danger of actually falling,furniture which, however old and valuabwlea, s heavily marked with myriadrings of hot tea or coffee cups, onmany of which the original cups themselves were probably still standing.
The other doorled to a small and rather basically equipped kitchen, and atwisty internal staircase at the top of which lay the Professor’s bedroom and bathroom.
‘Try and make yourself comfortable on the sofa,’invited Reg,
fussing around hospitably. ‘I don’t know if ymoua’nllage it. It always feels tome as ifit’s been stuffed with cabbage leaves and cutlery.’

He peeredat Richard seriously. ‘Do you have a good sofa?’ he enquired.
‘Well, yes.’ Richardlaughed. He was cheered by the silliness of the question.
‘Oh,’ said Reg solemnly. ‘Well, I wyisohu’d tell me wheryeou got it. Ihave endlesstrouble with them, quiteendless. Neverfound a
comfortable onein all my life. How do you find yours?’ He encountered,
with a slight air of surprisesm,
all silver tray he had left out with
a decanter of port and three glasses.
‘Well, it’s odd you shoualdsk that,’ said Richard. ‘I’vneever sat on it.’
‘Very wise,’insisted Reg earnestly,‘very, very wise.’ Hewent
through a palaver similar to his previous one with his coat and hat.
‘Not thatI wouldn’t liketo,’ saidRichard. ‘It’s just that it’s stuck halfway uap longflight of stairs which leads up imntyo flat.
Asfar as Ican make it out, the delivery men got it part way up the stairs, got it stuctku,rned it around any way they could, couldn’t get it any furthera,nd then found, curiously enough, that they couldn’t
get it back down again. Now, that should be impossible.’
‘Odd,’ agreed Reg. ‘I’ve certainly never come across any irreversible mathematicsinvolving sofas. Couldbe a new field. Have you spoken to any spatial geometricians?’
‘I didbetter than that. I called in a neighbour’s kid uwsehdoto
be able tsoolve Rubik’s cubein seventeen seconds. He soant
a step
and stared at fiotr over anhour beforepronouncing it irrevocably
stuck. Admittedly he’as fewyears older now anhdas found out about

girls, but it’s got me puzzled.’
‘Carry ontalking, my dear fellow, I’m most interestebdu,t let me
know first itfhere’s anythingI can get you. Port perhaps? Or brandy? The port I thinisk the better belta, id down bythe college in 1934,
oneof the finest vintages I think you’ll find, and on the other hand I don’tactually haveany brandy. Or coffee? Somemore wine perhaps? There’s an excellent MargauIx’ve been looking for aenxcuse to open, though it should of course be allowed to stand open hfoourr aonr two, whichis not to say that I couldn’t... no,’ hesaid hurriedly,
‘probably best not to go for the Margaux tonight.’
‘Tea iswhat I would really like,’ said Richard, ‘if you have some.’ Reg raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I have to drive home.’
‘Indeed. ThenI shall be ma oment or twoin the kitchen. Please carry on, I shall sbtiell ableto hearyou. Continueto tell meof
your sofa, and do fefreele in the meantime to sit on mine. Has it been stuck there for long?’
‘Oh, only about three weeks,s’aid Richard,sitting down. ‘I could just saw it uapnd throw it away, but I can’t believe that there isn’t alogical answer. And it alsmoade methink --it would bereally
usefulto know beforeyou buy apiece of furniture whether it’s actuallygoing to fiut p thestairs or around the corner. So I’ve
modelled the problem in thrdeiemensions on mycomputer -- andso far it just says no way.’
‘It says what?’ called Reg, over the noise of filling the kettle.
‘That it can’t be done. I toltdo ict ompute the moves necessartoy

get the sofa out, andsaid there aren’t any. I said “What?” and it saidthere aren’tany. I then asked it, and this is thereally
mysteriousthing, to computethe moves necessaryto get the sofa into
its present position
tihne firstplace, and it saitdhat it couldn’t
have got there. Not withofundamental restructuring of the walls. So, either there’ssomething wrong with the fundamental structure othfe
matter in mwy alls or,’ he added with a si‘gthe, re’s something wrong with the program. Which would you guess?’
‘And are you married?’ called Reg.
‘What? Oh, Isee what youmean. A sofastuck on thestairs fora
month. Welln, o, not married as such, but yes, there is a specific girl that I’m not married to.’
‘What’s she like? What does she do?’
‘She’s a professional cellist. I haveto admit that the sofa has
beena bit of a talking point. In fact she’s moved back to her own flat until I get it sorted out. She, well...’
He was suddenly sada,nd he stood up and wandered around the room in
a desultory sorotf wayand ended up ifnront of the dyinfgire. He
gave iat
bitof a poke and threw on a couple of extra logs to try and
ward off the chill of the room.
‘She’s Gordon’ssister, in fact,’ he added at las‘tB. ut they are verydifferent. I’m not sure shreeally approves ofcomputers very
much.And shedoesn’t much like his attitude to money. I don’t think I
entirely blame her, actually, and she doesn’t know the half of it.’
‘Which is the half she doesn’t know?’

Richard sighed.
‘Well,’ hesaid, ‘it’s to dwo ith theproject which first made the softwareincarnation of the company profitable. It was called /Reason/, and in its own way it was sensational.’
‘What was it?’
‘Well, it was a kind of back-to-frpornotgram. It’s funnyhow many
ofthe best ideas are juasnt
oldidea back-to-front. You see there
havealready been several programs writtethnat help youto arrive at decisions by properly orderinagnd analysing all the relevant facts so that they then point naturatlolywards the right decision. The drawback withthese isthat thedecision which altlhe properlyordered and
analysed facts point to is not necessarily the one you want.’
‘Yeeeess...’ said Reg’s voice from the kitchen.
‘Well, Gordon’s great insight was dteosign aprogram which allowed youto specifyin advance what decisioynou wished itto reach, and only thento giveit allthe facts.The program’s task, which it was ableto accomplishwith consummateease, was simply to construcat
plausible series of logical-sounding steps to conntheect premises with the conclusion.
‘And I have tosay thatit worked brilliantly. Gordon was able to
buy himself a Porschaelmost immediately despite being completely broke anda hopeless driver. Even hbisank manager was unablteo find fault
with his reasoning. Even when Gordon wrote it off three weeks later.’
‘Heavens. And did the program sell very well?’
‘No. We never sold a single copy.’
‘You astonish me. It sounds like a real winner to me.’

‘It was,’said Richard hesitantly. ‘The entire projewctas bought
up, locks, tock and barrel, by the Pentagon. The deal put WayForward on a verysound financial foundation. Its moral foundation, tohne other
hand, isnot something I would want to trust my weight to. I’ve
recently been analysing loat of the arguments put forward in favour of the Star Warpsroject, and ifyou know what you’re lookinfgor, the
pattern of the algorithms is very clear.
‘So much so, infact, that lookingat Pentagon policies over the
lastcouple of years I thinIkcan be fairly sure that UthSe
Navy is
using version 2.00 othfe program, whilethe Air Force for some reason only has the beta-test version of 1.5. Odd, that.’
‘Do you have a copy?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Richard, ‘I wouldnh’atve anything to do with it.Anyway, when the Pentagon bought everything, they bought
everything. Every scraopf code, every disk, every notebook. I was glad to see the back ofIfit.indeed we haveI. just busymyself withmy
own projects.’
He poked at the fire agaainnd wondered what he was doing here when he had so much woornk. Gordon was on at him continuaalblyout getting
the news, uper version of/Anthem/ readyfor taking advantage of the Macintosh II, and he wwasell behind withit. And as for the proposed modulefor convertingincoming Dow Jones stock-market information into
MIDI data in real time, he’d omnelyant that as a joke, but Gordofn,
course, had flipped over the idea and insisted on its being
implemented. Thatoo wasmeant to be readbyut wasn’t.He suddenly

knew exactly why it was he was here.
Well, ithad been a pleasant evening, eviefnhecouldn’t seewhy
Reg had been quite so keen tohismee. He pickedup acouple of books from the table. Thtaeble obviously doubled as a dining tabbleec, ause althoughthe piles looked aisf they hadbeen there forweeks, the
absence ofdust immediately around them showed that they had been moved recently.
Maybe, he thought, the need for amiable chit-chatwith someone differentcan become as urgent aasny otherneed whenyou live in a
communityas enclosed as a Cambridge college was, even nowadays. He was alikeable old fellowb, ut it wasclear from dinner thamt any of his
colleagues foundhis eccentricities formed rather a rich sustained diet
-- particularly when thehyad so many otfheir ownto contend with. A thought aboutSusan naggedhim, buthe was usedto that. He flipped through the two books he’d picked up.
One of them, an elderlyone, was an account of thheauntings of
BorleyRectory, the most haunted house inEngland. Its spine was
getting raggedy, and the photographic plates wseoregrey and blurry as
to be virtually indistinguishablAe.
picture he thought must beveary
lucky (orfaked) shotof aghostly apparition turned out, whenhe examined the caption, to be a portrait of the author.
The other bookwas morerecent, and by an oddcoincidence wasa guide tothe Greekislands. He thumbedthrough it idly and a piece of paper fell out.
‘Earl Grey or Lapsang Souchong?’ calloeudt Reg. ‘Or DarjeelingO? r
PGTips? It’s altlea bags anyway, I’mafraid. And none otfhem very

fresh.’
‘Darjeeling will do fine,’ replied Richarsdt,ooping to pick up the piece of paper.
‘Milk?’ called Reg.
‘Er, please.’
‘One lump or two?’
‘One, please.’
Richard slipped thepaper back into the book, noticiansg he did so that it had haurriedly scribblednote on it. Thenote said, oddly enough,‘Regard this simple silver salct ellar. Regardthis simple
hat.’
‘Sugar?’
‘Er, what?’ said Richard, startleHd.e put thebook hurriedly back on the pile.
‘Just a tiny joke of mine,’ said Rcheegerily, ‘to see if people are listening.’ He emerged beaminfgrom thekitchen carrying a small tray with two cups oitn, which hehurled suddenly to thfeloor. The tea splashed over thcearpet. One of the cups shatteredand theother
bounced under the table. Reg leanaegdainst the door frame, white-faced and staring.
A frozen instant oftime slid silently by whileRichard wastoo startledto react, then he leaped awkwardly forward to heBlpu.t the oldman was already apologisinagnd offering to make hiamnother cup. Richard helped him to the sofa.
‘Are you all right?’asked Richard helplessly. ‘ShallI get a

doctor?’
Reg wavedhim down. ‘It’s arllight,’ he insisted, ‘I’mperfectly well.Thought I heard, well, a noise that startled me. Biutt was
nothing. Just overcome with the tea fumI eesx, pect.Let me just catch
my breathI.
thinka little, er, porwt ill revive me excellentlyS.o
sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He waved in the gdeirneecrtiaoln
of the pordtecanter. Richard hurriedly poureda small glass and gave it to him.
‘What kindof noise?’ he asked, wondering what on earth csohuoldck him so much.
At that moment came the sound of movement upstairs and an extraordinary kind of heavy breathing noise.
‘That...’ whispered Reg.The glassof portlay shatteredat his
feet. Upstairs someone seemed to be stamping. ‘Did you hear it?’
‘Well, yes.’
This seemed to relieve the old man.
Richard looked nervously upat the ceiling. ‘Is there someonuep
there?’ he askedf,eeling this was a lame question, but one that had to be asked.
‘No,’ said Reg in a low votihcaet shocked Richard with the fear it carried, ‘no one. Nobody that should be there.’
‘Then...’
Reg wasstruggling shakily to hisfeet, but therewas suddenlya fierce determination about him.
‘I mustgo up there,’ he saqiduietly. ‘I must. Please wait for me
here.’

‘Look, what is this?’ demanded Richarsdta,nding between Reg and the doorway.‘What is it, a burglar? Look, I’ll go. I’m sure it’s nothing, it’s just the wind or something.’ Richard didn’t know wwhyas hseaying this.It clearlywasn’t the wind, or even anything liktehe wind,
because though thwe ind might conceivably make heavy breathing noises, it rarely stamped its feet in that way.
‘No,’ the old man saipdo, litely but firmly moving him aside, ‘it is for me to do.’
Richard followedhim helplesslythrough thedoor into the small
hallway, beyond which lay the tiny kitchAend. ark wooden staircase led up from here; the steps seemed damaged and scuffed.
Reg turned on a lighIt was a dim one that hung naked at the top of the stairwell, and he looked up it with grim apprehension.
‘Wait here,’he said, and walked utpwo steps. He then turneadnd
faced Richard with loaok of the most profound seriousness on his face.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, ‘that you have becoinmveolved in what is... themore difficult side of my life. But you are involved now,
regrettable though thamt ay be,and there is something I must ask you.
I do not knowhat awaits me up therdeo,
not know exactly.dIo not
know if it siosmething which I have foolishly brought upon myself with my... myhobbies, orif it issomething towhich I have fallenan
innocent victim. If isit the former, then I have only myself to blame, forI am likea doctorwho cannot give up smoking, or perhawposrse still, like an ecologist who cangniovte uphis car -- itfhe latter,
then I hope it may not happen to you.

‘What I must ask you tihsis. When I combeack down these stairs,
always supposingof course that I do, then if my behaviour styroikues
as beingin anyway odd,if I appear notto be myself, then you must
leap onme and wrestle me
thoe ground. Do you understandY? ou must
prevent me from doing anything I may try to do.’
‘But how will kInow?’ asked an incredulous Richard. ‘Sorry I don’t mean it to sound like that, but I don’t know what...?’
‘You will know,’ said Reg. ‘Now please wait for mthe imnain room. And close the door.’
Shaking his head in bewilderment, Richard stepped back daidndas he was askedF. rom inside the larguentidy room he listened to tshoeund
of the Professor’s tread mounting the stairs one at a time. He mounted them with haeavy deliberation,like theticking of a great, slow clock.
Richard heard him reach the top landing. There he painusesidlence. Secondswent by, five, maybeten, maybe twenty. Then came again the heavy movement and breath that had first so harrowed the Professor. Richard moved quickly to the door but did not iot.pTehne chill of
theroom oppressed and disturbedhim. Heshook his head to try and shake off thfeeeling, and then heldhis breath as the footsteps
started once again slowly to traverse the two yoafrdthse landingand to pause there again.
After only a fewseconds, this time Richard heard thelong slow squeak of a doobreing openedinch byinch, inch bycautious inch, until it must surely now at last be standing wide agape.
Nothing further seemed to happen for a long, long time.

Then at last the door closed once again, slowly.
The footsteps crossedthe landing and paused again. Richard backed a fewslight paces fromthe door, staringfixedly at it. Once more the footstepsstarted to descend the stairs,slowly, deliberately and
quietly,until at last theryeached the bottom. Then after a few
seconds more the doohrandle began to rotate. Thdeoor opened andReg walked calmly in.
‘It’s all right,it’s just a horsein the bathroom,’ he said quietly.
Richard leaped on him and wrestled him to the ground.
‘No,’ gasped Reg, ‘no, getoff me,let me go, I’mperfectly all right,damn it. It’s jusat horse, a perfectlyordinary horse.’ He shookRichard off with no great difficulty and suapt, puffing and blowing andpushing his handsthrough his limitedhair. Richard stood
over him warilyb,ut with great andmounting embarrassment. He edged back, and let Reg stand up and sit on a chair.
‘Just a horse,’ said Reg, ‘but, er, thaynoku for taking meat my word.’ He brushed himself down.
‘A horse,’ repeated Richard.
‘Yes,’ said Reg.
Richard went out and looked up the stairs and then came back in.
‘A /horse/?’ he said again.
‘Yes, it is,’said theProfessor. ‘Wait --’ he motioned to Richard, who was about to go out again inavnedstigate -- ‘letit be. It won’t
be long.’

Richard staredin disbelief. ‘You say there’s a horsein your
bathroom, and all you can do is stand there naming Beatles songs?’ The Professor looked blankly at him.
‘Listen,’ hesaid, ‘I’m sorry if I... alarmed you earlitewr, as
justa slightturn. These things happen, my dear fellodwo,n’t upset yourself about it. Dear me, I’ve known odder things tiinmem. yMany of them. Farodder. She’s only a horse, for heaven’s sake. I’ll go and let herout later. Please don’t concern yourself. Let us revive our spirits with some port.’
‘But... how did it get in there?’
‘Well, the bathroom window’sopen. Iexpect she came inthrough that.’
Richard looked at him, not for ftihrest andcertainly not forthe last time, through eyes that were narrowed with suspicion.
‘You’re doing it deliberately, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘Doing what, my dear fellow?’
‘I don’t believe there’s ahorse in your bathroom,s’aid Richard
suddenly. ‘Idon’t know what is there, I don’t know what you’re doing, Idon’t knowwhat any ofthis evening means, buIt don’t believe
there’sa horse inyour bathroom.’And brushingaside Reg’s further protestations he went up to look.
The bathroom was not large.
The walls werepanelled in oldoak linenfold which, given thaege
and natureof the building, was quite probably priceless, but otherwise the fittings were stark and institutional.

There was old, scuffed, black-and-white checkedlinoleum on the floor, asmall basic bath, well cleanebdut with very elderlystains
and chips in the enamel, and also a small bbaassinic with a toothbrush and toothpastein a Duralex beaker standing netoxtthe taps. Screwed into the probably pricelepssanelling above the basin was a tin mirror- fronted bathroom cabinet. It lookeads ifit hadbeen repaintedmany times,and the mirror wasstained round the edges with condensation. Thelavatory had an old-fashioned cast-irocnhain-pull cistern. There
was an old cream-painted woodceunpboard standingin the cornerw, ith
anold brown bentwood chair next to it, on which lay some neatly folded but threadbare small towels. There was also a hlaorrgse in the room,
taking up most of it.
Richard stared atit, and it stared at Richard in an appraising kind of way. Richard swayed slightly. Thhoerse stoodquite still. Aftera whileit looked at the cupboard insteaIdt.seemed, ifnot content,
then atleast perfectly resigned to being where it was until it was put somewhere else. It also seemed... what was it?
It wasbathed in the glow of the moonlight that streamethdroiungh
the windowT. he window was openbut small and wasb,esides, onthe secondfloor, so the notionthat the horse had entered by that route was entirely fanciful.
There was something odadbout the horse, buhte couldn’t saywhat. Well,there was one thing thwatas clearlyvery odd about it indeed, which was that it wsatasnding in a college bathroomM. aybe that was
all.

He reached out, rather tentatively, to pat ctrheeature on its neck.
It felt normal f-i-rm, glossy, it was in good condition. The effect of themoonlight on its coat was liattle mazy, buet verything looksa
littleodd by moonlightT. he horseshook itsmane a little whenhe touched it, but didn’t seem to mind too much.
After thesuccess of patting it, Richard stroked it a few times and scratchedit gently under the jaw. Then hneoticed thatthere was
another doorinto the bathroom, in the far corner. He moved cautiously
around the horse and approached the other door. He backed up
iatgainst
and pushed it open tentatively.
It just opened into the Professor’s bedroom, a small rcoloumttered withbooks and shoesand a smalslingle bed. This room, too, had another door, which opened out on to the landing again. Richard noticed that the floor of the landing was nsecwuflfyed and
scratched as the stairs had beaennd,
these marks were consistewntith
theidea that the horse had somehow been pusheudp the stairsH. e
wouldn’t have liked
htoave had to do it himselfa,nd he wouldhave
likedto have been the horse haviintgdone to himeven less,but it was just about possible.
But why? Hehad one lastlook at the horse, which had one last look back at him, and then he returned downstairs.
‘I agree,’ he said. ‘You haavehorse in youbrathroom andI will, after all, have a little port.’
He poured somefor himself,and then some for Regw, ho was quietly contemplating the fire and was in need of a refill.
‘Just aswell I did put out three glasses after all,’ saRideg

chattily. ‘I wondered why earlier, and now I remember.
‘You asked if you coubldring a friend, buatppear not to have done so. Onaccount of the sofnao doubt. Never mindth, ese things happen. Whoa, not too much, you’ll spill it.’
All horse-related questions left Richard’s mind abruptly.
‘I did?’ he said.
‘Oh yes. Iremember now. You rang me batcok ask me if it woubled
all right, asreIcall. I said I would be charmed, afunldly intended
to be. I’d satwhe thing up if I were you. Don’t want to sacrifice your happiness to a sofa. Or maybe she decided that an evening wiothldyour
tutor would bbelisteringly dulland opted for the more exhilarating
course of washinhger hair instead. Dear mIe,know what I would have done. It’sonly lack ofhair that forces me tpoursue such a hectic
social round these days.’
It was Richard’s turn to be white-faced and staring.
Yes, he had assumed that Susan would not want to come. Yes, hehad said to herit would be terriblydull. But she had
insisted that she wantetod
come because it would be the only way she’d
getto see hisface fora fewminutes not bathed in the ligohft a
computer screens, o he had agreed and arranged that he would bring her after all.
Only he had completely forgotten this. He had not picked her up.
He said, ‘Can I use your phone, please?’

[::: CHAPTER 9 ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
Gordon Way lay on the ground, unclear about what to do. He was dead. Thereseemed little doubtabout that. There wasa horrific hole in his chest, butbtlhoeod thatwas gobbingout ofit
had slowedto a trickle. Otherwise there was no movement from his chest at all, or, indeed, from any other part of him.
He looked up, and from side to side, and it became chleimar tthoat
whatever part of hiimt was that was moving, it wasn’t any pahrits of
body.
The mist rolled slowloyver him, and explainednothing. At a few
feet distant from him his shotgun lay smoking quietly in the grass. He continuedto lie there, like someone lying awat efour o’clock inthe morning,unable toput their mind to rest, but unable to find
anything to dwo ith it. He realised that he had just had something of a shock, whichmight account for hisinability to thinkclearly, but
didn’t account for his ability actually to think at all.
In the great debatethat hasraged for centuriesabout what, if anything, happens to yoaufter death, be it heaven, heplul,rgatory or extinction,one thing has nevebreen indoubt -- that youwould at least know the answer when you were dead.
Gordon Way was dead, but he simply hadn’tsltighhetest idea what he was meanto doabout it. It wasn’t a situation he haedncountered
before.
He sat up. Thbeody that satup seemed as real to himthaes body
that still lasylowly cooling on the ground, giviunpg
its bloodheat

inwraiths ofsteam that mingled with the mist of the chill night air. Experimenting a bit further, he tried standing up, slowly, wonderinglyand wobblingly. The grounsdeemed to give himsupport, it
took his weighBt. ut then of course he appeared to have no weight that needed to bteaken. When he bento touch the ground he coulfdeel nothingsave akind of distant rubbery resistanclieke thesensation
you get if you try and pick sometuhpingwhen your arm hagsone dead. His armhad gonedead. His legs tooa,nd hisother arm,and all his torso and his head.
His body was dead. He could not say why his mind was not.
He stoodin a kind of frozen, sleepless horror while the mist curled slowly through him.
He looked backdown at the him, the ghastly, astonished-looking him- thinglying still and mangled othne ground, andhis fleshwanted to
creep. Or rather, he wanted flesh that could cHreeepw. anted flesh. He wanted body. He had none.
A sudden cry ofhorror escaped from his moubthut was nothing and went nowhere. He shook and felt nothing.
Music anda pool of light seeped from his car. He walked towards it. He triedto walk sturdily, but it wasa faintand feeblekind of walking,uncertain and, well,insubstantial. The ground felt frail
beneath his feet.
The door of thcear wasstill open on the drivers’isde, as he had
left iwt hen he had leaped out to deal with the boot lid, thinking he’d only be two seconds.

That was all of two minutes ago now, when he’d beenWalhivene. he’d beena person. Whenhe’d thoughthe was going to bleeaping straight back in and driving off. Two minutes and a lifetime ago.
This was insane, wasn’t it? he thought suddenly.
He walkedaround the door andbent downto peer into the external rear-view mirror.
He looked exactly like himself, albeit like himself after he’d had a terriblefright, which was tboe expected, but that wahsim, that was
normal. This musbte somethinghe was imagining, some horrible kind of
waking dreamH.
e hada sudden thought and tried breathing on the rear-
view mirror.
Nothing. Not a single droplet formeTdh.at wouldsatisfy adoctor, that’s what they always did on television n-o- mifist formed onthe mirror,there was no breath. Perhaps, he thouagnhxtiously to himself, perhapsit wassomething to do with having heated wing mirrors. Didn’t
this carhave heatedwing mirrors? Hadn’t the salesman goonne
and on
about heated this, electric thaant,d servo-assistedthe other?Maybe they were digitawl ing mirrors. That wasit. Digital, heateds, ervo- assisted, computer-controlled, breath-resistant wing mirrors...
He was, he realisedt,hinking complete nonsense. He turned slowly andgazed again inapprehension at the body lying on the ground behind himwith halfits chestblown away.That would certainly satisfya
doctor. Thesight would be appalling enough ifwiat s somebody else’s body, but his own...
He was dead. Dead... dead... He tried to make the word toll
dramatically inhis mind,but itwouldn’t. Hewas not a film sound

track, he was just dead.
Peering athis bodyin appalledfascination, he graduallybecame distressed by the expression of asinine stupidity on its face. It wasperfectly understandable,of course. Itwas just such an
expression as somebodwy ho is in the middle of being shot with his own
shotgun by somebody who had been hiding in the boot of his cabre might
expectedto wear, buthe nevertheless disliked the idetahat anyone might find him looking like that.
He knelt down beside it in the hoofpbeeing able torearrange his features into some semblance of dignity, or at least basic
intelligence.
It proved to be almosimt
possibly difficult.He tried to knead the
skin, the sickeninglfyamiliar skin,but somehowhe couldn’t seem to
get aproper grip on it, or
aonnything. It was like trying to model
plasticinewhen your arm has gone to sleeexpc,ept that instead of his grip slipping off thmeodel, it would slip through it. In thciasse,
his hand slipped through his face.
Nauseated horror and rage swept through him at his sheberloody blastedimpotence, and he was suddenly startled to find himself throttling and shaking his own dead body with a firmfuriaonuds grip.
He staggered back in amazed shock. All he had mantoagdeod was to add to the inanely stupefied look of ctohrepse a twisted-up mouth and a
squint. And bruises flowering on its neck.
He started tosob, andthis time sound seemetdo come, astrange howlingfrom deep withinwhatever this thing he had become was.

Clutching his hands to hfaisce, he staggeredbackwards, retreated to hiscar and flung himselfinto theseat. The seat receivehdim in a
loose and distant kind of way, like an aunt who disapproveslaostf the
fifteen years of your life awnidll thereforefurnish you with a basic sherry, but refuses to catch your eye.
Could he get himself to a doctor?
To avoidfacing the absurdity of the idea he grappled violently with thesteering wheel,but his hands slippedthrough it. Hetried to
wrestle withthe automatic transmission shift and ended up thumpiting
in rage, but not being able properly to grasp or push it. The stereo was still playing light orchestral music into the telephone,which had been lying on the passenger seat listening patiently all this time. Hsteared at it and realised wiathgrowing
fever ofexcitement that hewas still connected to Susan’s telephone- answeringmachine. It was the type that would simply run and run until he hung up. He was still in contact with the world.
He trieddesperately to pick up the receiver, fumbled,itlestlip,
and was in the end reducedbetnoding himself down over its mouthpiece.
‘Susan!’he cried into it, his voice a hoarse and distantonwtahiel
wind. ‘Susan, helmp e! Help me for God’s sake. SusIa’nm, dead... I’m dead...I’m dead and...I don’t know whato do...’ Hebroke down again, sobbing in desperation, atnrdied to clingto the phone like a baby clinging to its blanket for comfort.
‘Help me, Susan...’ he cried again.
‘/Beep/,’ said the phone.
He looked downat it againwhere he was cuddling it. He had managed

to push something aftaelrl. Hehad managed topush thebutton which
disconnected thecall. Feverishly he attemptedto grapplethe thing
again, but
citonstantly slipped through his fingers and eventually lay
immobileon the seatH.
e could notouch it. He couldnot pushthe
buttons. Inrage he flung it at the windscreeInt .responded to that, all rightI.t hit the windscreen, careeresdtraight back though him, bounced off the seant d then laystill on thetransmission tunnel, impervious to all his further attempts to touch it.
For severalminutes stillhe sat thereh, is head nodding slowly as terror began to recede into blank desolation.
A couple of carspassed by, but would have noticed nothing odd -- a carstopped by the wayside. Passing swiftly in the night their
headlights wouldprobably not have picked otuhte bodylying in the grass behindthe car.They certainly would not havneoticed a ghost sitting inside it crying to himself.
He didn’tknow howlong he sathere. He washardly aware of time passing, only thait didn’t seem to pass quicklTy.here was little externalstimulus to mark its passage. Hdiedn’t feel cold. In fact he could almost nortemember what coldmeant or felt likeh,e justknew
that it was something he would have expected to feel at this moment. Eventually he stirred from his pathethicuddle. He would have to do something, though he didnk’nt ow what. Perhapshe should try and reach his cottage, though he didn’t know whheatwould do when he gthoet re.
He just needed something trtoy for. He needed to make it through the
night.

Pulling himself togetherhe slippedout of the car, his foot and
kneegrazing easilythrough part ofthe door frameH.
e went to look
again at his body, but it wasn’t there.
As if the night hadn’ptroduced enough shocks alreadyH. e started, and stared at the damp depression in the grass.
His body was not there.
[::: CHAPTER 10 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
Richard made the hastiest departure that politeness would allow. He said thankyou very much and what a splendid evening itbeheand
and that any timReeg was coming up to London he must let him, Richard, know andwas thereanything he could dtoo helpabout the horse. No?
Well, all right then, if you’re sure, and thank you again, so much. He stood there for ma oment or two after the door finally closed, pondering things.
He had noticed durintghe short time that thlieght from Reg’s room flooded out on to the landingthoef main staircase, that there were no marks on the floorboardthsere at all.It seemed oddthat the horse should only have scuffed the floorboards inside Reg’s room.
Well, it alsl eemed very oddf,ull stop, but herwe as yet another
curious fact taodd to the growing pile. This was supposed to have been a relaxing evening away from work.
On an impulse he knocked on the door opposite to Reg’s. Istucthook
a long time to be answered that Richard had ugpiveand was turning to

go when at last he heard the door creak open.
He had a slight shocwkhen he saw thatstaring sharply up at him
likea small and suspicious bird was the don with the racing-yacht keel for a nose.
‘Er, sorry,’said Richard, abruptly, ‘but, er,have you seen or heard a horse coming up this staircase tonight?’
The man stoppedhis obsessive twitchingof his fingers.He cocked his head slightly on one side and then seetomendeedto goon a long journeyinside himself to find a voice, which when fotuurnnded out to be a thin and soft little one.
He said, ‘That isthe first thing anybody hassaid tome for seventeenyears, three months and two days, five hours, nineteen minutes and twenty seconds. I’ve been counting.’
He closed the door softly again.
Richard virtually ran through Second Court.
When hereached First Court he steadied himself and slowed down to a walking pace.
The chill night air was rasping in his lungsthaenred was no point
in running. He hadnm’tanaged totalk to Susan because Reg’sphone wasn’tworking, and this was another thing that he had been mysteriously coyabout. That at leaswt as susceptible of arational explanation. He probably hadn’t paid his phone bill.
Richard was abouto emergeout onto the street when instead he decided topay a quick visit to thpeorter’s lodge, which watsucked
away inside the great archway entrance intocothllege. It was a small

hutchlike place filled with keys, messaagnesd asingle electric bar heater. A radio nattered to itself in the background.
‘Excuse me,’he said tothe large black-suited man standinbgehind the counter with his arms folded. ‘I...’
‘Yes, Mr MacDuff, what can I do for you?’
In his present stateof mind Richard would have beheanrd-pressed himselfto rememberhis ownname and was startled for a moment. However,college portersare legendary for their ability tpoerform
such feats ofmemory, andfor their tendencyto show them off at the slightest provocation.
‘Is there,’ said Richard, ‘a horsaenywhere inthe college -- that you knowof? I mean, you would knowif there was ahorse in the college, wouldn’t you?’
The porter didn’t blink.
‘No, sir, and yes,sir. Anythingelse I canhelp you with,Mr
MacDuff, sir?’
‘Er, no,’ said Richard and tapped fhinisgers a couple of timeosn
the counter. ‘No. Thank you. Thank you very much forheylpo.urNice to see you again, er... Bob,’ he hazarded. ‘Good-night, then.’
He left.
The porterremained perfectly still with his arms folded, but shaking his head a very, very little bit.
‘Here’s somecoffee for youB, ill,’ said another porter,a short
wiry one, emerging from an inner sancwtuimth a steaming cup‘.Getting a bit colder tonight?’
‘I think it is, Fred, thanks,’ said Bill, taking the cup.

He took asip. ‘You cansay what you like about people, they don’t get anyless peculiar. Fellow in here just noawsking if there was a
horse in the college.’
‘Oh yes?’ Fred sipped at his own coffee, leatndthe steam smart his eyes.‘I had achap in here earlier. Sort of strange forepigrniest. Couldn’t understand a worhde said at firsBt. ut he seemedhappy just
to stand by the fire and listen to the news on the radio.’
‘Foreigners, eh.’
‘In the end I told htimo shoot offS. tanding infront of my fire
like that. Suddenly he says is that really what hedom?usSthootoff?
I said, in my best Bogart voice, “You better believe it, buddy.”’
‘Really? Sounded more like Jimmy Cagney to me.’
‘No, that’s my Bogart voicTe.his is my JimmCy agney voice -- “You better believe it, buddy.”’
Bill frowned aht im. ‘Is that yourJimmy Cagney voice? I always thought that was your Kenneth McKellar voice.’
‘You don’t listen properlyB, ill, you haven’t got the eTarh.is is KennethMcKellar. “Oh, you takethe high road and I’ll tatkhee low road...”’
‘Oh, I see. I was thinking of the Scottish Kenneth McKellar. So what did this priest fellow say then, Fred?’
‘Oh, he just looked me straiginht the eyes, Bill, ansdaid in this strange sort of...’
‘Skip theaccent, Fred,just tell me whaht e said, if it’ws orth
hearing.’

‘He just said he did believe me.’
‘So. Not a very interesting story then, Fred.’
‘Well, maybe not. Ionly mention it because he also said that he’d
left his horse in a washroom and would I see that it was all right.’
[::: CHAPTER 11 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
Gordon Way drifted miserably along tdhaerk road,or rather, tried to drift.
He felt thaat s aghost -- which is what he had to admit to himself hehad become --he should be able to drift. Hkenew little enough aboutghosts, but he felt that if you wgeorieng to beone then there
ought to be certain compensations nfot having a physical body to lug around,and that amongthem ought to be the ability simtpolydrift.
But no, it seemed he was going to have to walk every step of the way. His aim was to try amndake it tohis house. He didn’t know what he woulddo when hegot there, but evenghosts have to spend the night somewhere, and he felt thbaeting in familiarsurroundings might help.
Help what, hdeidn’t know. Atleast the journey gave him an objective, and he would just have to think of another one when he arrived. He trudged despondently fromlamppost to lamppost, stopping at each one to look at bits of himself.
He was definitely getting a bit wraithlike.
At times hewould fade almost tonothing, and wouldseem to be littlemore than a shadow playing in the mist, a dream of himself that

could just evaporataend be gone. At other times he seemed to be almost
solidand real againO.
nce ortwice he would tryleaning against a
lamppost, and would fall straight through it if he wasn’t careful. At last,and with great reluctance, he actuablleygan to turnhis
mind to whait was that had happened. Odd, that reluctance. He really didn’t want to think aboitu.t Psychologistssay thatthe mind will
oftentry to suppressthe memory oftraumatic events,and this, he thought, was probably the answer. Afatlel,r if having a strange figure jump out of the boot of your own casrhoanodt you dead didn’t count as a traumatic experience, he’d like to know what did.
He trudged on wearily.
He tried to recall thefigure tohis mind’seye, but it was like probing a hurting tooth, and he thought of other things.
Like, washis will up-to-date? He couldn’rtemember, and made a mental note tcoall his lawyertomorrow, andthen made another mental note that he would have to stop making mental notes like that. How would his company survive withohuimt ? He didn’t like either of the possible answers to that very much.
What about his obituary? There waasthought that chilled him to his
bones, whereverthey’d got to. Would he be able to get hold of a copy? Whatwould it say? They’dbetter give him a good write-up, the
bastards. Lookat what he’d done.Single-handedly savedthe British software industryh: uge exports, charitable contributions, research scholarships,crossing the Atlantic in a solar-powered submarine
(failed,but a good try-)- all sorts of things. They’d better not go

digging upthat Pentagon stuff again or he’d get his lawyer on to them. He made a mental note to call him in the mor...
No.
Anyway, can a dead person sue for libel? Only his lawwoyueldr
know,
and he wansot goingto be able tocall him in the morning. He knew witha sense of creepingdread thatof allthe things he had left
behind in the land of the living it was the telephone wthaast ghoeing to missthe most,and thenhe turned hismind determinedly back to where it didn’t want to go.
The figure.
It seemed to him that thfiegure had beenalmost like a figure of
Death itself; or wathsat his imagination playing tricks with him? Was
he dreaming that it waascowled figure? What would any figure, whether cowled or just casually dressed, be doing in the boot of his car?
At that moment a car zipped past him onroathde and disappeared off into thenight, taking itsoasis of light withit. He thought with
longing of thwe arm, leather-upholstered, climate-controlled comfort of hisown car abandoned on theroad behind hima, nd then a sudden extraordinary thought struck him.
Was thereany way he coulhditch a lift?Could anyone actually see
him? Howwould anyone react if they could? Well, there was only one way to find out.
He heard another car coming up in the distance behind him and turned to face it. The twin pools of hazy laipgphtrsoached through the mist
and Gordon gritted his phantom teeth and stuck his thumb out at them.
The car swept by regardless.

Nothing.
Angrily he made an indistinctV sign at the receding red rear lights,and realised, looking straighthrough his ownupraised arm, that hewasn’t at hismost visible athe moment. Was thereperhaps
someeffort of wilhl e could make to render himself more visible when he wanted to? Hsecrewed up his eyesin concentration,then realised
that he would need to hahvise eyes open in order to judge the results. He triedagain, forcinghis mind as harads he could, but the results
were unsatisfactory.
Though it did seem to make some kind of rudimentary, glowing difference,he couldn’tsustain it, and iftaded almost immediately,
however muchhe piled on themental pressure. He would have to judge the timing very carefully if he gwoaisng to make his presence felt, or
at least seen.
Another car approached from behind, travelling fast. Heturned
again, stuck his thumobut, waited till the moment was right and willed himself visible.
The car swerved slightlya,nd then carried on its way, only a little
more slowlyW.
ell, thatwas something. What else could he do? He would
go and stand undaer lamppost fora start, and hwe ould practise. The next car he would get for sure.
[::: CHAPTER 12 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]

‘...so ifyou’d like to leavae message, I’ll get bactko youas soon as possible. Maybe.’
/Beep./
‘Shit. Damn. Hold on a minute. Blast. Look... er...’
/Click./
Richard pushed the phone back initsocradle and slammed hiscar intoreverse for twenty yardtso have another look at the sign-post by the roadjunction he’d just sped pastin the mistH. e had extracted
himself fromthe Cambridge one-waysystem by the usual method, which involved going round and round it faasntedr faster until he achieved a sort ofescape velocity and flew off at a tangent in a random
direction, which he was now trying to identify and correct for. Arriving back athe junction hetried to correlate the information on thesignpost withthe information on themap. But it couldn’t be
done. The road junction was quite deliberasteitltying on a page divide on themap, andthe signpost was revolvinmg aliciously in the wind. Instinct told him that he wheaasding in thewrong direction,but he
didn’t wanto go backthe wayhe’d come forfear of getting sucked back into the gravitational whirlpool of Cambridge’s traffic system. He turned left, therefore, in thhoepe of findingbetter fortune in thatdirection, but after a while lost his nerve and turned a
speculative right, and thecnhanced anotherexploratory left and after a few more such manoeuvres was thoroughly lost.
He swore to himself and turned up the heatintgheincar. If he had been concentrating on where he was going rather than tryninagvigtaote
and telephone at the same time, he htiomldself, he would at least know

wherehe was now.He didn’t actually like having tealephone in his
car, he founidt a bother and an intrusion. But Gordon had insisted and indeed had paid for it.
He sighed in exasperation, backed up theblack Saab and turned around again. Ahse did so he nearly riannto someone lugginga body
into afield. At least that was what it looked like for a second to his
overwrought brain, but
finact itwas probably a localfarmer with a
sackful ofsomething nutritious, though what he was doing wiothn iat
night likethis wasanyone’s guess. As his headlightsswung around
again, they caught formaoment a silhouette of the figure trudging off across the field with the sack on his back.
‘Rather him than me,’ thought Richard grimly, and drove off again. After a fewminutes hereached a junction with what looked a little morelike a main road, nearly turned rigdhotwn it, butthen turned
left instead. There was no signpost.
He poked at the buttons on his phone again.
‘...get back to you as soon as possible. Maybe.’
/Beep./
‘Susan, it’s Richard. Where dostaIrt? What a mess. Look I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. sIcrewed up very badly, and it’s all my fault. And look, whatever it takes to make up for it, I’ll do it, solemn promise...’
He had aslight feeling thathis wasn’t theright tone to adopt with an answering machine, but he carried straight on.
‘Honestly, we cango away, take haoliday for a week, or even just
thisweekend ifyou like. Really, thisweekend. We’llgo somewhere

sunny.Doesn’t matter how much pressure Gordon tries to put onanmd e,
youknow the sort of pressure he can muster, he is your brother, after all.I’ll just... er, actually, it might have to be next weekend. Damn, damn, damn. It’s just that I really hparovme ised to get, nolo, ok, it doesn’tmatter. We’ll jusdt o it. Idon’t care about getting /Anthem/ finishedfor Comdex. It’s not the end otfhe world. We’ll jusgto.
Gordon will just have to take a running jump -- Gaaarghhhh!’ Richard swervedwildly to avoid the spectre of Gordon Wawy hich suddenly loomed in his headlights and took a running jump at him. He slammed on thberakes, started to skid, tried to remember what it
wasyou were supposed tdoo when you found yourself skidding, he knew he’d seen iotn some television programme about driving he’d seen ages ago,what was theprogramme? God, hecouldn’t even remember the title
of the programmele, t alone -- oh yes, they’d said myouustn’t slam on thebrakes. That was it. The world swung sickeninagrolyund him with slow and appallinfgorce as the carslewed acrossthe road, spun, thudded against the grass verge, thsleinthered and rocked itself to a
halt, facing the wronwgay. He collapsed, panting, against the steering wheel.
He picked up the phone from where he’d dropped it.
‘Susan,’ he gasped, ‘I’ll get back to you,’ and hung up. He raised his eyes.
Standing full in the glare of his headlights was the spectral figure
ofGordon Way staring straight
tihnrough the windscreen witghhastly
horror in its eyes, slowly raising its hand and pointing at him.

He wasn’t sure how lonhge just sat there. The apparition had melted from viewin a few secondsb,ut Richard simply sat, shaking, probably for not more thaan minute,until a sudden squeaolf brakes and glare
of lights roused him.
He shook his head. Hweas, he realiseds, topped in the roafdacing
the wrongway. The car that had just screeched to an abrupt halt almost bumper to bumper with him wapsolaice car.He took two or thredeeep breathsand then, stiff and trembling, he climbed outstaonodd up to
face the officer who wwasalking slowly towards him, silhouetted in the police car’s headlights.
The officer looked him up and down.
‘Er, I’m sorry, officer,’ said Richard, with as mcualcmhness as he could wrench inthois voice. ‘I, er, skidded. Threoads are slippery
and I, er... skidded. I spun round. Asseyeo, uI, I’m facing the wrong way.’ He gestured at his car to indicate the way it was facing.
‘Like to tellme why iwt as youskidded then,exactly, sir?’ The policeofficer was looking him straight in the eye while pulling out a notebook.
‘Well, as I said,’ explained Richard, ‘theroads are slippery
because ofthe mist, and, well, to be perfectly honest,’ he suddenly
found himself sayingin,
spite of all his attemptots stop himself, ‘I
wasjust driving alongand I suddenly imagined that I saw my employer throwing himself in front of my car.’
The officer gazed at him levelly.
‘Guilt complex, officer,’ added Richarwd ith a twitchof a smile,

‘you know how it is. I was contemplating taking the weekend off.’ The police officer seemedto hesitate,balanced on aknife edge
between sympathy and suspicion. His enyeasrrowed a littlebut didn’t waver.
‘Been drinking, sir?’
‘Yes,’ said Richard,with aquick sigh, ‘but very little. Two
glasses of wine max. Ear.n..d asmall glass of port. Absolute max. It was really just a lapse of concentration. I’m fine now.’
‘Name?’
Richard gave himhis name and addressT.he policeman wrote it all downcarefully and neatly in his book, then peered at the car registration number and wrote that down too.
‘And who is your employer then, sir?’
‘His name is Way. Gordon Way.’
‘Oh,’ said the policeman raising his eyebrows, ‘the computer gentleman.’
‘Er, yes, that’s right. I design software for the company. WayForward Technologies II.’
‘We’ve got one of your computers down the station,’ said the policeman. ‘Buggered if I can get it to work.’
‘Oh,’ said Richard wearily, ‘which model do you have?’
‘I think it’s called a Quark II.’
‘Oh, well that’s simple,’ saidRichard with relief.‘It doesn’t work. Never has done. The thing is a heap of shit.’
‘Funny thing, sir, that’s what I’ve always said,’ said the
policeman. ‘Some of the other lads don’t agree.’

‘Well, you’re absolutelyright, officer. The thing is hopeless. It’s the major reason the original compawneynt bust. Isuggest youuse it as a big paperweight.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t liketo do thats, ir,’ thepoliceman persisted.
‘The door would keep blowing open.’
‘What do you mean, officer?’ asked Richard.
‘I useit to keepthe doorclosed, sir.Nasty draughts downour station this time of year. In suthmemer, of course,we beat suspects round the head with it.’
He flipped his book closed and prodded it into his pocket.
‘My advice to you, sir, is to go nice and easy wonaythbeack. Lock
up thecar and spend the weekend getting completely pissed. I find it’s the only way. Mind how you go now.’
He returned to his cawr,ound down the window, anwdatched Richard manoeuvrehis car around and drive oinftfo the night before heading
off himself.
Richard tooka deep breath, drove calmly back to London, let himself calmly into his flactl,ambered calmly over the sofa, sat down, poured himself a stiff brandy and began seriously to shake.
There were three things he was shaking about.
There wasthe simplephysical shock of his near-accident, whiicsh
the sort of thing that alwcahysurns you up a lot more than you expect. Thebody floods itself with adrenalinew, hich then hangs arounydour
system turning sour.
Then there was the cause of the skitdhe--extraordinary apparition

ofGordon throwing himself ifnront of his caart that moment. Boy oh boy. Richard took a mouthful of braannddy gargled with it. He put the glass down.
It was well known that Gordon woanse of the world’s richest natural resourcesof guilt pressure,and that he could delivertoan on your
doorstep fresh every morning, but Richard hadn’t realised helethiatd
get to him to such an unholy degree.
He took up higslass again, went upstairs anpdushed open the door
to his workroom, which involved shiftaingstack of BYTE magazines that had toppled against it. He pushed them away with his foot and towalked
the end of the large room. A lot of glass at thisinenvdiewlest
over
a large parotf north London, from whicthe mist was now clearing. St
Paul’s glowed itnhe dark distanceand he stared at it for a moment or
two but it didnd’ot
anything special. After theevents of the evening
he found this came as a pleasant surprise.
At the other end of trhoeom were a couple of long tabslmesothered
in, athe lastcount, six Macintosh computers. In the middle
twheas
Mac II on which a
wreidre-frame model of his sofa was lazily revolving
withina blue wire-frame model ohfis narrow staircase, complete with banister rail, radiator and fuse-box details, oafndcourse the awkward turn halfway up.
The sofa would start out spinning in one direction, hit an obstruction,twist itselfin anotherplane, hit anotherobstruction, revolve round tahird axis until itwas stopped again,then cycle
through the moves again in a different oYrdoeur. didn’thave to watch
the sequence for very long before you saw it repeat itself.

The sofa was clearly stuck.
Three other Macswere connectedup via long tangles of cabtole an untidy agglomerationof synthesisers -- an Emulator II+ HsaDmpler, a
rack of TXmodules, a ProphetVS, a Roland JX 10,Kaorg DW8000, an
Octapad, a left-handeSdynth-Axe MIDI guitar controller, and eveann
old drum machine stacked
aunpd gathering dust in the cornerpr-e-tty
much the works. There waalso asmall and rarelyused cassettetape
recorder: all the muswicas stored in sequencer files
tohne computers
rather than on tape.
He dumpedhimself into a seaint front of one otfhe Macsto see what,if anything, it was doing.It was displaying an ‘Untitled’
/Excel/ spreadsheet and he wondered why.
He savedit and looked to see if he’d left himself any notes and quickly discovered that thsepreadsheet contained some of thdeata he hadpreviously downloaded aftersearching the /World Reporter/ and
/Knowledge/ on-line databases for facts about swallows.
He now had figures which detailed thmeigratory habits, their wing shapes,their aerodynamicprofile andturbulence characteristics, and some sort of rudimentary figures concerntihneg patternsthat a flock would adopt in flight, baustyet he had only the faintest idea as to how he was going to synthesise them all together.
Because he was too tired to think particularly constructively
tonight he savagelsyelected and copied a whole swatohfe figures from
the spreadsheet at randompa, sted them into his own conversion program, which scaled and filtered and manipulattheed figuresaccording to his

own experimental algorithms, loaded the converted file into
/Performer/,a powerful sequencer program, and played the result throughrandom MIDI channelsto whichever synthesisers happenetdo be on at the moment.
The resultwas a short burst othfe mosthideous cacophony, and he
stopped it.
He ranthe conversion programagain, this time instructing
tiot
force-mapthe pitch valuesinto Gminor. This wasa utility he was determinedin the end to get rid of because he regarded it as cheating. Ifthere was any basis to his firmly held btehlaietfthe rhythms and
harmonies of music which fhoeund most satisfying could be found in, or at leastderived from, the rhythms and harmonies of naturally occurring phenomena,then satisfying forms of modality and intonation should
emerge naturally as well, rather than being forced. For the moment, though, he forced it.
The resultwas a short burstof the most hideoucsacophony in G
minor.
So much for random shortcuts.
The first task was realatively simple one, which would be simply to
plot the waveform described
tbhye tip of a swallow’s wing as it flies,
thensynthesise that waveform. That way wheould end up witah single note, which would begoaod start, and isthouldn’t take more than the weekend to do.
Except, of course, thahte didn’t have a weekend availabledoto it
in because he had somehotow get Version2 of /Anthem/ out of the door sometime duringthe courseof the nextyear, or ‘month’as Gordon

called it.
Which brought Richard inexorably to the third thihneg was shaking about.
There was absolutely no way thhaet could take thetime offthis
weekend or next to fulfil pthroemise he had made to Susan’s telephone- answering machineA. nd that,if this evening’s débacle had not already done so, would surely spell the final end.
But that was itT. he thingwas done. Thereis nothing you can do abouta messageon someoneelse’s answering machine other thanlet events take their course. It was done. It was irrevocable.
An odd thought suddenly struck him.
It tookhim by considerablesurprise, but hecouldn’t really see what was wrong with it.
[::: CHAPTER 13 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
A pair of binoculars scanning theLondon night skyline, idly,
curious, snooping. A little look hearel,ittle look there, just seeing what’s going on, anything interesting, anything useful.
The binoculars settle on the back of one particular house, attracted bya slight movement. One of those large late-Victorian villas,
probablyflats now. Lots of black iron drainpipes. Green rubber dustbins. But dark. No, nothing.
The binocularsare just moving onwards when another slight movement

catches in thme oonlight. The binoculars refocuvsery slightly, trying to finda detail, a hard edge,slaight contrast in the darknesTs.he mist has lifted now, and dthaerkness glistens. Theyrefocus a very, very little more.
There it is. Somethingd,efinitely. Only thistime a little higher
up, maybe a foot or so, maybe a yard. The binoculars settle an- d relax
-steady, tryingfor the edge, trying forthe detail. There.The binoculars settleagain -- they have found their mark, straddled between a windowsill and a drainpipe.
It is a dark figure, splayed against the wall, looking down, looking fora new foothold, looking upwards, looking for a ledge. The
binoculars peer intently.
The figureis thatof a tall, thimn an. His clothes are rigfhotr
thejob, dark trousers, dark sweater, but his movements are awkward and angular.Nervous. Interesting. The binoculars wait and consider,
consider and judge.
The man is clearly a rank amateur.
Look at his fumbling.Look at his ineptitude. His feet slip on the drainpipe, hishands can’t reach thleedge. He nearly falls. Hweaits
to catch his breatFh.or amoment he starts to climb badcokwn again, but seems to find that even tougher going.
He lunges again forthe ledgeand this timecatches it. Hisfoot shootsout tosteady himself and nearly misses the pipe. Couhladve been very nasty, very nasty indeed.
But now the way iseasier and progress isbetter. He crosses to
another pipe, reacheas third-floor windowledge, flirts briefly with

death as he crawls painfully tonit, and makes the cardinal error and looksdown. He sways briefly and sits back heavHiley. shades his eyes and peers inside to check that rothoem is dark, and sets about getting the window open.
One of the things that distinguish the amateur ftrhoemprofessional
is that thiiss the point when the amateur thinkws oiut ld have been a good ideato bring along something to prise thewindow openwith. Luckilyfor this amateur the householder aisn amateur too, andthe
sash window slidegsrudgingly up. The climber crawls, with some relief, inside.
He should be locked up fhoirs own protection, think the binoculars. Ahand starts toreach for the phoneA. t the window a face looks back out and for a momentcaiusght in the moonlight, then idt ucks back
inside to carry on with its business.
The handstays hovering over thpehone fora momentor two, while the binoculars wait and considceor,nsider and judgeT. he hand reaches instead for the A-Z street map of London.
There is along studious pause, a little more intent binocular work, and then the hand reaches for the phone again, lifts it and dials.
[::: CHAPTER 14 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
Susan’s flatwas small but spacious, whicwhas a trick,reflected
Richardtensely as he turned on the light, that only wosemeemned able

to pull off.
It wasn’t that observation whicmhade him tense, of cours-e- he’d thought ibt efore, many timesE. very time he’d beeinn her flat,in
fact. It always struck hiums,ually because hehad just come from his ownflat, which wasfour times the size and cramped. Hjeu’sdt come from his own flat this time, only via a rather ecrcoeunteri,cand it
was this that made his usual observation unusually tense. Despite the chill of the night he was sweating.
He looked back ouotf the window, turned and tiptoed across the room towardswhere thetelephone and theanswering machinestood on their
own small table.
There was no point, htoeld himself, in tiptoeing. Susawnasn’t in.
He would be extremely interested to knwohwere she was, in fact -- just as she, he tohldimself, had probably beenextremely interested in
knowing where he had been at the beginning of the evening. He realised hewas still tiptoeingH. e hit hisleg to make himself stop doing it, but carried on doing it none the less.
Climbing up the outside wall had been terrifying.
He wiped his forehead with the armof his oldest and greasiest
sweater. There had been a nasty moment whenlifehishad flashed before his eyesbut hehad been toopreoccupied with falling and hamdissed
all thegood bits. Most of the good bits hadinvolved Susan, he
realised. Susan or computerNs.ever Susan andcomputers -- those had
largely beenthe bad bitsW.
hich was why he was here, he told himself.
He seemed to need convincing, and told himself again.
He looked at his watch. Eleven forty-five.

It occurred to him he had better go and
hwisashwet and dirty hands
before hetouched anything. It wasn’t the police he was worried about, but Susan’s terrifying cleaner. She would know.
He went into the bathroomtu,rned on the light switch, wiped it, and then staredat his ownstartled face in the bright neon-lit mirror as heran the water over hihsands. Fora moment he thought of the
dancing, warm candlelight of the Coleridge Dinner,thaendimages of it welled up out of the dim and dipstaasnttof the earlier parotf the evening.Life had seemed easy then, and carefree. Thewine, the conversation,simple conjuring tricks. He pictured trhoeund pale face
of Sarah, pop-eyed with wonder. He washed his own face. He thought:
‘...Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!’
He brushedhis own hairH.
e thought, too,of the pictures hanging
high inthe darkness abovetheir heads. He cleaned his teeth. The low buzzof the neon light snapped hbimack to the present and he suddenly rememberedwith appalled shockthat hewas here inhis capacityas
burglar.
Something made him look himself directly in the face inmitrhroer, then he shook his head, trying to clear it.
When would Susan be back? That, of couwrsoeu, ld depend on what she
was doingH. e quicklywiped his handsand made hisway back to the

answering machine. He prodded at the buttons andcohnisscience prodded back athim. The tape wound back for what seemebde toan interminable time, and hreealised with a jolt that it wparsobably because Gordon
had been in full flood.
He had forgotteno, f course, thatthere would bemessages on the
tape other than his own, and listeninogthteor people’s phone messages was tantamount to opening their mail.
He explained to himself once again thatheallwas trying tdoo was
to undoa mistake he had made beforecaiutsed any irrevocable damage. He would jusptlay the tiniest snippetstill he foundhis own voice.
That wouldn’t bteoo bad, he wouldn’t even be able to distinguish what was being said.
He groaned inwardlyg, ritted his teeth and stabbed at thePlay button soroughly that hemissed it and ejected the cassette by
mistake. He put it back in and pushed the Play button more carefully.
/Beep./
‘Oh, Susan,hi, it’s Gordon,’ saitdhe answering machine. ‘I’m just on my watyo the cottage.It’s, er...’ He wounodn for acouple of seconds. ‘...need to know that Richard is oncatshee. I mean/really/ on...’Richard set hismouth grimly and stabbed atht e Fast Forward again. He reallhyated the fact that Gordon trietdo put pressure on him via Susanw, hich Gordon always stoutly denied he did.Richard
couldn’t blame Susafnor gettingexasperated about hiswork sometimes if this sort of thing was going on.’
/Click./
‘...Response. Makea note to Susan would you please, to get an

“Armed Response” sign made up with a sshpairkpe onthe bottom at the right height for rabbits to see.’
‘/What?/’ muttered Richardto himself, and hifsinger hesitated for
a secondover the FastForward button. He had faeeling that Gordon desperately wanted to be like Howard Hughes, ahned cifould never hope to beremotely as rich, he could at least try to be twice as eccentric. An act. A palpable act.
‘That’s secretary Susan at theoffice, not you, of course,’
continuedGordon’s voiceon theanswering machine. ‘Wherewas I? Oh
yes. Richard an/dAnthem/ 2.00. Susan, that thing has got to be in beta testing in two...’ Richard stabbed at the Fast Forward, tight-lipped.
‘...point is that there’s only one perswohno’s really in a position toknow if he’sgetting the important workdone, or if he’sjust dreaming,and thatone person...’He stabbed angrily again. He had promised himselfhe wouldn’tlisten to any of it and now hheere was getting angryat what he was hearing. He should really just stop this. Well, just one more try.
When he listened againhe just gotmusic. Odd.He wound forward again,and still got music. Why wouslodmeone be phoning to play music to an answering machine? he wondered.
The phonerang. He stopped the tape and answereidt, then almost dropped thephone likean electric eel as herealised what he was
doing. Hardly daring to breathe, he held the telephone to his ear.
‘Rule One in housebreaking,’ said a voice. ‘Never answer the
telephone when you’re
tihne middle of a job. Who are you supposed to

be, for heaven’s sake?’
Richard froze. It was maoment or two before he could fwinhdere he had put his voice.
‘Who is this?’ he demanded at last in a whisper.
‘Rule Two,’ continued the voice.‘Preparation. Bring the right
tools. Bring gloves. Try to have fathinetest glimmeringof an idea of what you’re aboubtefore you start dangling frowmindow ledgesin the middle of the night.
‘Rule Three. /Never/ forget Rule Two.’
‘Who is this?’ exclaimed Richard again.
The voicewas unperturbed. ‘Neighbourhood Watch,i’t said. ‘If you just look out of the back window you’ll see...’
Trailing the phone, Richarhdurried overto the window andlooked out. A distant flash startled him.
‘Rule Four. Never stand where you can be photographed.
‘Rule Five... Are you listening to me, MacDuff?’
‘What? Yes...’ said Richard in bewilderment. ‘How do you know me?’
‘Rule Five. /Never/ admit to your name.’ Richard stood silent, breathing hard.
‘I run a little course,’ said the voice, ‘if you’re interested...’ Richard said nothing.
‘You’re learning,’ continued the voice, ‘slowly, but you’re
learning.If you were learning fast yowuould have put the phone down
by now, of course. Byuotu’re curious -- and incompetent -- and so you don’t. I don’t ruan course for novice burglars as it happens, tempting thoughthe ideais. I’msure therewould be grants available. wIfe

have to have them they may as well be trained.
‘However, if I did run suachcourse I wouladllow you to enrol for
free, because I toaom curious.Curious to know why Mr Richard MacDuff who,I am given to understand, is now a wealthy young man, something in the computer industryI, believe,should suddenly be needing to resort
to house-breaking.’
‘Who -- ?’
‘So I doa little research, phone DirectorEynquiries and discover that theflat into which he isbreaking isthat of a Miss S. Way. I
know that MRr ichard MacDuff’s employeris the famous MGr . Way and I
wonder if they can by any chance be related.’
‘Who -- ?’
‘You are speaking withSvlad, commonly known as “Dirk”Cjelli, currentlytrading under the namoef Gently foreasons which it would beotiose, at this moment, to rehearse. I bid you egvoeonding. If you
wish to know more I willatbethe Pizza Express in Upper Street in ten minutes. Bring some money.’
‘Dirk?’ exclaimed Richard. ‘You... Are you tryingbltaockmail me?’
‘No, you fool, fotrhe pizzas.’ There was calick and DirkGently rang off.
Richard stoodtransfixed fora moment or twow,
iped his forehead
again, andgently replaced the phone as if it wereinjaunred hamster. Hisbrain began tobuzz gently and suck itsthumb. Lots oflittle synapses deepinside his cerebracl ortex all joined hands and started
dancing around and singing nursery rhymes.shHoeok his head to try and

make them stop, and quickly sat down at the answering machine again. He fought with himself ovwerhether ornot he was going to push the Playbutton again, and then did so anyway befhoerehad made uphis mind.Hardly four seconds of light orchestral music had oozed
soothingly paswt hen there camethe sound of a key scratching in the lock out in the hallway.
In panic Richard thumped thEeject button, popped thceassette out, rammed it into his jeans pocket and replacferdomit the pile offresh cassettes thatlay next to the machine. Thewreas asimilar pile next
to his own machine at home. Susatnheatoffice providedthem -- poor, long-sufferingSusan at theoffice. He must remember to feel sympathy for her in the morning, when he had theantidmceoncentration for it. Suddenly, withouteven noticing himself doingit, he changed his
mind. Ina flash he poppedthe substitute cassette out of the machine again,replaced the onehe had stolen, rammed down threwind button
and made a lunge ftohre sofawhere, with two seconds to go before the door openedh, e tried to arrangheimself into a nonchalant and winning posture. On an impulse shteuck hisleft hand up behind his back where
it might come in useful.
He was justtrying to arrange his featuresinto an expression composedin equal parts of contrition, cheerfulness and sexual
allurement when the door opened and in walked Michael Wenton-Weakes.
Everything stopped.
Outside, the wind ceased.Owls halted in mid-flightW.
ell, maybe
they did, maybtehey didn’t, certainly thceentral heating chose that
moment to shut down, unable perhaps to cope witshuptehrenatural chill

that suddenly whipped through the room.
‘What are you doinhgere, Wednesday?’ demanded Richard. He rose from the sofa as if levitated with anger.
Michael Wenton-Weakes was a large sad-faced man known by some people as Michael Wednesday-Week, because that wwahsen he usually promised to
havethings done by. He was dressed insuait that hadbeen superbly
well tailored when his fathtehre,
late Lord Magna, had bought it forty
years previously.
Michael Wenton-Weakes camevery high on the small but select list of people whom Richard thoroughly disliked.
He disliked him becausehe found the ideoaf someone who was not onlyprivileged, butwas also sorry for himself because he thought the worlddidn’t really understand the problems of privileged people,
deeply obnoxious. Michael, on the other hadnisdl,iked Richard for the fairlysimple reason thaRt ichard dislikedhim and made no secret of
it.
Michael gave a slow and lugubrious look back out into the hallway as Susanwalked through. She stopped when she saw Richard. Sphuet down her handbag, unwounhder scarf,unbuttoned her coat, slippedit off,
handed it tMo ichael, walked over to Richard and smacked him in the face.
‘I’ve beensaving that up all evening,’she said furiously. ‘And don’ttry andpretend that’s a bunchof flowers you’ve forgotten to bringwhich you’re hiding behind youbrack. You triedthat gag last
time.’ She turned and stalked off.

‘It’s a boxof chocolates Iforgot this time,’ saiRd ichard glumly
and held out his empty hand to her retrebaaticnkg. ‘Iclimbed up the entire outside wall without them. Did I feel a fool when I got in.’
‘Not very funny,’ said Susan. She swept intokitthcehen and sounded as ifshe was grindingcoffee with her barehands. For someone who
always lookedso neat andsweet and delicateshe packed a hell oaf
temper.
‘It’s true,’said Richard, ignoringMichael completely. ‘Inearly killed myself.’
‘I’m not going to rise to that,’ sSauisdan from within the kitchen.
‘Ifyou want something big and sharp thrownyoaut why don’yt ou come in here and be funny?’
‘I supposeit would be pointless saying I’m sorrythaist point,’ Richard called out.
‘You bet,’ saidSusan, sweeping back out of the kitchaegnain. She
looked at him with her eyes flashing, and actually stamped her foot.
‘Honestly, Richard,’she said, ‘Isuppose you’regoing to say you forgot again. Howcan you havethe gallto stand there with two arms,
two legsand a head as if you’re a human being? This is behaviour that
a bout oafmoebic dysentery would be ashameodf. I bet that evethne
verylowest form of dysentery amoeba showups
to takeits girlfriend
out for a quick trot around the stomach lining once in aWwelhl,ileI.
hope you had a lousy evening.’
‘I did,’ saidRichard. ‘You wouldn’ht ave liked it. There was a
horse in the bathroom, and you know how you hate that sort of thing.’
‘Oh, Michael,’ saidSusan brusquely, ‘don’t jussttand there like a

sinkingpudding. Thankyou very much for dinnaenr d the concerty, ou were verysweet and I did enjoy listening to ytroouurbles all evening because they were such a nice change from mine. But iIt twhionukld be best ifI just found your bookand pushed youout. I’vegot some
serious jumping up and down arnandting to do, and I know how it upsets your delicate sensibilities.’
She retrievedher coat fromhim and hung it up. While he hbaeden holding it he had seemed entirely taukpenwith this task and oblivious to anything else. Withoiutt he seemed a littlloest and naked and was forced to stihrimself back intolife. He turned his bhigeavy eyes
back on Richard.
‘Richard,’ he said,‘I, er, read your piece in... in /Fathom/. On
Music and, er...’
‘Fractal Landscapes,’said Richard shortly. He didnw’tant to talk toMichael, and he certainly didn’t want to get drawn into a
conversation about Michael’ws retched magazine. Or rather, the magazine that used to be Michael’s.
That wasthe precise aspect of the conversatitohnat Richard didn’t want to get drawn into.
‘Er, yes.Very interesting, ofcourse,’ said Michael in his silky,
over-roundedvoice. ‘Mountain shapes and tresehapes and all sorts of things. Recycled algae.’
‘Recursive algorithms.’
‘Yes, of course. Very interesting. But so wrong, so terrwibrolyng. Forthe magazine, Imean. It is, after all, an /arts/ reviewo. uIld

never have allowed sucah thing, of course. Ross has utterly ruined it. Utterly. He’ll have to go. /Have/ to.haHseno sensibilities and he’s
a thief.’
‘He’s not athief, Wednesday, that’s absolutelyabsurd,’ snapped Richard, instantlygetting drawn into it in spite of his resolution not to. ‘He had nothing dto with your gettingthe push whatsoever. That was your own silly fault, and you...’
There was a sharp intake of breath.
‘Richard,’ said Michael ihnis softest, quietest voice-- arguing
with him was like gettitnagngled in parachute sil-k- ‘I think you do not understand how important...’
‘Michael,’ said Susan gentlybut firmly, holdingopen the door. Michael Wenton-Weakes nodded faintly and seemed to deflate.
‘Your book,’ Susan addedh,olding out to him asmall and elderly
volume on the ecclesiasticaarlchitecture of Kent. He took it, murmured some slight thanks, lookeadbout him for a moment iaf she’dsuddenly realised somethingrather odd,then gathered himself togethern,odded farewell and left.
Richard didn’t appreciate quitheow tense he had become till Michael left andhe was suddenly ableto relax. He’d always resented the indulgentsoft spot that Susan had for Michael even if she did try to disguiseit bybeing terribly rude to him all ttihmee. Perhaps even
because of that.
‘Susan, what can I say...?’ he started lamely.
‘You could say “Ouch” for a start. You didn’t even give tmhaet satisfaction when I hit you, and I thoIugdhitdit rather hard. God,

it’s freezing in here. What’s that window doing wide open?’ She went over to shut it.
‘I told you. That’s how I got in,’ said Richard.
He sounded sufficientlyas if hemeant it to make her look round at him in surprise.
‘Really,’ he said‘.Like in the chocolate ads, only I forgot the box of chocolates...’ He shrugged sheepishly.
She stared at him in amazement.
‘What on earthpossessed youto dothat?’ she said. She stuck her head out of the window alonodked down. ‘You coulhdave got killed,’ she said, turning back to him.
‘Well, er, yes...’he said. ‘It just seemethde only wayto... I
don’t know.’ He rallied himself. ‘You took your key back remember?’
‘Yes. I gotfed up with you cominagnd raiding my larder wheynou couldn’tbe bothered to doyour own shopping.Richard, you really climbed up this wall?’
‘Well, I wanted to be here when you got in.’
She shook her head in bewilderment. w‘Iotuld have been a great deal betterif you’d been here when I went outt.haIts why you’re wearing those filthy old clothes?’
‘Yes. You don’t think I went to dinner at St Cedd’s like this?’
‘Well, I no longekrnow what you consider to be rational behaviour.’ She sighedand fished about ian smalldrawer. ‘Here,’she said, ‘if
it’s going tsoave your life,’and handed him acouple of keys on a
ring. ‘I’m too tired bteo angry anymore. An eveninogf beinglobbied

by Michael has taken it out of me.’
‘Well, I’ll never understand why you put up with him,’ said Richard, going to fetch the coffee.
‘I know you don’t like himbu, t he’s very sweet and can be charming in hissad kind of way. Usually it’s very relaxtoinbge with someone
who’s soself-absorbed, because it doesn’t make any demands on you. But he’s obsessed with the idea that Idcoansomething about his magazine.
Ican’t, of course. Life doesn’twork like that. I do feel sorry for him, though.’
‘I don’t. He’s had it very, very easy all his life. He sittill has
very, very easy. He’s juhsatd his toytaken away from him that’s all. It’s hardly unjust, is it?’
‘It’s nota matter of whether it’s just or not. I feel sorry for him because he’s unhappy.’
‘Well, of course he’sunhappy. Al Rosshas turned /Fathom/ into a reallysharp, intelligent magazine that everyonesuddenly wants to read. Itwas just a bumbling shambles beforIet.s onlyreal function
was to let Michael have lunacnhd toadyabout with whoever he liked on the pretexthat maybe they might like to write a sloitmtleething. He
hardly ever goatn actual issue out. The whole thing was a sham. He pamperedhimself with it. I really don’t find that charming or
engaging. I’m sorry, I’m going on about it and I didn’t mean to.’ Susan shrugged uneasily.
‘I think you overreact,’ she sa‘idth,ough Ithink I willhave to steer clear of himif he’s going tkoeep on atme to dosomething I
simplycan’t do.It’s too exhausting. Anyway, listen, I’m glad you had

a lousyevening. I wanto talkabout whatwe were going to do this weekend.’
‘Ah,’ said Richard, ‘well...’
‘Oh, I’d better just check the messages first.’
She walked past him to ttheelephone-answering machine, playedthe firstfew secondsof Gordon’s messageand then suddenlyejected the cassette.
‘I can’t be bothered,’ shesaid, giving it to him. ‘Could you just give this straight to Susan at the otfofimceorrow? Save her a trip. If there’s anything important on it she can tell me.’
Richard blinked, said,‘Er, yes,’and pocketedthe tape, tingling with the shock of the reprieve.
‘Anyway, the weekend --’ said Susan, sitting down on the sofa. Richard wiped his hand over his brow. ‘Susan, I...’
‘I’m afraid I’ve got to worNki.cola’s sick and I’m going to have to dep forher at the Wigmore on Friday week. Theres’osme Vivaldiand someMozart Idon’t know toowell, so thatmeans a lot of extra
practice this weekend, I’m afraid. Sorry.’
‘Well, in fact,’ said Richard, ‘I hatovework as well.’ He sat down by her.
‘I know.Gordon keepson at me to nag you. I wish he wouldn’t. It’s none of my business and it pmuetsin an invidioupsosition. I’m tired
of being pressurised by people, Richard. At least you don’t do that.’ She took a sip of her coffee.
‘But I’msure,’ she added, ‘thatthere’s some kindof greyarea

between being pressurised and beicnogmpletely forgotten about that I’d quite like to explore. Give me a hug.’
He hugged her, feeling that he was monstrouansldy unworthily lucky. Anhour later he lehtimself out and discovered that the Pizza Express was closed.
Meanwhile, Michael Wenton-Weakesmade his way back thois homein
Chelsea. As he siant
the back of the taxi he watchedsttrheets with
a blank stare and tappheids fingers lightly againstht e windowin a slow thoughtful rhythm.
/Rap tap tap a rap tap a rap a tap./
He was one otfhose dangerous people who are soft, squidgy and cowlike provided thehyave what theywant. Andbecause he hadalways had what he wanted, and had seemed easily pleased witithhaidt, never occurred toanybody thathe was anything other thasnoft, squidgy and cowlike. Youwould have topush through a lot osofft squidgy bits in order to find a bit tdhiadtn’t give when youpushed it. That was the
bit that all the soft squidgy bits were there to protect.
Michael Wenton-Weakeswas the younger son of LoMrdagna, publisher, newspaperowner and over-indulgent father, under whose protective umbrella it hapdleased Michael torun his own little magazine aat
magnificentloss. Lord Magna had presided over the gradual but dignified and well-respected decline of the publishing empire originally founded by his father, the first Lord Magna. Michael continued to tap his knuckles lightly on the glass.
/A rap tap a rap a tap./

He rememberedthe appalling, terrible day when his father had electrocuted himselfchanging a plug,and his mother, his/mother/, took over the business. Noontly took iot ver butstarted runningit
with completely unexpected vervaend determination. She examinedthe company with a very sharp eayseto how it was being run, or walked, as sheput it, and eventually even gaorot und tolooking at the accounts
of Michael’s magazine.
/Tap tap tap./
Now Michael knewjust enoughabout the business side of things to know what the figures oughtbeto, and he had simply assured his father that that was indeed what they were.
‘Can’t allow this job jutsot
be a sinecure, you museste that, old
fellow, youhave to pay your way or how woitullodok, how would it
be?’ his fatheursed to say, and Michael would nod seriously, and start thinkingup the figures for next month, owrhenever it was he would
next manage to get an issue out.
His mother, on the other hand,was not soindulgent. Not bya lorryload.
Michael usually referred to his mother as oaldn battleaxe, but if she wasfairly tobe compared to a battleaxitewould only be taon exquisitelycrafted, beautifully balanced battleaxew, ith an elegant minimum ofine engravingwhich stoppedjust short ofits gleaming
razored edge. One swipe frosmuch an instrumenat nd you wouldn’t even know you’d been hit until you tried to altoyookur watcha bit later
and discovered that your arm wasn’t on.

She had been waiting patiently -- or at least with the appearance of patience --in the wings all thtiisme, being the devoted wifet,he
doting bust trict mother. Now someonehad taken her -- to switch metaphors fora moment -- out of her scabbanrdd everyone was running for cover.
Including Michael.
It washer firm belief that Michael, whosmhe quietlyadored, had beenspoiled in the fullesat nd worst sense of thweord, and she was determined, at this late stage, to stop it.
It didn’t takeher more than a few minutessetoe that he had been
simplymaking up the figures every montha,nd that the magazinwe as
haemorrhagingmoney as Michael toyed with
aitl,l the time running up
huge lunch bills, taxi accounts and staff costs that he pwlaoyufuldlly set againstfictitious taxes. The wholething hadsimply got lost somewhere in the gargantuan accounts of Magna House.
She had then summoned Michael to see her.
/Tap tap a rap a tappa./
‘How do you want mtoe
treat you,’she said, ‘as my son oasr
the
editor of one of my magazines? I’m happy to do either.’
‘Your magazines? Well, I am your son, but I don’t see...’
‘Right. Michael, I wantyou to lookat these figures,’ shesaid briskly,handing over a sheeotf computer printout. ‘Thoenes on the left show the actuianlcomings and outgoingsof /Fathom/, theones on
the right are your own figures. Does anything strike you about them?’
‘Mother, I can explain, I --’
‘Good,’ said Lady Magna sweetly, ‘I’m very glad of that.’

She took thepiece of paper back. ‘Now. Do you have any views on how the magazine should best be run in the future?’
‘Yes, absolutely. Very strong ones. I --’
‘Good,’ said LadyMagna, witha bright smile.‘Well, that’s all perfectly satisfactory, then.’
‘Don’t you want to hear -- ?’
‘No, that’s all right, dear. I’m just happy to know that you do have somethingto sayon the matter to cleairt all up. I’m sutrhee new
owner of /Fathom/ will be glad to listen to whatever it is.’
‘What?’ said a stunneMd ichael. ‘Youmean you’reactually selling
/Fathom/?’
‘No. I meanI’ve already sold iDt. idn’t get much for it, I’m afraid.One pound plus a promise that you would be retaineedditaosr forthe next three issues, and afterthat it’s at thenew owner’s discretion.’
Michael stared, pop-eyed.
‘Well, come now,’ saidhis mother reasonably, ‘we could hardly continueunder the presentarrangement, could we?You always agreed with yourfather that thejob shouldnot be a sinecurfeor you.And
since I woulhdave a great deaolf difficultyin either believingor resisting yourstories, I thought I would handthe problem onto
someone with whomyou could have a more objective relationship. Now, I
have another appointment, Michael.’
‘Well, but... who have you sold it to?’ spluttered Michael.
‘Gordon Way.’

‘Gordon Way! But for heaven’s sake, Mother, he’s --’
‘He’s very anxious to beseen to patronise the arts. And I think I
do meanpatronise. I’m sure you’ll get on splendidly, dear. Now, if you don’t mind --’
Michael stood his ground.
‘I’ve never heard of anything so outrageous! I --’
‘Do you knowt,hat’s exactly what Mr Wasyaid whenI showed him
these figures and then demanded tyhoaut
be kept on as editor for three
issues.’
Michael huffedand puffed andwent red and waggedhis finger, but could think of nothing motore say. Except, ‘Whadtifference would it have made to all thisI’dif said treat me as the editor of one of your magazines?’
‘Why, dear,’ said LadMy agna with her sweetesstmile, ‘I would have called you Mr Wenton-Weakes, of courAsen.d I wouldn’nt ow betelling youstraighten your tie,’ she added, with a ltiitntlye gestureunder
her chin.
/Rap tap tap rap tap tap./
‘Number seventeen, was it, guv?’
‘Er... what?’ said Michael, shaking his head.
‘It was seventeen you saidw, as it?’ saidthe cab driver, ‘‘Cause we’re ‘ere.’
‘Oh. Oh, yes,thank you,’ said Michael. He climbed
aonudt
fumbled
in his pocket for some money.
‘Tap tap tap, eh?’
‘What?’ said Michael handing over the fare.

‘Tap tap tap,’said the cab driver, ‘all tbhleoody way hereG. ot
something on your mind, eh, mate?’
‘Mind your own bloody business,’ snapped Michael savagely.
‘If you say so, mate. Justthought you might be goingmad or something,’ said the cabbie and drove off.
Michael let himself into hihsouse and walked through the cold hall to the dining roomtu,rned on theoverhead lightand poured himself a brandy from thdeecanter. He tookoff hiscoat, threwit across the
large mahogany dining table and pulled a chair ovtheer twoindow where he sat nursing his drink and his grievances.
/Tap tap tap/, he went on the window.
He had sullenlyremained as editor fotrhe stipulated three issues
and was then, wiltihttle ceremony,let go. Anew editor was found, a certain A. K. Ross, who was young, huanngdryambitious, and he quickly turnedthe magazine into a resounding success. Michael, in the
meantime, had been lost and naked. There was nothing else for him. He tapped onthe window again and looked, as fhrequently did, at thesmall table lamp that stood tohne sill. It was arather ugly,
ordinarylittle lamp, andthe only thingabout it that regularly transfixedhis attention was that this was the lamp that had electrocuted his father, and this was where he had been sitting. The old boywas such a fool witahnything technical. Michael could
just see him peerinwgith profound concentration through his half moons andsucking his moustache as he tried to unravel the arcane
complexities of a thirteen-amp plug. He hasde,emit ed, plugged it back

in thewall without first screwing the covbearck on and then tried to change thefuse /insitu/. From this he received thsehock which had
stilled his already dicky heart.
Such a simples, imple error, thoughMt
ichael, suchas anyone could
havemade, anyone, but theconsequences of it were catastrophic.
Utterly catastrophic. His father’s deahthis,
own loss, the rise of the
appalling Ross and his disastrously successful magazine and...
/Tap tap tap./
He looked at the window, haist own reflection, and atthe dark
shadows ofthe bushes on the other side of it. He looked again at the
lamp. This was the very objethcits,
the very placea,nd the error was
such a simple one. Simple to make, simple to prevent.
The only thingthat separated him from that simple moment wtahse invisible barrier of the months that had passed in between.
A sudden, odd calmdescended on himas if something inside him had suddenly been resolved.
/Tap tap tap./
/Fathom/ was his. Iwt asn’t meant to be a successw, aits his life.
His life had been taken from him, and that demanded a response.
/Tap tap tap crack./
He surprised himself bysuddenly punching his hand through the window and cutting himself quite badly.
[::: CHAPTER 15 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]

Some ofthe less pleasant aspects of being dewadere beginning to creep up on Gordon Way as he stood in front of his ‘cottage’. It was in fact rather largehouse by anybody else’s standards but
he had always wanted htaove a cottage in the country asnod when the time came fohrim finallyto buyone and he discoveretdhat he had rathermore money available than hehad ever seriouslybelieved he
mightown, he boughta largeold rectory and called it a cottainge
spite of itsseven bedrooms andits four acres odfank Cambridgeshire
land. Thisdid littleto endear him tpoeople whoonly had cottages,
but thenif GordonWay had allowed his actiontos
be governed by what
endeared him to people he wouldn’t have been Gordon Way. He wasn’t, of course, GordoWn ay any longer. He wasthe ghost of Gordon Way.
In his pocket he had the ghosts of Gordon Way’s keys. It wasthis realisation that hasdtopped him for a moment ihnis invisibletracks. The idea of walking through waflrlasnkly revolted him.It was something hehad been trying strenuouslyto avoid all night. He haidnstead been fighting togrip andgrapple with every objecthe touched in order to render it, and thereby himself,
substantial. To enter his house, his own house, by any meansthaonther
that ofopening the frontdoor andstriding in in aproprietorial manner filled him with a hurtling sense of loss.
He wished, as he stared atit, that the housewas not suchan
extreme example of Victorian Gothic, athnadt the moonlight didn’t play so coldly oints narrow gabledwindows and itsforbidding turrets. He

had joked, stupidly, when he boughtht aitt it looked as if it ought to
be haunted, not realising that one day it would be -- or by whom. A chill of the spirit gripped him as he made his way siletnhtely up
driveway, lined by the looming shapesyeowf
treesthat were far older
thanthe rectory itself. It wasdiasturbing thought that anybody else
might be scarewd alking up such dariveway on such a night for fear of meeting something such as him.
Behind a screen oyfew trees off to his left stood gthloeomy bulk
of the olcdhurch, decaying now, only used in rotatiwonith others in neighbouring villagesand presided over by a vicarwho was always breathlessfrom bicycling thereand dispirited by thefew who were waiting forhim when he arrived. Behind the steeopflethe church hung the cold eye of the moon.
A glimpseof movement seemed suddenly to catch his eyea, sif a figure had moveidn the bushes near the houseb,ut it was, hetold himself, only his imagination, overwrought thbey strain of being dead. What was there here that he could possibly be afraid of?
He continued onwards, aroundthe angle of the wing tohfe rectory, towardsthe front door set deewp ithin its gloomy porchwreathed in ivy. He was suddenly startlteodrealise thatthere was lighct oming from withinthe house. Electric light andalso the dim flickerof
firelight.
It was a momentor two beforehe realised that he was, of course, expected thatnight, though hardly ihnis present form.Mrs Bennett,
the elderly housekeeperw, ould havebeen in to make the bed, light the
fire and leave out a light supper for him.

The television,too, would be one,specially so that he coutludrn it off impatiently upon entering.
His footsteps failedto crunch on the gravel as heapproached.
Though he knew that he must fail adtotohre, he nevertheless could not but gothere first, to try if he could open it, and thoennly, hidden
withinthe shadows of the porch, wouldhe closehis eyes andlet himself slipashamedly through it. He stepped up tothe door and stopped.
It was open.
Just half an inch, biutt was openH. is spirit fluttered in fearful
surprise. How could it be open? Mrs Bennett was aslwo acyosnscientious about suchthings. He stood uncertainlfyor a moment and thenwith difficulty exerted himself against the doUonr.der the littlepressure
he couldbring to bear on it, it swung slowly and unwillingly open, its hingesgroaning inprotest. He stepped througahnd slipped alongthe
stone-flaggedhallway. A widestaircase led up into the darkness, but the doors that led off from the hallway all stood closed.
The nearest doorled into the drawing room, in whtihceh firewas
burning, and fromwhich he could hear the muted car chases of the late movie.He struggled futilely foar minute or two with its shiny brass
door knob, but was forced in the end to admit a humdileiafetiantg, and witha sudden rageflung himself straight at the doo--r and through
it.
The room inside was a picture of pleasant domesticwarmth. He
staggered violently into
aitn, d was unable to stop himself floating on

througha small occasional tableset withthick sandwiches and a
Thermos flask of hot coffether,ough a large overstuffed armchair, into the firet,hrough the thick hot brickwork and into the cold dark dining room beyond.
The connecting doorback into thesitting room was also closed. Gordonfingered it numbly and then, submitting himself to the inevitable,braced himself, and slid bacthkrough it, calmlyg, ently, noticing for the first time the rich internal grain of the wood. The coziness of the room waaslmost too muchfor Gordon, andhe wandereddistractedly aroundit, unableto settle, lettingthe warm
liveliness of the firelight play through him. Him it couldn’t warm. What, he wondered, were ghosts supposed to do all night?
He sat, uneasily, anwd atched the television. Soon, however, the car
chases drifted peacefully
ato closeand therewas nothing left but
grey snow and white noise, which he was unable to turn off. He found he’d sunk too far into the cahnadirconfused himself with bitsof it as hepushed andpulled himself up. He triedto amuse himself bystanding in the middle oaf table, but it didlittle to
alleviate a mood that was sliding inexorably from despondency downwards.
Perhaps he would sleep. Perhaps.
He feltno tirednessor drowsiness,but just a deadly craving for oblivion.He passed back throughthe closed door anidnto thedark hallway, from whicthhe wide heavy stairs led tothe largegloomy
bedrooms above.

Up these, emptily, he trod.
It was fornothing, he knew. If you cannot openthe door to a bedroom you cannot sleep in bietsd. He slid himself througthhe door and lifted himself on to btheed whichhe knewto be coldthough he
could not feel it. The mosoeemed unableto leave him alone and shone
full on him as he tlhaeyre wide-eyed and empty, unable now to remember what sleep was or how to do it.
The horror of hollowness laoyn him, the horror of lying ceaselessly and forever awake at four o’clock in the morning.
He had nowhere to go, nothing to do when he got there, and no one he could go and wake up who wouldn’t be utterly horrified to see him.
The worstmoment had been when he had seeRn ichard on theroad,
Richard’s face frozen whiitne
the windscreenH.
e sawagain his face,
and that of the pale figure next to him.
That had beenthe thing which had shakeonut of himthe lingering
shred of warmtaht the back of his mind which said that this was just a temporaryproblem. It seemed terrible in the night hobuurst, would be
all right itnhe morning when he cousldee people and sort things out.
He fingered the memory tohef
moment in hims ind and could not liett
go.
He had seen Richard and Richard, he knew, had seen him. It was not going to be all right.
Usually when hefelt this bad antight he popped downstairs to see
what was itnhe fridge, so he went now. It would be more chtehearnful
thismoonlit bedroom. He woulhdang aroundthe kitchen going bumipn

the night.
He slid down --and partially through --the banisters, wafted
through the kitchen door without a sectohnodught and then devoteadll hisconcentration and energyfor about fiveminutes togetting the
light switch on.
That gavehim areal senseof achievement andhe determinedto celebrate with a beer.
After a minute otrwo of repeatedlyjuggling anddropping a can of Fosters he gave it up. He had nostlitghhetest conceptionof how he could manage to open a ring pull, and besides the stuaflfl swhaksen
up bynow -- and what was he going towidtho the stuff even if he did get it open?
He didn’thave a body to keep it in. He hurled the can away from him and it scuttled off under a cupboard.
He began to noticseomething about himself,which was theway in which his abilittyo graspthings seemed to growand fadein a slow rhythm, as did his visibility.
There was an irregularity in trhheythm, though, or perhaps it was just thatsometimes the effects of it woublde much more pronounced than at others. That, too, seemed to vary according to a rshlyotwhmer. Just athat momentit seemed to himthat his strengthwas on the increase.
In a sudden fever oacftivity he tried to see how many things in the kitchen he could move or use or somehow get to work.
He pulled opencupboards, he yanked out drawers, scattering cutlery
on the floorH. e got a brief whirr out ofthe food processor, he

knocked over the electric coffee grinder withgoeuttting it to work, he turnedon thegas on the cookerhob but then couldn’t ligiht,t he
savaged aloaf of bread with carving knife. Hetried stuffing lumps
of breadinto his mouth, but they simply fell through his mouth to the floor.A mouse appeared, but scurried from the room, itselceocatrtic
with fear.
Eventually he stoppedand satat thekitchen table, emotionally exhausted but physically numb.
How, he wondered, would people react to his death? Who would be most sorry to know that he had gone?
For a while there would bsehock, then sadness,then they would
adjust, and he would be a fading memory as people got othneiwr iothwn liveswithout him,thinking that he had gone on to wherever people go. That was a thought that filled him with the most icy dread.
He had not gone. He was still here.
He satfacing one cupboard that he hadn’t managedto openyet becauseits handle was too stiff, atnhdat annoyedhim. He grappled awkwardly with tain of tomatoes, thenwent over again tothe large cupboard and attacketdhe handle withthe tin. The door flew opaennd his own missing bloodstained body fell horribly forward out of it. Gordon hadn’trealised up till this point that it was possible for a ghost to faint.
He realised it now and did it.
He was woken a couple of hours labtyer the sound of his gas cooker exploding.

[::: CHAPTER 16 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
The following morning Richard woke up twice.
The first timehe assumed he had made a mistaned turned over for
a fitful few minutes more. The second htiemesat up with a jolt as the events of the previous night insisted themselves upon him.
He wentdownstairs and had ma oody andunsettled breakfast, during which nothing wenrtight. He burned the toast, spilltehde coffee, and realised that thoughe’d meant tobuy some moremarmalade yesterday,
hehadn’t. He surveyed his feebleattempt at feedinghimself and
thought thamt
aybe he couldat leastallow himselfthe time to take
Susan out for an amazing meal tonight, to make up for last night. If he could persuade her to come.
There was a restaurant that Gordhoand been enthusing about at great lengthand recommending that they try. Gordon waspretty goodon restaurants -- he certainly seemteod spend enough time in them. He sat andtapped his teethwith a pencil for caouple ofminutes, and then
went up to his workroom alungdged a telephone directory out from under a pile of computer magazines.
L’Esprit d’Escalier.
He phoned the restaurant and tried to bootakblae, but when he said when he wanted it for this seemed to cause a little amusement.
‘Ah, non, m’sieur,’ saidthe maître d’,‘I regret that it is
impossible. Athis moment it isnecessary tomake reservations at

least three weeks in advance. Pardon, m’sieur.’
Richard marvelled at theidea thatthere were people whaoctually
knew what they wanted to do thwreeks in advance, thanked the maître d’and rang off.Well, maybe a pizza again instead. Thisthought
connectedback to the appointment he had failed to keep last night, and after a moment curiosity overcamhiem and he reached for the phone book again.
Gentleman... Gentles... Gentry.
There wasno Gently at all. Notsiangle one.He found theother directories,except for the S-Z book which his cleaning lady continually threw away for reasons he had never yet fathomed. There wascertainly no Cjelli, or anything likite. There was no Jently,no Dgently,no Djently,no Dzently, noranything remotely similar.He wondered about Tjently, Tsentli or Tzentliand tried DirectoryEnquiries, butthey were out.He sat and tapped his teeth
with a pencil again and watched his sofa slroewvolylving on the screen of his computer.
How verypeculiar it hadbeen that it haodnly been hours earlier that Reg had asked after Dirk with such urgency.
If you really wanted to find someone, how would you set about it,
what would you do?
He tried phoning thpeolice, but theywere out tooW.
ell, that was
that. Hehad doneall hecould do for the momesnhtort of hiring a

privatedetective, and he hadbetter ways of wastinghis time and
money. He would run into Dirk again, as he did every few years or so. He found ithard to believe there were really such people, anyway,
as private detectives.
What sortof people were they? Whdaitd theylook like, wheredid they work?
What sort of tiwe ould you wear iyfou were a private detective? Presumablyit would haveto beexactly the sortof tiethat people wouldn’t expectprivate detectives towear. Imagine having to sort out a problem like that when you’d just got up.
Just out of curiosity as much as anything else, and betchaeusoenly alternativewas settling down toAnthem coding, he found himself leafing through the Yellow Pages.
Private Detectives -- see Detective Agencies.
The words looked almost odd in such a solidand businesslike
context. He flipped back throutghhe book.Dry Cleaners, Dog Breeders, Dental Technicians, Detective Agencies...
At that moment the phonraeng and he answeredit, a little curtly. He didn’t like being interrupted.
‘Something wrong, Richard?’
‘Oh, hi, Kate, sorry, no. I was... my mind was elsewhere.’
Kate Anselm wasanother star programmer at WayForward Technologies. She wasworking ona long-term Artificial Intelligenceproject, the
sortof thing that soundeldike anabsurd pipe dream untyilou heard her talking abouit. Gordon needed to hear her talking abitouqtuite
regularly, partly because he was nervous abthoeut money it was costing

and partly because, well, there was lditotluebt that Gordon liked to hear Kate talking anyway.
‘I didn’twant to disturb you,’ she said. ‘It’s just I was trying to contact Gordonand can’t. There’s no reply from London orcothtteage, or his car or hbilseeper. It’s just that for someone as obsessively in
contact as Gordoint’s a bit odd. You heard he’s had a phone put in his isolation tank? True.’
‘I haven’tspoken to him since yesterday,’ said Richard. He suddenly remembered thetape he had takenfrom Susan’s answering machine, and hoped to Godthere wasn’t anything more important in Gordomn’esssage than ravings abourtabbits. He said,‘I know he was goingto the
cottage.Er, I don’t know where he iHs.ave you tried--’ Richard couldn’t think of anywhere else to try -- ‘...er. Good God.’
‘Richard?’
‘How extraordinary...’
‘Richard, what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing, Kate. Er, I’ve just read the most astounding thing.’
‘Really, what are you reading?’
‘Well, the telephone directory, in fact...’
‘Really? I must rush out and buy one. Have the film rights gone?’
‘Look, sorry, Kate, can I get back to you? I don’t know Gwohrdeoren is at the moment and --’
‘Don’t worry. I knowhow it is when you can’t wait to turn the next page. They always keeypou guessingtill the endd, on’t they? It must
have been Zbigniew that did it. Have a good weekend.’ She hung up.

Richard hung up too, and sat staring at the box advertiselmyinegnt
open in front of him in the Yellow Pages.
DIRK GENTLY’S
HOLISTIC DETECTIVE AGENCY We solve the/whole/ crime
We find the/whole/ person
Phone today for the /whole/ solution to your problem
(Missing cats and messy divorces a speciality)
33a Peckender St., London N1 01-354 9112
Peckender Street was only a few minutes’ walk away. Richard
scribbled downthe address, pulled on his coat and trotted downstairs, stoppingto make another quick inspectioonf the sofaT. here must, he thought,be something terriblyobvious that he waosverlooking. The
sofa was jammed on a slight turtnheinlong narrow stairwayA. t this pointthe stairs were interruptedfor acouple of yards of flat
landing,which corresponded with the positionof the flat directly
beneath Richard’sH.
owever, hisinspection produced no new insights,
and he eventually clambered on over it and out of the front door. In Islington you can hardly hurl abrick without hittingthree
antique shops, an estate agent and a bookshop.
Even if you didn’t actuallyhit them you would certainly soeftf
their burglar alarms, which wouldn’t be turned off again tiltlheafter
weekend. Apolice carplayed its regulargame of dodgemsdown Upper
Street and squealed
ato halt just past him. Richacrrdossed theroad

behind it.
The daywas coldand bright, whichhe liked.He walked across the
top of Islington Green, whewreinos get beaten up, past the site of the old CollinsMusic Hall which had gobturnt down, and throughCamden Passage whereAmerican tourists get rippedoff. He browsed among the antiques for a while and lookaet da pairof earrings thaht e thought
Susan would like, but wheasn’t sure. Then he wasn’t sure that he liked them, gotconfused and gave up. He lookedatina bookshop, and oann impulsebought an anthology of Coleridge’psoems since it wasjust
lying there.
From here he threaded his way through wthineding back streets, over the canalp, ast the council estates that lined the canal, through a numberof smaller and smaller squares, till finally he reached
Peckender Street, whichad turned out to bae good deal farther than he’d thought.
It was the sort of street where property develoipnerlsarge Jaguars drivearound atthe weekendsalivating. It was fulol f end-of-lease shops, Victorianindustrial architecture anda short, decaying late- Georgian terrace, aljul st itching to bpeulled down sothat sturdy
young concrete boxes could sproinut their places. Estate agents roamed the area in hungry packs, eyeing each owthaerirly, their clipboards on
a hair trigger.
Number 33,when heeventually found it neatly sandwiched between 37
and 45, was
ain poorish state of repair, but no worse than most of the
rest.

The ground floorwas a dusty travel agent’s whose window was cracked andwhose fadedBOAC posters wereprobably now quite valuableT. he
doorway next to the shop hbaeden painted brightred, not well, but at
least recentlyA.
push button next to the door said, in neatly
pencilled lettering, ‘Dominique, French lessons, 3me Floor’. The most striking feature of the door, howevwear,s the bold and shinybrass plaquefixed inthe deadcentre of it, on which was engraved the legend ‘Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency’.
Nothing else. It looked brand new -- even the screws that held it in place were still shiny.
The door opened to Richard’s push and he peered inside.
He saw ashort and mustyhallway which contained littlebut the
stairway thatled up from iAt.
door atthe back of the haslhl owed
littlesign of havingbeen opened in recenytears, and hadstacks of old metal shelving, fiash tankand the carcassof abike piledup againstit. Everything else, the walls, the floor, the stairs
themselves, and ams uch of the rear door as couldgobteat, had been painted greyin an attempt to smarten it up cheaply, but it was all now badly scuffed, and littcleups of fungus were peeking from a damp stain near the ceiling.
The sounds of angryvoices reachedhim, andas he started up the stairs hewas able todisentangle the noises of two entirely separate
but heated arguments that were going on somewhere above him.
One ended abruptly-- or at least half ofdidt
-- asan angry
overweightman came clattering down thestairs pulling hisraincoat
collarstraight. The other half othfe argument continued in a torrent

of aggrieved French from hiagbhove them. The man pushepdast Richard, said, ‘Save your money, mate, ait’scomplete washout,’ and disappeared out into the chilly morning.
The otherargument was more muffled. ARsichard reachedthe first corridor adoor slammed somewhere and brought that too to eannd. He looked into the nearest open doorway.
It led into a small ante-office. The othinenr,er door leading from
it was firmly closed. A youngish plump-fagcierld in acheap blue coat waspulling sticks ofmake-up andboxes ofKleenex out of her desk drawer and thrusting them into her bag.
‘Is this the detective agency?’ Richard asked her tentatively. The girl nodded, biting her lip and keeping her head down.
‘And is Mr Gently in?’
‘He may be,’she said,throwing back her hair, whicwhas too curly
for throwingback properly, ‘and then again he may bneo. t I am not in
aposition to tell. It is not
bmuysiness to know ohfis whereabouts.
His whereabouts are, as of now, entirely his own business.’ She retrievedher lastpot ofnail varnish andtried to slam the
drawer shut. A fat book sitting upright in the dprarewveernted it from closing.She tried to slam thedrawer again,without success. She
picked upthe book, ripped ouat clump of pages and replaced it. This time she was able to slam the drawer with ease.
‘Are you his secretary?’ asked Richard.
‘I am hisex-secretary and I intend tostay that way,’ she said, firmlysnapping her bagshut. ‘Ifhe intendsto spendhis money on

stupid expensivebrass plaques rather than opnaying me, then let him. ButI won’tstay to stand for it,thank youvery much. Goodfor
business, my foot. Answering the phopnreosperly isgood forbusiness
and I’dlike to see his fancy brass plaque do that. If you’ll excuse me
I’d like to storm out, please.’
Richard stood aside, and out she stormed.
‘And good riddance!’ shouted a voifcreom the inner office. pAhone rang and was picked up immediately.
‘Yes?’ answered the voice from thinener office, testly.The girl poppedback forher scarf,but quietly, soher ex-employer wouldn’t hear. Then she was finally gone.
‘Yes, Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency. How can woef bheelp to you?’
The torrent of French from upstairs had ceased. A okfintednse calm descended.
Inside, the voice said, ‘That’s right, Mrs Sunderland, messy divorces are our particular speciality.’
There was a pause.
‘Yes, thank you,Mrs Sunderland, not quite that messyD.’own went the phoneagain, to be replaced instantlyby theringing of another
one.
Richard looked aroundthe grim little office. There was very little
in it. A batterecdhipboard veneer desk, an old grey filing cabinet and adark green tinwastepaper bin. Onthe wall was a Duran Duran poster onwhich someone hadscrawled in fat red fetlitp, ‘Take thisdown
please’.

Beneath that another hand had scrawled, ‘No’.
Beneath that againthe first handhad written, ‘I insistht at you take it down’.
Beneath that the second hand had written, ‘Won’t!’ Beneath that -- ‘You’re fired’.
Beneath that -- ‘Good!’
And there the matter appeared to have rested.
He knocked on theinner doorb, ut was not answered. Insteadthe voicecontinued, ‘I’m very glaydou asked me that, Mrs Rawlinson. The
term “holistic” refers
mtoy conviction that what we are concerned with
here isthe fundamental interconnectedness of altlhings. I do not concern myselfwith such petty things as fingerprint powder, telltale pieces of pocket fluff ainndane footprints. I see the solution to each problemas beingdetectable in the patterannd web of the wholTe.he connections between causes anedffects are oftenmuch moresubtle and complex than we with our rouagnhd ready understanding of thpehysical world might naturally suppose, Mrs Rawlinson.
‘Let megive you anexample. Ifyou go toan acupuncturist with toothache hesticks a needleinstead intoyour thigh. Do you know why he does that, Mrs Rawlinson?
‘No, neitherdo I,Mrs Rawlinson, but we intendto findout. A pleasure talking to you, Mrs Rawlinson. Goodbye.’ Another phone was ringing as he put this one down. Richard eased the door open and looked in.
It was the sameSvlad, or Dirk, CjelliL. ooking alittle rounder

about themiddle, a little loosearnd redderabout the eyesand the neck, butit was stillessentially the sameface thathe remembered
most vividly smiling a grsimile as its owner climbed into the back of one of the Black Marias of Cthame bridgeshire constabulary, eight years previously.
He wore aheavy old light brown suit which looked aits hifas been
worn extensively for bramble hackienxgpeditions in some distantand
better pasta,
red checkedshirt whichfailed entirelyto harmonise
with the suit, and a gresetrniped tie which refused to speak to either of them. Haelso wore thick metal-rimmed spectacles,which probably accounted at least in part for his dress sense.
‘Ah, Mrs Bluthall,how thoroughly upliftingto hear from you,’ he
was saying‘.I was so distressetdo learn that Miss Tiddles has passed over.This isdesperate news indeed.And yet, and yet.S..hould we
allow black despair
htoide from us the fairer light iwn hich your
blessed moggy now forever dwells?
‘I think not.Hark. Ithink I hear Miss Tiddles miaowing even now. Shecalls to you, MrBs luthall. Shesays sheis content, sheis at
peace. Shesays she’ll be even more at peace when you’ve paid some bill
or otherD.
oes that ring a bell with you at all,BMlurthsall? Come to
think ofit I thinkI sentyou one myselfnot three monthsago. I
wonder if it can be that which is disturbing her eternal rest.’
Dirk beckoned Richard in with a brisk wave and mthoetnioned him to pass thecrumpled pack of Frenchcigarettes that was sitting just out
of his reach.
‘Sunday night, then, Mrs Bluthall, Sunday night at eight-thirty. You

know theaddress. Yes, I’m sure MiTssiddles willappear, as I’m sure will your cheque book. Till then, Mrs Bluthall, till then.’
Another phone was alreadryinging as he got rid Mofrs Bluthall. He grabbed at it, lighting his crumpled cigarette at the same time.
‘Ah, MrsSauskind,’ he said in answer thtoe caller, ‘my oldest and
may I say most valued client. Goodtodayyou, Mrs Sauskind, good day. Sadly, no sigans yet of young RodericIk’,m afraid, but the search is intensifyingas it moves into whatI am confidenat re its closing
stages,and I amsanguine that within mere dayfrsom today’s datewe
willhave the young rascal permanently restored to your arms and mewing prettily, ah yes the bill, I was wondering if you had received it.’
Dirk’s crumpled cigaretteturned out to be too crumpled to smoke, so he hooked the phonoen his shoulder and poked arouinnd the packet for another, but it was empty.
He rummagedon his desk for paiece of paper and a stoufb pencil and wrote a note which he passed to Richard.
‘Yes, Mrs Sauskind,’ he assured the telephonea,m‘Ilistening with the utmost attention.’
The note said ‘Tell secretary get cigs’.
‘Yes,’ continued Dirkinto the phone‘,but as I have endeavoured to explain toyou, Mrs Sauskind, over the seven years of our acquaintance, I inclineto thequantum mechanical view itnhis matter. My theory is
thatyour cat isnot lost,but that his waveform has temporarily
collapsed and must be restored. Schrödinger. Planck. And so on.’ Richard wrote on the note ‘You haven’t got secretary’puasnhded it

back.
Dirk considered this for a while, then wrote ‘Damn and blatshte’ on
paper and pushed it to Richard again.
‘I grantyou, Mrs Sauskind,’ continued Dirk blithely, ‘that nineteen years is, shall wseay, a distinguished age for a cat to reach, yet can we allowourselves tobelieve that a catsuch as Roderickhas not
reached it?
‘And should we nowin the autumnof hisyears abandon him to his
fate?This surelyis the timethat he most needs the suppoorft
our
continuing investigations. This tihse time that we should redouble our efforts, and with your permission, Mrs Sauskind, isthwathat I intend
to doI.magine, Mrs Sauskind,how you would facheim if you handot done this simple thing for him.’
Richard fidgeted with the note, shrugged to himself,warnodte ‘I’ll get them’ on it and passed it back once more.
Dirk shook his headin admonition, then wrot‘eI couldn’t possibly
that would be most kindA’s.
soon asRichard had read thisD, irk took
the note back and added ‘Get money from secretary’ to it. Richard looked at the paper thoughtfully, took the peandilput a ticknext to where he had previously written ‘You haven’t got secretary’. Hepushed the paper back acrostshe table to Dirk, who
merely glanced at it and ticked ‘I coulpdons’stibly that would be most kind’.
‘Well, perhaps,’continued Dirk to Mrs Sauskind, ‘you could just run over any otfhe areas in the btihllat cause you difficultyJ.ust the
broader areas.’

Richard let himself out.
Running down the stairs, hpeassed a young hopeful in a denim jacket and close-cropped hair peering anxiously up the stairwell.
‘Any good, mate?’ he said to Richard.
‘Amazing,’ murmured Richard, ‘just amazing.’
He found a nearby newsagent’s and pickuepda coupleof packets of
DisqueBleu for Dirk, and caopy of thenew edition of /Personal
Computer World/, which had a picture of Gordon Way on the front.
‘Pity about him, isn’t it?’ said the newsagent.
‘What? Oh,er... yes,’ said Richard. He often thoughtthe same himself, buwt as surprised to find hifseelings so widelyechoed. He picked up a /Guardian/ as well, paid and left.
Dirk was still onthe phone with his feet on the table when Richard
returned, and it was clear that he was relainxtionghis negotiations.
‘Yes, expenses werew,
ell, expensive inthe Bahamas, Mrs Sauskind,
it is in the nature of expentosesbe so. Hence the name.’ tHooek the proffered packetsof cigarettes, seemeddisappointed therewere only
two, butbriefly raised hiseyebrows to Richard in acknowledgemeonft
the favour he had done him, and then waved him to a chair. The soundsof an argument conducted partliyn Frenchdrifted down from the floor above.
‘Of courseI will explain to you again why the trip to the Bahamas was so vitallnyecessary,’ said Dirk Gentlsyoothingly. ‘Nothing could give me greateprleasure. I believe, as you knoMw,rs Sauskind, in the
fundamental interconnectedness of all things. Furthermore I have

plotted andtriangulated the vectorsof the interconnectedness of all things and tracetdhem to a beachin Bermudawhich it istherefore necessaryfor meto visit from time totime inthe course ofmy investigations.I wish it werenot the case, since, sadly,I am
allergicto both the sun and rum punches, but then wehaavlle our crosses to bear, do we not, Mrs Sauskind?’
A babble seemed to break out from the telephone.
‘You sadden me, MrSsauskind. I wish I could findinitmy heart to tellyou thatI findyour scepticism rewarding anidnvigorating, but
with thebest willin theworld I cannot.I amdrained by it, Mrs Sauskind,drained. I think youwill find an item in the bill to that effect. Let me see.’
He picked up a flimsy carbon copy lying near him.
‘“Detecting and triangulating thevectors ofinterconnectedness of
all things, one hundred and fifty pounds.” We’ve dealt with that.
‘“Tracing same to beach on Bahamas, fare aancdcommodation.” A mere fifteenhundred. The accommodation was, of course, distressingly
modest.
‘Ah yes,here weare, “Struggling on in theface of draining
scepticism from client, drink--s three hundred and twenty-seven pounds fifty.”
‘Would thatI did not haveto make such charges,my dear Mrs
Sauskind,would that the occasion didnot continually arise. Not
believing in my methods onmlyakes my job more difficult, Mrs Sauskind, and hence, regrettably, more expensive.’
Upstairs, the sounds ofargument were becoming more heatebdy the

moment. The French voice seemed to be verging on hysteria.
‘I doappreciate, MrsSauskind,’ continuedDirk, ‘that the cost of the investigation has strayed somewhat from otrhigeinal estimate, but I am sure that ywouill in your turn appreciate that a wjohbich takes
seven yearsto do mustclearly bemore difficult than one that can be pulled offin anafternoon and mustherefore becharged at a higher rate.I havecontinually to revise my estimaotef howdifficult the
task is in the light of how difficult it has so far proved to be.’ The babble from the phone became more frantic.
‘My dear Mrs Sauskind -- or may I call you Joyce?wVelel rythen. My
dear MrsSauskind, let me satyhis. Do not worry yourselafbout this
bill, do not let it alarm or discoymofui.t Do notI,
beg youl,et it
become a source of anxiety to you. Just grit your teeth and pay it.’ He pulled his feet down off thtaeble and leaned forward over the desk,inching the telephone receiver inexorably back towards its
cradle.
‘As always, the very greatest pleasureto speak with you, Mrs
Sauskind. For now, goodbye.’
He at last put down the receiver, picked it up againd,roapnpded it for the moment into the waste basket.
‘My dear Richard MacDuff,’ he said, producinlgargae flat boxfrom under his desk and pushing it across the table at him, ‘your pizza.’ Richard started back in astonishment.
‘Er, no thanks,’ he said, ‘I had breakfast. Please. You have it.’
Dirk shrugged. ‘I told them you’dpop in and settluep over the

weekend,’ he said. ‘Welcome, by the way, to my offices.’ He waved a vague hand around the tatty surroundings.
‘The light works,’ he said, indicating thewindow, ‘thegravity
works,’ he said, dropping a penocnil the floor. ‘Anything else we have to take our chances with.’
Richard cleared his throat. ‘What,’ he said, ‘is this?’
‘What is what?’
‘This,’ exclaimed Richard, ‘all this. You appteoarhave a Holistic
Detective Agency and I don’t even know what one is.’
‘I provide a service that uisnique in this world,’ said Dirk. ‘The term“holistic” refers to my conviction that what we are concerned with here is the fundamental interconnectedness of all --’
‘Yes, Igot that bitearlier,’ said Richard. ‘I have to say that it sounded a bit like an excuse for exploiting gullible old ladies.’
‘Exploiting?’ asked Dirk. ‘Well, I suppose it woubled ifanybody ever paid meb,ut Ido assureyou, my dear Richard, that thenreever
seemsto be the remotest dangoerf that.I live in what are knowasn
hopes. Ihope for fascinating and remunerativecases, mysecretary hopes that I wpilal y her, herlandlord hopes thatshe willproduce somerent, theElectricity Board hopes that he will settle their bill, and so on. I find it a wonderfully optimistic way of life.
‘Meanwhile I give a loft charming and sillyold ladies something
to be happily cross aboauntd virtually guarantee thfereedom of their cats. Is therey,ou ask -- and pIut the question for you becausIe
know youknow Ihate to be interrupted i-s- there a single case that
exercises thetiniest part of my intellect, which,yoasu hardlyneed

me totell you, isprodigious? No. But doI despair? Am I downcast? Yes. Until,’ he added, ‘today.’
‘Oh, well, I’m glad othfat,’ said Richard, ‘but whwatas allthat rubbish about cats and quantum mechanics?’
With a sigh Dirk flipped up the lid of the wpiitzhzaa single flick of practised fingers. He surveyed the cold round wthiitnhga kindof sadness and then tore off a hunk of it. Pieces of pepperoanci haonvdy scattered over his desk.
‘I am sure, Richard,’ he said, ‘that youare familiar withthe
notion of Schrödinger’Cs at,’ and he stuffedthe larger part of the hunk into his mouth.
‘Of course,’ said Richard. ‘Well, reasonably familiar.’
‘What is it?’ said Dirk through a mouthful.
Richard shifted irritably inhis seat. ‘It’san illustration,’he
said, ‘of the principle thaatt a quantum level all events are governed by probabilities...’
‘At a quantum level, anthderefore at all levels,’ interrupted Dirk.
‘Though aat ny level higher than the subatomic the cumulative effect of those probabilities is, in the normal course of events, indistinguishablefrom the effect of hardand fast physicallaws.
Continue.’
He put some more cold pizza into his face.
Richard reflected that Dirk’s was face into which too muchhad already been puWt. hat with thaat nd the amount he talked, the traffic through hismouth was almost incessanHt. is ears, on the other hand,

remained almost totally unused in normal conversation.
It occurred toRichard that if Lamarck had been right yaonud were totake a linethrough this behaviour for several generationsth, e
chances werethat some radical replumbinogf the interior of the skull would eventually take place.
Richard continued, ‘Not onlayre quantumlevel eventsgoverned by probabilities, but those probabilities aren’t even resolivnetod actual events untitlhey are measured. Or tuose aphrase that I just heard you use ian rather bizarrecontext, the act of measuremecnot llapses the probabilitywaveform. Up until thaptoint all the possible courses
of actionopen to, saya, n electron, coexist as probability waveforms. Nothing is decided. Until it’s measured.’
Dirk nodded. ‘More or lessh,’e said, taking anothemr outhful. ‘But what of the cat?’
Richard decided that there was onolnye way to avoid having to watch Dirk eat his way throuaglhl the rest of the pizza, and that was to eat the rest himself. He rollietdup and took a token nibobflfe the end.
It was rather good. He took another bite. Dirk watched this with startled dismay.
‘So,’ saidRichard, ‘the ideabehind Schrödinger’s Cat wasto try
and imagine a wainy
which the effects of probabilistic behaviouar at
quantum levecl ould be considered aat macroscopic level. Or let’s say an everyday level.’
‘Yes, let’s,’ saidDirk, regardingthe rest of thepizza with a
stricken look. Richard took another bite and continued cheerfully.
‘So you imagine that you take a cat and put it in a box that you can

sealcompletely. Also in thbeox youput asmall lump of radioactive material, anda phial of poison gasY. ou arrange ist o that within a givenperiod of timethere is an exactlfyifty-fifty chance thaat n
atomin the radioactivelump will decay and emit an electron. If it does decaythen it triggersthe release of the gand kills the cat.
If it doesn’t, the cat lives. Fifty-fifty. Depenodningthe fifty-fifty chance that a single atom does or does not decay.
‘The point asI understand it itshis: since the decay of a single atom isa quantum level event thawt ouldn’t be resolved eitherway until it was observeadn, d since you don’mt ake theobservation until
youopen the box and see whether the cat is alive or dead, then there’s a rather extraordinary consequence.
‘Until you doopen the box the cat itself exists in an indeterminate state.The possibility that it is alive, and the possibility that it is
dead, are two differewntaveforms superimposed on each other inside the box.Schrödinger put forward this idea iltloustrate what he thought
was absurd about quantum theory.’
Dirk got up and padded over to the window, probably not so much for themeagre view it afforded over an old warehouse on which an alternativecomedian was lavishing his vast lager commercial fees
developing into luxury apartments, faosr the lack ovfiew it afforded of the last piece of pizza disappearing.
‘Exactly,’ said Dirk, ‘bravo!’
‘But what’s altlhat got to do with this -- this Detective Agency?’
‘Oh, that. Well, someresearchers wereonce conducting such an

experiment, but when they opened up btohxe, the cat was neither alive nor deadbut was in facctompletely missing, and thecyalled me in to investigate.I was able to deducethat nothing verydramatic had
happened. The cat hamderely got fed up with being repeatedly locked up ina box and occasionally gassed and had taken the first opportunity to hoof it through the window. It was fotrhemework of a moment to set a saucer of milk by twheindow and call “Bernice” in an enticing voice --
the cat’s name was Bernice, you understand --’
‘Now, wait a minute --’ said Richard.
‘ -- and the cwatas soon restored. A simple enough matter, but it seemed to create quiaten impressionin certaincircles, and soon one thing led taonother as they daond it all culminated tihne thriving
career you see before you.’
‘Wait a minute, waita minute,’insisted Richard, slapping the table.
‘Yes?’ enquired Dirk innocently.
‘Now, what are you talking about, Dirk?’
‘You have a problem with what I have told you?’
‘Well, I hardly knowwhere to begin,’ protested Richard. ‘All right. Yousaid that some people were performingthe experiment. That’s nonsense.Schrödinger’s Cat isn’t areal experiment. It’s justan illustration forarguing about the idea.It’s not something you’d
actually do.’
Dirk was watching him with odd attention.
‘Oh, really?’ he said at last. ‘And why not?’
‘Well, there’s nothing you can teTsth.e whole point of the idiesa

to think about whhaat ppens before you make your observation. You can’t knowwhat’s going oninside the boxwithout looking, andthe very
instantyou look the wavepacket collapses and the probabilities resolve. It’s self-defeating. It’s completely purposeless.’
‘You are, ofcourse, perfectly correct asfar as you go,’ replied Dirk, returningto hisseat. Hedrew a cigarette ouotf the packet, tapped itseveral times on the deska,nd leant across the deskand pointed the filter at Richard.
‘But think about this,’ he continued. ‘Supposing you were to introduce a psychic, someone with clairvoyant powers, into the experiment -- someone who aibsle to divine what state ohfealth the
cat is iwn ithout opening the boxS.omeone who has, perhaps, a certain
eeriesympathy with catsW.
hat then? Mighthat furnish us withan
additional insight into the problem of quantum physics?’
‘Is that what they wanted to do?’
‘It’s what they did.’
‘Dirk, this is /complete nonsense/.’
Dirk raised his eyebrows challengingly.
‘All right, all right,’ saRidichard, holdingup his palms, ‘let’s
just follow
tiht rough. Evenif I accepted -- which I don’t for one
second -- that there was any basiasll aftor clairvoyance, it wouldn’t alter thefundamental undoableness ofthe experiment. As I saitdh,e
whole thing turns on whhaatppens insidethe box before it’s observed. Itdoesn’t matter how yooubserve it, whether you look inttohe box
withyour eyes or -- well, with your mind, if you insist. If

clairvoyance works, then it’s just another way of looking inbtoxt,he
and if it doesn’t then of course it’s irrelevant.’
‘It might depend, of course, on the view you take of clairvoyance...’
‘Oh yes?And what view do you take of clairvoyance? I should be very interested to know, given your history.’
Dirk tapped the cigarettoen the desk again and lookendarrowly at
Richard.
There was a deep and prolonged silence, disturbed boynlythesound of distant crying in French.
‘I take the view I have always taken,’ said Dirk eventually.
‘Which is?’
‘That I am not clairvoyant.’
‘Really,’ said Richard. ‘Then what about the exam papers?’
The eyes of Dirk Gently darkened at the mention of this subject.
‘A coincidence,’ he saidi,n a low, savage voice,
s‘atrange and
chilling coincidenceb, ut none the lessa coincidence.One, Imight add,which caused me to spend a considerable time in prison. Coincidences can be frightening and dangerous things.’
Dirk gave Richard another of his long appraising looks.
‘I have beenwatching you carefully,’ hesaid. ‘Youseem to be extremely relaxed for a man in your position.’
This seemed toRichard to bean odd remark, and hteried to make senseof it fora moment. Then the light dawned, andit wasan aggravating light.
‘Good heavens,’ he said, ‘he hasn’t got to you as well, has he?’

This remark seemed to puzzle Dirk in return.
‘Who hasn’t got to me?’ he said.
‘Gordon. No, obviouslynot. Gordon Way. He has thhiasbit of trying
toget other people to bring pressure on me to get on with what he sees
as important work. I thought afomr oment --oh, never mindW.
hat did
you mean, then?’
‘Ah. Gordon Way /has/ this habit, has he?’
‘Yes. I don’t like it. Why?’
Dirk looked longand hard at Richard, tapping paencil lightly on the desk.
Then he leanedback inhis chair and saiads follows: ‘The body of Gordon Way wadsiscovered before dawn this morninHg.e hadbeen shot, strangled,and then hishouse was seton fire. Police are working on
the theorythat hewas not actuallyshot in the housebecause no
shotgun pellets were discovered there other than those in the body.
‘However, pellets were found near toMr Way’s Mercedes 50S0EC, whichwas foundabandoned about three miles from his house.This suggests thathe body was moved after themurder. Furthermore the
doctor whoexamined the body is othfe opinion that Mr Way was in fact strangled after he washsot, which seems to suggest a certain confusion
in the mind of the killer.
‘By a startling coincidence aipt pears that the police last night
had occasionto interview a very confused-seeming gentleman who said
that hewas suffering from some kind of guilt complex about having just run over his employer.

‘That man was a Mr RichardMacDuff, andhis employer was the deceased,Mr Gordon Way. It has further beseunggested that Mr Richard MacDuff isone of the two peoplme ost likely to benefit from Mr Way’s death,since WayForward Technologies wouldalmost certainly passat leastpartly into his hands.The otherperson is hisonly living
relative,Miss SusanWay, into whose flat Mr Richard MacDuff was observedto break last night. Thepolice don’t know that bito, f course.Nor, ifwe can helpit, will they. However, any relationship between the two othfem will naturallycome underclose scrutiny. The news reportson the radio saythat they are urgently seeking Mr MacDuff,who theybelieve will be able to help them with their enquiries, but the tone of voice says thatclheea’rsly guilty as hell.
‘My scale of chargeiss as follows: two hundred pounds a dpalyu,s expenses. Expensesare not negotiable and will sometimes stritkheose who donot understand these matters assomewhat tangential. They are all necessary and are, as I say, not negotiable. Am I hired?’
‘Sorry,’ said Richard, nodding slightly.‘Would you start that again?’
[::: CHAPTER 17 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
The Electric Monk hardly knew what to believe any more.
He had been through baewildering numberof belief systemsin the previous few hoursm, ost of whichhad failed to providheim with the long-termspiritual solace that it was his bounden programming

eternally to seek.
He was fed up. Frankly. And tired. And dispirited.
And furthermore, whichcaught him by surpriseh,e rather missed his
horse.A dull and menial creaturteo,
besure, andas such hardly
worthy of the preoccupation oonfe whose mind was destinefdorever to concern itselfwith higher thingsbeyond the understanding of a simple horse, but nevertheless he missed it.
He wantedto sit on it. He wanted to pat it. He wanted tthoatfeel
it didn’t understand.
He wondered where it was.
He dangled hisfeet disconsolately from the branch othfe tree in
which he had spent tnhieght. He had climbed it in pursuit of some wild fantastic dreamand then had got stuck and htoadstay there titlhl e
morning.
Even now, by daylight, hewasn’t certainhow he was gointgo get
down. He came formaoment perilously closeto believing that he could fly, but qauick-thinking error-checking protocolcut in and tolhdim
not to be so silly.
It was a problem though.
Whatever burning fireof faith had borne himin,spired onwings of hope, upwardsthrough the branches of the treine the magichours of night, had not alsporovided him with instructions on hotowget back
down againwhen, like altogether too many of these burning fiery night- time faiths, it had deserted him in the morning.
And speaking -- orrather thinking -- of burning fiery things, there

had been ma ajor burning fiery thing a little distance from here in the
early pre-dawn hours.
It lay, he thought,
tihne direction from which he himself had come
whenhe had been drawnby a deepspiritual compulsion towardsthis inconveniently highbut otherwise embarrassingly ordinary treHe.e had longed to go and worshaitp thefire, to pledge himself eternally to
its holyglare, but while he had been struggling hopelessly to find a waydownwards throughthe branches, fire enginehsad arrivedand put the divineradiance out, and that had been anothcerreed out ofthe window.
The sun had been ufpor somehours now, and though he had occupied the time as beasst he could, believing in clouds, believing in twigs, believing ina peculiar form offlying beetle, he believed now that he
was fed up, and was utterly convincfuerdt,hermore, that he was getting hungry.
He wished he’dtaken the precaution of providing himself wsiothme foodfrom the dwelling place hhead visited inthe night, to which he hadcarried his sacred burden for entombment in the holy broom cupboard,but he had lefint the grip ofa whitepassion, believing
that such mundanme atters as food were of no consequence, that the tree would provide.
Well, it had provided. It had provided twigs. Monks did not eat twigs.
In fact,now he came ttohink of it, he felt a little uncomfortable
about some of ththeings he had believed last night ahnadd found some

ofthe results a little confusing. He had been quite clearly instructed to ‘shoot off’ and had felt strangceolmy pelled toobey but perhaps he had madea mistakein acting so precipitately oann instruction given
in a languaghee had learned only twmoinutes before. Certainlythe reaction of the person he had shot ohfafdatseemed alittle extreme.
In his ownworld when people wersehot at like that they came back
next weekfor another episode, but he didn’t think this person would be doing that.
A gust of winbdlew through the tree, makingit sway giddilyH. e climbed downa little way. Thefirst partwas reasonably easy, since the branches weraell fairlyclose together. It was thlaest bit that appearedto be aninsuperable obstacle --a sheerdrop which could
cause him severienternal damage or rupture and might in turn cause him to start believing things that were seriously strange.
The sound of voices over in a distant corntehreofifeld suddenly
caught his attention. A lorry had puullpedby the side of the road. He watched carefully for a moment, but coulsdene’t anything particular to believe in and so returned to his introspection.
There was,he remembered, an oddfunction call he had hadlast
night, whichhe hadn’t encountered before, but he had a feeling that it might besomething he’dheard of called remorse. He hadn’t felt at all comfortable about the way tpheerson he had shot athad just lain
there, and afteirnitially walking away the Monk had returned to have
another look. There was definitealny expressionon theperson’s face
which seemedto suggest that something was up, tthhaist
didn’t fit in

withthe schemeof things. The Monwk orried thathe might have badly spoiled his evening.
Still, he reflected, so long as yoduid whatyou believedto be right, that was the main thing.
The nextthing he had believed to rbigeht was that having spoiled thisperson’s evening he should at least convey him to his home, and a
quick search of his pockets had produced an address, someanmdapssome
keys. Thetrip hadbeen an arduous one, bhuet
hadbeen sustained on
the way by his faith.
The word ‘bathroom’ floated unexpectedly across the field. He looked up again tahte lorryin thedistant comer. Therewas a manin a dark blue uniform explaininsgomething to a manin rough
working clothes, who seemedlitatle disgruntled about whatever it was. The words‘until we trace thoewner’ and ‘completely batty, of course’ weregusted over on the wind. The man thine working clothes clearly agreed to accept the situation, but with bad grace.
A few moments later, a horse walesd outof the back of the lorry andinto the field. The Monk blinked. His circuits thrilledsuarngded withastonishment. Now here at last was somethingcohueld believe in,
a truly miraculous event, a reward at last for his unstinratitnhgerif
promiscuous devotion.
The horse walked with paatient, uncomplaining gait. It hadlong
grown used to being wherever it was bpuutt,for once it felt it didn’t
mind this. Hereit,
thought, was a pleasant field. Here was grass. Here
was a hedge ciot uld look at. There waesnough space that it could go
for a trot later on iffeltit theurge. The humans drove off and left

it toits own devicest,o which itwas quite content to be leIftt.
wentfor a littleamble, andthen, justfor the helol f it, stopped ambling. It could do what it liked.
What pleasure.
What very great and unaccustomed pleasure.
It slowlysurveyed the whole field, anthden decided to plan oaut
nice relaxed day for itself. A little trot later thoonu, gihtt, maybe
around threeishA.
fter that a biotf a liedown over on the east side
of the fielwd here the grass was thickerI.t lookedlike a suitable spot to think about supper in.
Lunch, it ratherfancied, couldbe taken at the south end of the field where a small stream ran. Luncha sbtyream, for heaven’ssake. This was bliss.
It also quiteliked thenotion of spendinghalf an hourwalking
alternately alittle bit to the leftand then a little btiot
the
right, for no apparernetason. It didn’t knowwhether the time between twoand three wouldbe best spent swishing its tail or multlhininggs
over.
Of course,it could always do both, if it so wished, and go for its trot a littlleater. And it hadjust spotted what lookeldike a fine
pieceof hedgefor watching things over, and thwaot uld easilywhile away a pleasant pre-prandial hour or two.
Good.
An excellent plan.
And the best thing aboiutt was that having madethiet
horse could

now completely anudtterly ignoreit. It wentinstead for a leisurely stand under the only tree in the field.
From out of itbsranches the Electric Monk dropped on to the horse’s back, with a cry which sounded suspiciously like ‘Geronimo’.
[::: CHAPTER 18 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
Dirk Gently briefly ran overthe salient factsonce morewhile RichardMacDuff’s world crashedslowly and silently into adark, freezing sea whiche hadn’t even knownwas there, waiting inches beneath hisfeet. When Dirk had finished fothre second time the room fell quiet while Richard stared fixedly at his face.
‘Where did you hear this?’ said Richard at last.
‘The radio,’said Dirk, witha slight shrug‘,at leastthe main points. It’s all over tnheews of courseT. he details? Welld, iscreet enquiries among contacts here and theTrhe.ere are one otrwo people I
gotto know at Cambridge police station, for reasons which may occur to you.’
‘I don’teven knowwhether to believe you,’ saiRd ichard quietly.
‘May I use the phone?’
Dirk courteously picked a telephone receiver out of the wastepaper bin and handed it to him. Richard dialled Susan’s number.
The phone was answered almost immediately and a frightenevdoice said, ‘Hello?’
‘Susan, it’s Ri --’

‘/Richard!/ Where are you? FoGrod’s sake, whereare you?Are you all right?’
‘Don’t tell her where you are,’ said Dirk.
‘Susan, what’s happened?’
‘Don’t you -- ?’
‘Somebody told me that something’s happened to Gordon, but...’
‘Something’s /happened/ -- ? He’s /dead/, Richard, he’s been
/murdered/ --’
‘Hang up,’ said Dirk.
‘Susan, listen. I --’
‘Hang up,’ repeatedDirk, and thenleaned forward to the phone and cut him off.
‘The police will probably have a tracoen the line,’ he explained. He took the receiver and chucked it back in the bin.
‘But I have to go to the police,’ Richard exclaimed.
‘Go to the police?’
‘What else canI do? I have to gothteo policeand tell them that it wasn’t me.’
‘Tell them that it wasn’ytou?’ said Dirkincredulously. ‘WellI expectthat willprobably make it alrlight, then.Pity Dr Crippen didn’t think of that. Would have saved him a lot of bother.’
‘Yes, but he was guilty!’
‘Yes, soit would appear. And so it would appear, at the moment, are you.’
‘But I didn’t do it, for God’s sake!’

‘You aretalking to someone who has spent time in prison for somethinghe didn’t do, remember.I told youthat coincidencesare strange anddangerous things. Believe me, isit a great deal better to findcast-iron proof thatyou’re innocent, than to languish aincell hoping thathe police -- who already think youg’ureilty -- will find
it for you.’
‘I can’t thinkstraight,’ said Richard, with his hand to his
forehead. ‘Just stop for a moment and let me think this out --’
‘If I may --’
‘Let me think -- !’
Dirk shrugged and turned his attention back to his cigarwethteic,h seemed to be bothering him.
‘It’s no good,’ said Richard shakihnigs headafter afew moments,
‘I can’t take it in. It’s like trtyoindgo trigonometry when someone’s kicking your head. OK, tell me what you think I should do.’
‘Hypnotism.’
‘What?’
‘It is hardly surprising itnhe circumstancesthat you shouldbe unable to gatheyrour thoughts clearly.However, it is vital that somebodygathers them.It will be much simpler for both of us if you will allow me to hypnotise you. I strongly suspect that thevreeryis a
greatdeal of information jumbled up in your head that will not emerge whileyou are shaking it up so -- that might not emearlglebaetcause
you do not realisites significance. With your permission we can short- cut all that.’
‘Well, that’s decidedthen,’ saidRichard, standing up, ‘I’m going

to the police.’
‘Very well,’ saidDirk, leaningback and spreading his palms on the desk, ‘I wisyhou thevery bestof luck. Perhaps on your way out you would be kind enough to ask my secretary to get me some matches.’
‘You haven’t got a secretary,’ said Richard, and left.
Dirk sat and brooded for
faew seconds, madea valiant but vain
attempt to fold the sadly empty pizza inbtooxthe wastepaper bin, and then went to look in the cupboard for a metronome.
Richard emergedblinking into the daylight. He stood on the top step rocking slightly, then plungeodff downthe street with an odd kind of dancing walk which reflected the whirling dance of his Omnindth. e one handhe simply couldn’t believe that the evidence wouldn’t show perfectlyclearly that he couldn’t have committed tmheurder; on the
other hand he had to admit that it all looked remarkably odd. He found it impossible to think cleaorrlyrationally about it. The
idea thatGordon had been murdered kept blowinugp in his mind and throwing all other thoughts into total confusion and disruption.
It occurred to him for a moment that whoever did ithamveustbeen a damnfast shot to get the trigger pulled before being totally
overwhelmed by waves of guilt, ibnustantly heregretted the thought. In fact he was a little appalledthebygeneral quality of the thoughts
that sprang inthois mind. Theyseemed inappropriate and unworthy and mostlyhad to do with how it woauflfdect his projects in the company.
He lookedabout inside himself for anfeyeling ofgreat sorrowor

regret, and assumetdhat it must be therseomewhere, probablyhiding behind the huge wall of shock.
He arrived back within sight of Islington Green, hanrodtliycing the
distance hehad walked. The sudden sight of the police squad car parked outsidehis househit him like a hammer and he swunghisonheeland
staredwith furious concentrationat the menudisplayed in the window of a Greek restaurant.
‘Dolmades,’ he thought, frantically.
‘Souvlaki,’ he thought.
‘A small spicy Greek sausage,’ passehdectically through his mind. Hetried to reconstructthe scene in his mind’s ewyeithout turning round.There had been a policeman standing watching streeet, and as
far as he could recfarlolm the briefglance he had,
litooked as if
the sidedoor of the buildinwg hich ledup to hisflat wasstanding open.
The policewere in his flat. /In/ his flat.Fassolia Plaki! A
filling bowl of haricot beans cooked in a tomato and vegetable sauce! He tried to shift his eyseids eways andback over his shoulder. The policemanwas lookingat him. He yanked his eyes back to the manednu
triedto fillhis mind with finelyground meat mixed with potato, breadcrumbs, onions and herbroslled into smalbl alls andfried. The policemanmust have recognisedhim and was at that very moment dashing acrossthe road to grab him alnudg himoff in aBlack Maria just as
they had done to Dirk all those years ago in Cambridge.
He braced his shoulders againtshte shock, but no hand came to grab him. He glanced back again, but the policemanlowokaisng unconcernedly

in another direction. Stifado.
It was very apparent to him that hbieshaviour was not that of one who was about to go and hand himself in to the police.
So what else was he to do?
Trying in astiff, awkward wayto walk naturally, he yanked himself
away fromthe window, strolled tensely down the road a few yards, and thenducked back down Camden Passage again, walking fast and breathing hard. Where could hgeo? ToSusan? No -- thpeolice would be there or
watching.To the WFT offices in Primrose HNillo?
-- same reason. What
on earthh, e screamedsilently athimself, was he doing suddenly as a fugitive?
He insisted to himself, as hhaed insisted toDirk, that he should
not be running away from the polTichee.
police, he told himself, as he
had been taught when he waasboy, werethere to help and protect the innocent.This thought caused him instantly btroeak into a run and he nearlycollided with the proud new ownerof anugly Edwardianfloor lamp.
‘Sorry,’ hesaid, ‘sorry.’ He was startlethdat anyone shouldwant
sucha thing, and slowed his pace to a walk, glancing with sharp hunted looks aroundhim. The very familiasrhop frontsfull of oldpolished
brass, old polishewd ood and pictures of Japanese fissuhddenly seemed very threatening and aggressive.
Who could possibly have wanted to kill Gordon? This watshothueght that suddenlyhammered at him ahse turneddown Charlton Place. All
that had concerned him so far was that he hadn’t.

But who had?
This was a new thought.
Plenty of people didn’tcare forhim much, butthere isa huge differencebetween disliking somebody --maybe evendisliking them a lot-- and actually shooting them, stranglingthem, dragging them
through the fieldasnd setting their house on fire. It was a difference which kept the vast majority of the population alive from day to day. Was itjust theft? Dirk hadn’t mentioneadnything being missing but
then he hadn’t asked him.
Dirk. The imageof his absurd but oddclyommanding figuresitting like a large toabdr,ooding in his shabby office, kept insisting itself uponRichard’s mind. Herealised thathe was retracing the way he had come, and deliberately made himself turn right instead of left.
That way madness lay.
He just needed aspace, a bitof time to thinaknd collecthis thoughts together.
All right -- sowhere was he going? He stopped for a moment, turned around andthen stopped againT. he idea ofdolmades suddenlyseemed veryattractive and it occurredto him that the cool, calm and
collectedcourse of action woulhdave been simply to walk ainnd have some. That would have shown Fate who was boss.
Instead, Fate was engagedon exactly the same coursoef action. It wasn’t actually sitting ainGreek restaurant eating dolmadesb,ut it mightas well havebeen, because it was clearilny charge. Richard’s footstepsdrew himinexorably backthrough the winding streets, over
the canal.

He stopped, briefly, at a corner shop, tahnedn hurried on past the councilestates, and into developer territory again until he was
standingonce more outside 33, Peckender Street. At about the same time as Fate would have been pouring itselflatshteofthe retsina, wiping
itsmouth and wondering if it had aronoym left for baklavasR, ichard gazed up atht e tallruddy Victorian building withits soot-darkened brickworkand its heavyf,orbidding windows. A gustof wind whipped along the street and a small boy bounded up to him.
‘Fuck off,’ chirped thleittle boy, then pausedand looked at him again.
‘‘Ere, mister,’ he added, ‘can I have your jacket?’
‘No,’ said Richard.
‘Why not?’ said the boy.
‘Er, because I like it,’ said Richard.
‘Can’t see why,’ mutteretdhe boy. ‘Fuck off.’ He slouched off moodily down the street, kicking a stone at a cat.
Richard entered the building once more, mounted stahiers uneasily and looked again into the office.
Dirk’s secretary was sitting at her desk, head down, arms folded.
‘I’m not here,’ she said.
‘I see,’ said Richard.
‘I only came back,’she said, without looking ufprom the spoton her deskat which she was staring angrily, ‘mtoake surehe notices that I’ve gone. Otherwise he might just forget.’
‘Is he in?’ asked Richard.

‘Who knows? Who cares? Better ask someownheo works for him, because
I don’t.’
‘Show him in!’ boomed Dirk’s voice.
She glowered for amoment, stood up,went to the inner door, wrenched it open, said ‘Show himyoiunrself,’ slammed thedoor once more and returned to her seat.
‘Er, why don’t I just show myself in?’ said Richard.
‘I can’t even hear you,’ said Dirk’s ex-secretary, staring
resolutely at her des‘kH. ow do you expecmt e to hear you iIf’m not even here?’
Richard madea placatory gesture,which was ignored,and walked through and opened the doto Dirk’s office himself. He was startled to findthe room in semi-darkness. A blinwdas drawndown over the window, and Dirwk as lounging backin his seat, his face bizarrely lit bythe strange arrangement ofobjects sitting onthe desk. At the
forward edge of the desk asnat old grey bicycle lamp, facing backwards and shining faeeble light on a metronome which was ticking softly back and forth, witah highly polished silver teaspoon strapped to its metal rod.
Richard tossed a couple of boxes of matches on to the desk.
‘Sit down,relax, and keeplooking at the spoon,’ said Dir‘ky,ou are already feeling sleepy...’
Another police car pulled itself up to a screeching hoaulttside
Richard’s flata, nd a grim-faced man climbed out and strode over to one of the constables on duty outside, flashing an identity card.

‘Detective Inspector Mason, CambridgeshirCe ID,’ hesaid. ‘This the
MacDuff place?’
The constable nodded and showed hitmo the side-door entrancwe hich opened on to the lonagrrow staircase leadingup to the top flat.
Mason bustled in and then bustled straight out again.
‘There’s asofa halfwayup the stairs,’ he told the constable. ‘Get it moved.’
‘Some of the ladhsave alreadytried, sir,’ the constablereplied
anxiously. ‘Ist eems to be stuck. Everyone’s havintog
climb overit
for the moment, sir. Sorry, sir.’
Mason gave him another grimlook from a vast repertoire hehad developedwhich ranged from very, veryblackly grim indeed athe bottomof the scale,all theway upto tiredly resignedand only faintly grim, which he reserved for his children’s birthdays.
‘Get it moved,’ he repeated grimly, and bustled gribmalcyk through
the door grimly hauling huips trousers and coat in preparation for the grim ascent ahead.
‘No sign of him yet?a’sked the driver ofthe car, comingover himself. ‘Sergeant Gilks,’ he introduced himself. He looked tired.
‘Not as far aIs know,’ saidthe constable, ‘but no onteells me anything.’
‘Know how you feel,’ agreed Gilks. ‘Once CthIeD getsinvolved you justget relegated todriving them about. And I’mthe only one who knows what he lookelidke. Stopped him in the road lnaisgtht. We just
came from Way’s house. Right mess.’

‘Bad night, eh?’
‘Varied. Everything from murdetro haulinghorses out of bathrooms. No, don’teven ask. Do yohuave thesame cars as these?’he added, pointingat his own. ‘This one’s been driving me crazy all the way up. Coldeven with the heater on full blast, and rathdeio keeps turning
itself on and off.’
[::: CHAPTER 19 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
The same morningfound Michael Wenton-Weakesin something of an odd mood.
You would needto knowhim fairly well to knowthat it was an
especially odd mood, because most peorpelgearded him as being a little oddto start with. Few people knew him that wHeisll.mother, perhaps,
but thereexisted between them a state of coldwar and neither had spoken to the other now in weeks.
He alsohad an elder brother, Peter, who was now tremendously senior in the Marines. Apart froamt their father’s funeral, Michaehlad not
seenPeter sincehe came back fromthe Falklands,covered in glory, promotion, and contempt for his younger brother.
Peter had beendelighted that their mother had taken over Magna, and
hadsent Michael a regimental Christmas cartod
that effectH. is own
greatestsatisfaction still remainedthat of throwing himself inato
muddyditch andfiring a machinegun for at leasat minute,and he
didn’tthink that the British newspaper and publishiindgustry, even

in its currensttate of unrest, was likely to afford him that pleasure, at least until some more Australians moved into it.
Michael had risen very late aftenrigaht of cold savagery and then oftroubled dreams which still disturbed him nionwthe latemorning daylight.
His dreamshad been filled with thfaemiliar sensations of loss, isolation, guilat nd so forth, but had also been inexplicainbvlyolved
with largequantities of mud. By the telescopic power of the night, the nightmare of mud and loneliness had seemed to stretch on for
terrifying, unimaginablelengths of time, and haodnly concluded with
the appearanceof slimy things with legthsat had crawled on the slimy
sea. This had been altogethtoero much and he had woken with a start in a cold sweat.
Though all thebusiness withthe mud had seemed strange to him, the sense of losso,f isolation, andabove all the aggrievement, thneeed
toundo what hadbeen done, these had alflound an easy home in his spirit.
Even the slimythings with legsseemed oddly familiar andticked awayirritably atthe back of his mind whhilee madehimself a late breakfast, a piece of grapefruit asnodme Chinatea, allowedhis eyes to rest lightly on the arts pagetsheof/Daily Telegraph/ for a while, and then rathecrlumsily changed the dressing on the cutshiosnhand.
These small tasksaccomplished, he was then in two minds as to what to do next.
He wasable toview theevents ofthe previousnight with a cool

detachment thathe would not havexpected. It had been righit, had beenproper, it hadbeen correctlydone. But it resolved nothing. All that mattered was yet to be done.
All what? He frowned at the odd way his thoughts ebbed and flowed. Normally he would poaplong to his club at abothuits time. It used
to bethat he would do this with a luxurious sense of the fact that therewere manyother thingsthat he should be doing. Now thewreas
nothing else tdoo, which made time spent there, as anywhere else, hang somewhat heavy on his hands.
When he went he would do asalhweays did -- indulge ian gin and tonicand a little light conversation, atnhden allow his eyes to rest gently on the pageosf the/Times Literary Supplement/, /Opera/T, he NewYorker/ or whatever elsfeell easily to hand, buthere wasno doubt thathe didit these days with less verveand relish than previously.
Then there wouldbe lunch. Today, he had no lunch date plan-n-ed
again-- and wouldprobably therefore havestayed at his club, and eatena lightly grilled Doversole, with potatoes garnished with
parsley and boiled to bits, followed by a hlaeragpe of trifle. A glass
or two oSfancerre. And coffee. And then thaefternoon, with whatever that might bring.
But today he felt oddly impellendot to do that. Heflexed the
muscles inhis cut hand, poured himself another cup of tea, looked with curiousdispassion atthe large kitchen knife that stilal y by the
fine bone china teapot, and waited for a moment to seheewwhoatuld do
next. What he did next, in fact, was to walk upstairs.

His house wasrather chill in its formal perfection, and looked much as people whbouy reproduction furniture wouldlike their housesto
look. Except of courstheat everythinghere wasgenuine -- crystal, mahogany andWilton --and only looked as iitf might be fake because there was no life to any of it.
He walked up into hwisorkroom, which was the only room in the house thatwas not sterile withorder, but here the disorder of booaknsd
paperswas instead sterilewith neglect.A thin film ofdust had
settledover everything. Michael had not been into it in weeks, and the cleaner wasunder strict instructions to leavitewell alone. Hehad
notworked here since he edited the laesdtition of /Fathom/. Not, of course, the actual last edition, but lathste proper editionT. he last edition as far as /he/ was concerned.
He set his chincaup down in the findeust and went to inspehcits elderly record playerO. n it he found an elderlryecording of some Vivaldi wind concertos, set it to play and sat down.
He waited again tosee what he wouldo next and suddenly found to
his surprise that he waalsready doingit, and iwt
as this: he was
/listening/ to the music.
A bewildered lookcrept slowly across his face as he realised that he had never done this before. He /hheaadrd/ it many,many times and thought thaitt made a verypleasant noise. Indeedh, e found that it
made a pleasant background against whtiochdiscuss the concert season, butit had never before occurredto him that there wasanything
actually to /listen/ to.

He sat thunderstruckby the interplayof melody andcounterpoint
which suddenly stoordevealed tohim with a clarity that owed nothing tothe dust-ridden surface of the record or the fourteen-year-old
stylus.
But with this revelation came an almost immediate sense of disappointment, which confusehdim allthe more.The music suddenly revealed tohim was oddly unfulfilling. Iwt as as if his capacity to understand the music hasduddenly increased upto and far beyond the music’s ability to satisfy it, all in one dramatic moment.
He strained to listefnor whatwas missing, and felt that the music was like falightless bird thadt idn’t even know whactapacity it had lost. Itwalked verywell, butit walked where it should soari,t
walked where it should swoop, it walked whesrheouiltd climband bank anddive, it walked where it shoultdhrill with the giddiness of
flight. It never even looked up. He looked up.
After a while he became awarethat all he was doinwg as simply staring stupidly at the ceiling. He shook his headd,isacnodvered that the perception had faded, leaving hfiemeling slightly sick and dizzy. It had not vanished entirely, but dhraodpped deep inside himd, eeper than he could reach.
The music continued. It was an agreeable enough assortment of pleasant sounds in the background, but it no longer stirred him.
He neededsome clues asto what it was he had just experienced, and
a thoughftlicked momentarilyat the back of hims ind as to where he
might find them. He gleot of the thoughint
anger, buitt flicked at

him againa, nd kept on flicking haitm until at last he acted upon it. From under his desk hpeulled out thelarge tin wastepaper bin.
Since he habdarred hiscleaning lady from even coming in here for the moment,the bin had remained unemptieadnd he found in it the tattered shredsof whathe was lookingfor with the contents ofan ashtray
emptied over them.
He overcame hisdistaste with grim determination and slowly jiggled around the bitosf the hated object on his desk, clumsily sticking them together withbits ofsticky tapethat curled aroundand stuck the
wrong bit to the wrong bit and stuck the rigtoht hbisit pudgy fingers andthen to the desku,ntil at last there lay beforehim, crudely
reassembled, a copy of /Fathom/. eAdsited by the execrable creature A. K. Ross.
Appalling.
He turned the sticky lumpish pagesifashe was picking over chicken giblets. Not a singlliene drawing ofJoan Sutherland or Marilyn Horne anywhere. No profileosf any of the major Cork Streetdeaartlers, not
a one.
His series on the Rossettis: discontinued.
‘Green Room Gossip’: discontinued.
He shook his heaidn incredulityand then hefound the article he was after.
‘Music and Fractal Landscapes’ by Richard MacDuff.
He skipped overthe first couple of paragraphs of introductaionnd picked it up further on:

Mathematical analysisand computer modelling are revealing to us that the shapeasnd processes we encounter in nature -- the way that plantsgrow, theway thatmountains erodeor
rivers flow, the way that snowflakoers islands achieve their shapes, the way that light plays aosnurface, theway the
milk folds and spins into your coffee as youit, sthire way that laughter sweeps through a crowdpoeof ple -- allthese things in their seeminglmy agical complexity can be described by the interaction of mathematical processes that are, if anything, even more magical in their simplicity.
Shapes that we think of as randaorme in fact the products
of complex shifting webosf numbers obeying simple rules. The very word ‘natural’ that we have often taken to mean
‘unstructured’ infact describesshapes andprocesses that appear so unfathomablycomplex that we cannot consciously perceive the simple natural laws at work.
They can all be described by numbers.
Oddly, this idea seemed lessrevolting now to Michael thanhaitd done on his first, scant reading.
He read on with increasing concentration.
We know, however, that the mind is capable of understanding these matters in all their complexity and inall their

simplicity. A ball flying through the air is responding to the force and directionwith which it was thrown, tahcetion of gravity, the frictionof the airwhich itmust expendits
energy onovercoming, the turbulence of the air around its surface, and the rate and direction of theball’s spin.
And yet, someone who might have difficultyconsciously trying to workout what3 x 4 x 5 comes wtoould have no trouble in doing differential calculuasnd a wholehost of related calculations so astoundingly fast thatthey /can actually catch a flying ball./
People whocall this ‘instinct’ are merely givingthe phenomenon a name, not explaining anything.
I think that the closest that human beings come to expressing our understanding of these natucraolmplexities is in music. Iits the most abstracotf the arts -i-t hasno meaning or purpose other than to be itself.
Every single aspect of a piece of musicbceanrepresented by numbers. From thoerganisation of movements in a whole symphony, down through the patterns poiftch andrhythm that make upthe melodies and harmonies, thdeynamics thatshape
the performance,all the way down to the timbres of the notes themselves, their harmonics, the way they change over time, in short, allthe elementsof a noise thadtistinguish between
the sound ofone person piping on a piccoalnod another one
thumping a drum -- alolf these things cabne expressedby

patterns and hierarchies of numbers.
And in my experience the more internal relationships there are between the patterns of numbers at different levels of the hierarchy, however complex and subttlheose relationships may
be, the more satisfying anwd,ell, whole, the music will seem to be.
In fact the more subtlaend complex those relationships, and the further they are beyond the graosfpthe conscious
mind, the more the instinctive part of your mind -- by which I
mean that part of your mind tchaant
do differential calculus
so astoundingly fast thait will put your hanind the right place to catch a flying ballth-e- morethat part of your brain revels in it.
Music ofany complexity(and even ‘Three Blind Mice’ is complex in its wayby the time someone has actually performed it on an instrument with its ownindividual timbre and
articulation) passesbeyond your conscious mind into the arms of your own private mathematicaglenius who dwells inyour unconscious responding to all the innercomplexities and relationships andproportions that wethink we know nothing about.
Some people object to such a view of music, saying that if you reduce musicto mathematics, where does the emoticoonme into it? I would say thatit’s never been out of it.
The things by which our emotions can be mo--vetdhe shape
of a flower or a Grecian urn, the way a bgarobwy s, the way

the wind brushes across your face, the way clouds mthoevire,
shapes, the way light dances on thewater, or daffodils flutter in the breezeth, e wayin which the person yolouve
moves their head, the way thehirair follows that movement,
the curve described by the dying
ofafllthelast chord of a
piece of music -- all these thincgasn bedescribed bythe complex flow of numbers.
That’s not a reductionof it, that’s thbeeauty of it. Ask Newton.
Ask Einstein.
Ask the poet (Keats) who saitdhat what the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth.
He might also have said that what the hand seizes as a ball must betruth, but he didn’t,because he was a poetand
preferred loafingabout under trees with a bottle of laudanum and a notebook to playing cricketb, ut itwould have been equally true.
This joggeda thought at theback of Michael’s memory, but he couldn’t immediately place it.
Because that is at the heart of the relationship between on the onehand our ‘instinctive’understanding of shape, form, movement, light, and on the other hand our emotional responses to them.

And that is why I believe thathere must be a form of music inherent innature, in natural objects, in the patterns of natural processes. A music that would be as deeply satisfying as any naturalloyccurring beauty-- andour own
deepest emotions are, after all, a form of naturally occurring beauty...
Michael stoppedreading andlet his gaze gradually drift from the page.
He wondered if he knew what such a music would be and tried to grope in the darrkecesses of his mind for it. Each part of his thmaitndhe
visitedseemed as ifthat musichad beenplaying there only seconds beforeand all thawt as left was the last dyiencgho of something he
was unable to catch at and hear. He laid the magazine limply aside. Then he remembered what it was that the mention of Keats had jogged in his memory.
The slimy things with legs from his dream.
A cold calm came overhim as he felt himself coming vcelroyse to something.
Coleridge. That man.
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.
‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.’
Dazed, Michael walked over to the bookshelf anpdulled down his

Coleridgeanthology. He took it bactko hisseat andwith a certain apprehensionhe riffled through thpeages until hefound theopening lines.
It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
The words were very familiar to him, yaentd ashe read on through them they awokien him strange sensations anfdearful memories that he knewwere not his. Therereared up inside hima sense of loss and
desolationof terrifying intensity which, while he kne waist
not his
own,resonated so perfectlynow with his ownaggrievements that he could not but surrender to it absolutely.
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.
[::: CHAPTER 20 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
The blind rolled up with a sharp rattle and Richard blinked.
‘A fascinating evening yoauppear to havespent,’ said Dirk Gently,
‘even though the most interesting aspeocftsit seem to haveescaped your curiosity entirely.’
He returned tohis seat and lounged back in it pressing his

fingertips together.
‘Please,’ he said, ‘dnoot disappoint me bysaying “where am I?” A
glance will suffice.’
Richard looked around him in slow puzzlement and feilft ahse were returning unexpectedlyfrom along sojourn on another planet where all was peace anldight and music that went on feovrer and ever. He felt
so relaxed he could hardly be bothered to breathe.
The wooden toggle otnhe end of the blind cokrndocked a fewtimes against the window, but otherwise all was now sTilheent.metronome was still. He glanced at his watch. It was just after one o’clock.
‘You have been under hypnosfiosr a little less than an housar,i’d Dirk, ‘duringwhich I havelearned many interesting thingsand been puzzled by somoethers which I woulndow like todiscuss with you. A little fresh air will probably help revive aynodu Isuggest a bracing
stroll along the canal. No one will be loofokrinygou there. Janice!’ Silence.
A lot ofthings were still not clear to Richaradn,d he frowned to himself.When his immediate memory returned a moment later, it was like an elephant suddenlbyarging throughthe door and hseat up with a
startled jolt.
‘Janice!’ shouted Dirk again. ‘Miss Pearce! Damn the girl.’
He yanked thetelephone receivers out of the wastepaper baskaentd
replaced themA.
n old and battered leather briefcase stood by the desk,
and he picketdhis up, retrieved his hat from the floor and stood up, screwing his hat absurdly on his head.
‘Come,’ he said, sweeping throughthe door towhere MissJanice

Pearce sat glaring at pencil, ‘let us go. Let us leave this festering
hellhole. Let us think tuhnethinkable, let us do the undoable. Luset
prepare tograpple with the ineffable itself, and see if we may not eff it after all. Now, Janice --’
‘Shut up.’
Dirk shrugged, andthen picked off herdesk the book which earlier
she had mutilatewd hen trying to slam her drawer. He leafed through it, frowning, and therneplaced it with a sigh. Janice returned to what she hadclearly been doing a moment otwr o earlier, which waws riting a
long note with the pencil.
Richard regarded all thisin silence, still feeling onlysemi- present. He shook his head.
Dirk said to him‘,Events may seem tyoou to be a tangled mass of confusionat the moment. And yet we have soimnteeresting threads to pull on. Foorf all thethings you have told me that havheappened,
only two are actually physically impossible.’
Richard spoke at last. ‘Impossible?’ he said with a frown.
‘Yes,’ said Dirk, ‘completely and utterly impossible.’ He smiled.
‘Luckily,’ he went on, ‘youhave cometo exactly the righptlace with your interesting problem, for there is no such word as “impossible”in my dictionary.In fact,’he added,brandishing the
abused book, ‘everythinbgetween “herring” and “marmaladea”ppears to be missing. Thanykou, Miss Pearce,you haveonce again rendered me
sterling servicef,or which I thanykou and will,in theevent of a

successful outcometo this endeavour, even attempt ptaoy you. In the meantime we have much to think on, alenadveI theoffice in your very capable hands.’
The phone rang and Janice answered it.
‘Good afternoon,’ she said, ‘Wainwright’s Fruit Emporium. Mr
Wainwright is not able to take callths isattime since he is not right
in the head and thinks he is a cucumber. Thank you for calling.’ She slammed thephone down. Shelooked up againto seethe door closing softly behind her ex-employer and his befuddled client.
‘Impossible?’ said Richard again, in surprise.
‘Everything about it,’ insisted Dirk‘,completely andutterly -- well,let ussay inexplicable. There inso pointin using the word “impossible” to describseomething that has clearly happened. Buit cannot be explained by anything we know.’
The briskness ofthe air along the Grand Union Cangaolt inamong Richard’ssenses andsharpened them up again. Hweas restored to his normalfaculties, and though the fact of Gordon’s death kept jumping at him all over again every few seconhdes,was at least now able to think more clearly about it. Oddly enough, though, setheamt ed for the moment
to be thleast thing on Dirk’s mindD. irk was insteadpicking on the most trivial otfhe night’s sequence ofbizarre incidents on which to cross-examine him.
A jogger going onwe ay and a cyclist going the other both shouted at eachother to getout of the waya,nd narrowly avoided hurling each
other intothe murky, slow-moving waters of thecanal. They were

watched carefullyby a very slow-moving old lawdyho wasdragging an even slower-moving old dog.
On the other bank large empty warehousesstood startled,every window shattered angdlinting. A burned-outbarge lolled brokenlyin thewater. Within it a couple of detergent bottles floated on the brackish water. Over thneearest bridge heavy-goodslorries thundered, shaking thefoundations of the houses, belchinpgetrol fumes into the
air and frightening a mother trying to cross the road with her pram. Dirk and Richard were walking along fromthe fringes of South
Hackney,a mile from Dirk’s office, back towards the heart of
Islington, where Dirk knew the nearest lifebelts were positioned.
‘But it was only aconjuring trick, for heaven’s sake,’ said
Richard. ‘He doetshem allthe time. It’s just sleight hoafnd. Looks impossible but I’m sure if yaosuked any conjurer he’dsay it’seasy
once you know hotwhese things are done. I once saw a man on the street in New York doing --’
‘I know how thesethings are done,’ said Dirk, pulling two lighted cigarettes and a large glazed fig out onfohseis. He tossed the fig up into the air,but it somehow failed tloand anywhere.‘Dexterity, misdirection,suggestion. All things you can learn if you have a little time to waste. Excuse me, dleaadry,’ hesaid to the elderly, slow-
moving dog-owner as they passed her. He bent dto wthne dog and pulled along string ofbrightly coloured flags fromits bottom. ‘I think he
will move more comfortabnlyow,’ he said, tipped his hat courteously to
her and moved on.

‘These things, you see,’ he satiod
a flummoxed Richard, ‘are easy.
Sawing a ladiyn half is easy. Sawing a lady in half andjothineing
herup together again ilsess easy, but can be done with practice. The
trick you described
mtoe with thetwo-hundred-year-old vaseand the
college salt cellar is h--e’ pausedfor emphasis-- ‘completely and utterly inexplicable.’
‘Well there was probably some detail of it I missed, but...’
‘Oh, withoutquestion. But the benefit of questioning somebody under hypnosis is that it allows qthueestioner tosee the scene in much
greater detail than the subjewcat s even aware of at the time. The girl
Sarah, for instance. Do you recall what she was wearing?’
‘Er, no,’said Richard, vaguely, ‘a dress of some kind, I suppose --
’
‘Colour? Fabric?’
‘Well, I can’t remember, it was dark.
wShaes sitting several places
away from me. I hardly glimpsed her.’
‘She was wearing a dark blue cotton velvet dressgathered to a droppedwaist. It had raglan sleeves gathered to thceuffs, a white Peter Pancollar and sixsmall pearl buttonsdown the front -- the thirdone down hada smallthread hanging offit. She had londgark hair pulled back with a red butterfly hairgrip.’
‘If you’regoing totell meyou knowall that from lookingat a scuffmark on my shoes, likSeherlock Holmes, then I’m afraIiddon’t believe you.’
‘No, no,’ said Dirk, ‘it’smuch simpler thanthat. You toldme
yourself under hypnosis.’

Richard shook his head.
‘Not true,’ hesaid, ‘I don’t even know what a Peter Pan collar is.’
‘But Ido and youdescribed it to meperfectly accurately. As you did the conjuring trick. And that trick wasponsositble in the form in which it occurred. Believmee. I know whereoIf speak.There are some other things wI ould like to discoverabout the Professorl,ike for
instance whowrote the noteyou discovered onthe table and how many questions George IIaIctually asked, but --’
‘What?’
‘-- but Ithink I would dobetter to question the fellow directly. Except...’He frowned deeply in concentration. ‘Except,’he added,
‘thatbeing rather vainin these matters I would preferkntoow the answers before aIsked the questions. AndI do not. aIbsolutely do not.’He gazed abstractedly into the distance, and made a rough calculation of the remaining distance to the nearest lifebelt.
‘And the secondimpossible thing,’ he added,just asRichard was aboutto get a word iendgeways, ‘or atleast, the next completely inexplicable thing, is of course the matter of your sofa.’
‘Dirk,’ exclaimed Richard in exasperation, ‘mayreImind you that GordonWay isdead, andthat I appearto beunder suspicion of his murder!None of these things havethe remotest connection with that, and I --’
‘But I am extremely inclined to believe that they are connected.’
‘That’s absurd!’
‘I believe in the fundamental inter--’

‘Oh, yeah, yeah,’ saiRd ichard, ‘the fundamental interconnectedness
of all things. Listen, Dirk, I am not a guollldiblleady and you won’t
be getting any triptos
Bermudaout of me. If you’re goitnog help me
then let’s stick to the point.’
Dirk bridled at this. ‘I belietvheat allthings arefundamentally interconnected,as anyone who follows the principles of quantum mechanicsto their logical extremecsannot, if theyare honest, help
but acceptB. ut I also believe that some things aaregreat deal more interconnected than others. Anwdhen two apparently impossible events anda sequence of highlpyeculiar onesall occur tothe same person,
and when that person suddenly becomthees suspectof a highly peculiar murder, then it seems to tmhaet we should look for the solution in the connectionbetween these events.You are the connection, and you
yourself have been behaving in a highly peculiar and eccentric way.’
‘I have not,’ saiRd ichard. ‘Yes, some odd thinghsave happened to me, but I --’
‘You were last night observed, by met,o climb the outsidoef a building and break into the flat of your girlfriend, Susan Way.’
‘It mayhave been unusual,’ said Richard, ‘it may not even have been wise.But itwas perfectly logical and rational. I just wanted to undo something I had done before it caused any damage.’
Dirk thought for a moment, and slightly quickened his pace.
‘And whatyou did was a perfectly reasonable annodrmal response to
the problem of the message yhoaud left on the tape -- yes, you told me allabout thatin our littlesession -- it’s what anyonweould have
done?’

Richard frowned as if to say that he couldn’t see what all the fuss wasabout. ‘I don’tsay anyone would have done it,’ hesaid, ‘I
probably havea slightly morelogical and literalturn of mind than manypeople, which is why Ican writecomputer software. Itwas a logical and literal solution to the problem.’
‘Not a little disproportionate, perhaps?’
‘It was very important to me not to disappoint Susan yet again.’
‘So youare absolutely satisfiedwith yourown reasons for doing what you did?’
‘Yes,’ insisted Richard angrily.
‘Do you know,’ saidDirk, ‘what my oldmaiden auntwho lived in
Winnipeg used to tell me?’
‘No,’ said Richard. He quickltyook off allhis clothes and dived intothe canal. Dirk leapt for the lifebelt, with wthecyhhad just drawn levely, anked itout of its holder and fluintgto Richard, who was floundering in thmeiddle of the canal lookincgompletely lost and disoriented.
‘Grab hold of this,’ shouted Dirk, ‘and I’ll haul you in.’
‘It’s all right,’ spluttered Richard, ‘I can swim --’
‘No, you can’t,’ yelled Dirk, ‘now grab it.’
Richard tried tostrike out for the bank, buqtuickly gave up in consternation andgrabbed hold of the lifebelt. Dirk pulled on the rope till Richardreached the edge, and then bednotwn to give hima hand
out. Richard came up out of wthaeter puffing and spitting, then turned
and sat shivering on the edge with his hands in his lap.

‘God, it’s foul in there!’ heexclaimed and spat again. ‘It’s
absolutely disgustingY. euchh. Whew.God. I’m usually apretty good
swimmer. Must have got some kind of cramp. Lcuociknycidence we were so close to the lifebelt. Othhanks.’ This last he said in response to the
large towel which Dirk handed him.
He rubbedhimself down briskly, almostscraping himself withthe towelto get the filthcyanal water off him.He stood up and looked about. ‘Can you find my pants?’
‘Young man,’ said theold lady withthe dog, who had just reached them. Shestood looking at them sternly, anwdas about to rebuke them when Dirk interrupted.
‘A thousand apologies, dearlady,’ he said,‘for any offencemy
friend mayinadvertently havecaused you. Please,’ he added, drawing a slimbunch of anemones fromRichard’s bottom,‘accept these with my compliments.’
The lady dashed them out of Dirk’s hawnidth her stick, and hurried off, horror-struck, yanking her dog after her.
‘That wasn’t very nicoef you,’ said Richard, pulling on his clothes underneath the towel that was now draped strategically around him.
‘I don’t think she’s vaery nice woman,’ replied Dirk, ‘she’s always down herey, anking her poor dog around and telling people oEfnf.joy your swim?’
‘Not much, no,’ said Richard, giving hhaisir a quick rub. ‘I hadn’t realisedhow filthy it woulbde in thereA. nd cold. Here,’ he said, handing the toweblack to Dirk, ‘thanksD. o you alwayscarry a towel
around in your briefcase?’

‘Do you always go swimming in the afternoons?’
‘No, I usually go in tmheornings, to the swimming pool Honighbury Fields, just two ake myselfup, getthe brain going. It just occurred to me I hadn’t been this morning.’
‘And, er -- that was why you just dived into the canal?’
‘Well, yes.I just thoughthat getting abit of exercise would probably help me deal with all this.’
‘Not a little disproportionateth, en, to strip off and jump into the canal.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘imt ay not have beenwise given the statoef the water, but it was perfectly --’
‘You were perfectly satisfied with your orweansons for doingwhat you did.’
‘Yes --’
‘And it was nothing to do with my aunt, then?’
Richard’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What on earth are taylokuing about?’ he said.
‘I’ll tell you,’said Dirk. Hewent and sat on a nearby bench and opened his case agaiHn.e folded thetowel away into it and tooukt
insteada small Sony taperecorder. He beckoned Richard over and then pushed the Plabyutton. Dirk’s own voice floated frotmhe tiny speaker
ina lilting sing-song voice. sIatid, ‘In aminute I wilcl lick my fingersand youwill wake and forgetall ofthis except for the instructions I shall now give you.
‘In a littlewhile wewill go for a walk along cthaneal, and when

youhear me say the words “my old maiden aunt who lived in Winnipeg” --
’
Dirk suddenly grabbed Richard’s arm to restrain him.
The tapecontinued, ‘You will take off all youcrlothes and dive
into the canal. You wfinld that you are unable to swim, but you will not panicor sink,you will simply tread water until I thyroowu the lifebelt...’
Dirk stopped thetape and looked rounadt Richard’s face which for the second time that day was pale with shock.
‘I wouldbe interested to know exactwlyhat it was thatpossessed
you to climb into Miss Way’s flat last night,’ said Dirk, ‘and why.’ Richard didn’t respond -- he was continuing to staaret the tape
recorder in some confusion. Thheen said in a shaking voice, ’There was amessage from Gordon on Susan’s tape. Hpheoned from thecar. The
tape’s in my flat. Dirk, I’m suddenly very frightened by all this.’
[::: CHAPTER 21 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
Dirk watched the policoefficer on duty outside Richard’s house from behinda van parked a fewyards away. He hadbeen stopping and questioning everyone whtoried to enter the small side alley down which Richard’s doorwas situated, including, Dirk was pleased to note, other policemen if hdeidn’t immediatelyrecognise them. Anotherpolice car
pulled up and Dirk started to move.
A police officer climbed oouft the carcarrying a saw and walked

towards the doorway. Dirbkriskly matched his pace with him, a
ostrep
two behind, striding authoritatively.
‘It’s all right,he’s with me,’ said Dirks,weeping past at the exact moment that the one police officer stopped the other. And he was inside and climbing the stairs.
The officer with the saw followed him in.
‘Er, excuse me, sir,’ he called up after Dirk.
Dirk had justreached the pointwhere the sofa obstructed the stairway. He stopped and twisted round.
‘Stay here,’ he said, ‘guard this soDfao. not let anyone toucith, and I mean anyone. Understood?’
The officer seemed flummoxed for a moment.
‘I’ve had orders to saw it up,’ he said.
‘Countermanded,’ barked Dirk. ‘Watciht like a hawk. I shall want a full report.’
He turned back and climbed
ouvper the thing. A momeonrt
two later
he emerged into a large open aTrehai.s was the lower of the two floors that comprised Richard’s flat.
‘Have you searched that?’snapped Dirk at another officewr ho was
sittingat Richard’sdining table looking through somenotes. The
officerlooked up in surprise and started to stand upD.
irk was
pointing at the wastepaper basket.
‘Er, yes --’
‘Search it again. Keep searching it. Who’s here?’
‘Er, well --’

‘I haven’t got all day.’
‘Detective Inspector Mason just left, with --’
‘Good, I’m having him pulleodff. I’llbe upstairs if I’m needed, butI don’t want any interruptions unless it’s very important. Understood?’
‘Er, who --’
‘I don’t see you searching the wastepaper basket.’
‘Er, right, sir. I’ll --’
‘I want it deep-searched. You understand?’
‘Er --’
‘Get cracking.’Dirk swept on upstairs and inRtoichard’s workroom. The tapewas lyingexactly where Richard had told him it would be, onthe long desk on which the six Macintoshes sat. Dwiarks about to pocket it when his curioswityas caughtby the image of Richard’s sofa slowlytwisting andturning onthe big Macintosh screena,nd he sat
down at the keyboard.
He explored the program Richard hwadritten fora short whileb, ut quicklyrealised that inits present form it wasless than self- explanatory and he learned little. mHaenaged at lasto getthe sofa
unstuckand moveit back down thsetairs, but he realised that he had had toturn part of thewall off inorder to do it. Withgraunt of
irritation he gave up.
Another computer helooked atwas displaying asteady sine wave.
Around theedges of the screen were the small images of other waveforms which couldbe selected and addetdo the main one or used to modify it
in other ways. He quickly discovetrheadt this enabled you to buuilpd

very complex waveforms frosmimple ones and he played with this for a while.He added a simple sine watvoe itself, which had theeffect of doubling the heighotf the peaks antdroughs of the wave. Then he slid one of the waves halfstepback withrespect to the other, anthde peaksand troughs of one simply cancelled tohuet peaks and troughs of theother, leaving a completely flat line. Then he changed the
frequency of one of the sine waves by a small extent.
The result of this watshat at some positions along the combined waveformthe two waves reinforcedeach other, and at others they cancelledeach otherout. Adding a thirsdimple waveof yetanother frequency resulted in a combined wainvewhichit was hard to seaeny patternat all. Theline danced up and down seeminglyat random,
staying quitelow for some periods and then suddenly building into very large peaks and troughs as all thwreaeves came briefly into phase with each other.
Dirk assumed that there must be amongtshtis array ofequipment a
means for translatintghe waveform dancing on the Macintosh screen into anactual musicaltone and hunted amongthe menus available itnhe
program. He found onmeenu item which invitehdim to transfer the wave sample into an Emu.
This puzzled him. He glanced around the room in searcah laorfge flightlessbird, but was unablteo locate any such thing. He activated the process anyway, anthden tracedthe cable which led frotmhe back of the Macintosh, dowbnehind the desk, along the floor, behind a
cupboard, under raug until it fetched up plugged into the back of a

large grey keyboard called an Emulator II.
This, he assumed, was wherehis experimental waveformhas just arrived. Tentatively he pushed a key.
The nasty farting noistehat surgedinstantly outof thespeakers
wasso loud that for maoment he didn’t hear the words ‘Svlad Cjelli!’
that were barked simultaneously from the doorway.
Richard sat in Dirk’s office andthrew tinyscrewed-up balls of paperat the wastepaperbin which wasalready fullof telephones. He broke pencils. Hpelayed major extracts from aonld Ginger Bakersolo on his knees.
In a word, he fretted.
He hadbeen trying to write down on a piece of Dirk’s notepaper all that hecould remember of the eventosf theprevious evening and, as
far as he could pinpoint them, the timweshiacth each had occurred. He was astonishedat how difficulitt was, andhow feeble his conscious memoryseemed tobe in comparison with his unconscious memory, as Dirk had demonstrated it to him.
‘Damn Dirk,’ he thought. He wanted to talk to Susan.
Dirk had told him he must not do so on any account as therebewould
a trace on the phone lines.
‘Damn Dirk,’ he said suddenly, and sprang to his feet.
‘Have you got any ten-pence piecesh?e’ said tothe resolutely glum
Janice.
Dirk turned.

Framed in the doorway stood a tall dark figure.
The talldark figureappeared to benot at all happy with what it saw, tobe rather cross about it, in fact. Tomobree thancross. It appeared to be a tall dark figure who cvoeuryld easily yankthe heads off half a dozen chickens and still be cross at the end of it.
It stepped forward into the light and revealed itself to be Sergeant
Gilks of the Cambridgeshire Constabulary.
‘Do you know,’ said Sergeant Gilks of the Cambridgeshire
Constabulary,blinking withsuppressed emotion, ‘that whenI arrive
back here to discover one police officer guarding a sofa wsaiwth and another dismembering an innocent wastepaper baskhetavIe to ask myself certain questions? AndhIave to ask them with thdeisquieting sense
that I am not going to like the answers when I find them.
‘I then find myself mounting the stairs with a hoprrriebmleonition, SvladCjelli, a very horrible premonition indeed.A premonition, I might add, that I now find horribly justiIfiesdu.ppose you can’t shed any light on a horse discovereda ibnathroom as wellT?hat seemedto have an air of you about it.’
‘I cannot,’ said Dirk, ‘as yet. Though it interests me strangely.’
‘I should think it bloody did. It would have interested you
strangely if you’d had to tgheet bloody thing dowan bloody winding staircase at one o’clock in the morninwg ealls. Whatthe hell are you doing here?’ said Sergeant Gilks, wearily.
‘I am here,’ said Dirk, ‘in pursuit of justice.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t miwx ith methen,’ saidGilks, ‘and Icertainly

wouldn’t mix with the Met. What do you know of MacDuff and Way?’
‘Of Way?Nothing beyond what icsommon knowledge. MacDuff I knew at
Cambridge.’
‘Oh, you did, did you? Describe him.’
‘Tall. Tall and absurdlythin. And good-natured. A bit likea
preying mantis that doesn’t preya -n- on-preying mantis if you like. A
sort of pleasangtenial mantis that’sgiven up preying andtaken up tennis instead.’
‘Hmm,’ said Gilksgruffly, turning away and looking about the room. Dirk pocketed the tape.
‘Sounds like the same one,’ said Gilks.
‘And of course,’ said Dirk, ‘completely incapable of murder.’
‘That’s for us to decide.’
‘And of course a jury.’
‘Tchah! Juries!’
‘Though, of course,
wit ill not come ttohat, since the facts will
speak forthemselves long beforeit comes to a court of law for my client.’
‘Your bleeding client, eh? All right, Cjelli, where is he?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’
‘I’ll bet you’ve got a billing address.’ Dirk shrugged.
‘Look, Cjelli, this is a perfectly normhaal,rmless murder enquiry,
and I don’t want you muckinugp.itSo consider yourself warned off as of now. IIf see a singlpeiece ofevidence being levitated I’hllit
you so hard you won’t kniofwit’s tomorrow or Thursday. Nogwet out,

and give me that tape on the way.’ He held out his hand. Dirk blinked, genuinely surprised. ‘What tape?’
Gilks sighed. ‘You’re calever man, Cjelli, I graynot u that,’ he said, ‘but you makthee same mistake a lot of clever peopledo of
thinking everyone else is stupid. If I turn away it’s for a arnedason,
the reason was to sweehat you picked up. I didn’t need to see you pick
it upI,
just had to sewehat was missing afterwardsW.
e are trained
youknow. We usedto get half an hour Observation Trainoinng Tuesday afternoons.Just as a breakafter four hours solid of Senseless
Brutality.’
Dirk hid his angewr ith himselfbehind a lighstmile. He fished in the pocket of his leather overcoat and handed over the tape.
‘Play it,’said Gilks, ‘let’s see what ydoiudn’t want us to hear.’
‘It wasn’t that I didn’t want yotuo hear it,’ said Dirwk,ith a shrug.‘I justwanted to hearit first.’ He went over to the shelf whichcarried Richard’s hi-fi equipment and slipptehde tapeinto the cassette player.
‘So do you want to give me a little introduction?’
‘It’s a tape,’ said Dirk‘,from Susan Way’s telephoneanswering machine. Way apparently had this habit of leaving long...’
‘Yeah, Iknow aboutthat. And his secretary goersound picking up his prattlings in the morning, poor devil.’
‘Well, Ibelieve there may be a messagoen thetape from Gordon
Way’s car last night.’
‘I see. OK. Play it.’

With a gracious bow Dirk pressed the Play button.
‘Oh, Susan, hi, it’s Gordon,’ said the taopnece again‘.Just on my way to the cottage --’
‘Cottage!’ exclaimed Gilks, satirically.
‘It’s, er,Thursday night, and it’se, r... 8.47. Bit misty on the roads.Listen, I have thospeeople fromthe States coming overthis weekend...’
Gilks raisedhis eyebrows, looked at his watcahn, d made a note on his pad.
Both Dirk and the police sergeanetxperienced a chill as thdeead man’s voice filled the room.
‘-- it’sa wonder I don’t end up dead thine ditch, that would be something wouldn’t ilte, aving yourfamous last words onsomebody’s answering machine, there’s no reason --’
They listened in a tense silence as the tpalpaeyed on through the entire message.
‘That’s theproblem with crunch-heads -- they have one great idea that actually workasnd then they expecytou to carry on funding them for yearswhile they sit and calculate the topographies oftheir
navels.I’m sorry, I’m goingto have to stopand closethe boot properly. Won’t be a moment.’
Next camethe muffled bump ofthe telephone receiver being dropped onthe passengerseat, and a few seconds later tshoeund of the car
door being openedI.n the meantime, the musicfrom thecar’s sound system could be heard burbling away in the background.
A few seconds later still came the distant, muffled, but

unmistakable double blam of a shotgun.
‘Stop the tape,’ said Gilks sharpalnyd glanced at his watch. ‘Three
minutes and twenty-five seconds since he
istaiwd as8.47.’ He glanced
up at Dirakgain. ‘Stayhere. Don’t move.Don’t touch anything. I’ve
made a note of the position of every particle of air in thisso roI om,
shall know if you’ve been breathing.’
He turned smartly anldeft. Dirk heard himsaying as hewent down
the stairs, ‘Tuckett, get onWtoayForward’s office, get the details of Way’scarphone, whatnumber, which network...’ Thevoice faded away downstairs.
Quickly Dirk twisted downthe volume control on the hi-fi, and resumed playing the tape.
The music continued fora while. Dirk drummed his fingers in frustration. Still the music continued.
He flicked the Fast Forward button for just a moment. mSutisllic. Itoccurred to himthat hewas lookingfor something,but thathe didn’t know what. That thought stopped him in his tracks.
He was very definitely looking for something. He very definitely didn’t know what.
The realisation that he didn’t know exactly whywahse doing what he was doing suddenlcyhilled and electrified him. He turned slowly like a fridge door opening.
There was noone there, at least noone that he could see. But he knew thechill prickling through his skin anddetested it above all
things.

He said in a low savawgehisper, ‘Ifanyone can hear me, hear this. Mymind is my centre and everything that happens there is my responsibility.Other people may believe what it pleasesthem to
believe, butI will do nothing withoIutknow the reason why and know itclearly. If you want something then let me know, but do not you dare touch my mind.’
He wastrembling with a deep anodld rage. The chill dropped slowly andalmost pathetically from himand seemed to move off into the room. He tried to followwiitth his sensesb, ut was instantly distracted by asudden voice that seemetdo come at him on the edogfehis hearing,
on a distant howl of wind.
It was a hollow, terrifiedb, ewildered voice, no more than an insubstantialwhisper, but it wasthere, audible, on the telephone- answering machine tape.
It said,‘Susan! Susan,help me! Help me for God’s sake. Susan, I’m dead --’
Dirk whirled round and stopped the tape.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said under hbirseath, ‘but I have the welfare of my client to consider.’
He wound thetape backa very short distance, to jubsetfore where the voicebegan, twistedthe Record Level knob to zero anpdressed Record.He left the tape to run, wiping off the voice and anything that mightfollow it. If the tape was going to establish the time of Gordon Way’s death, theDn irk didn’t want any embarrassing examples of Gordon speaking to turunp on the tape after thpaotint, even if it waosnly
to confirm that he was, in fact, dead.

There seemed to bae greateruption of emotionin the air neatro
him. A wave osofmething surged through the room, causing the furniture to flutterin itswake. Dirk watched where it seemed to go, towards a shelf near the door on whihceh, suddenly realised, stood Richard’s own telephone-answeringmachine. The machinestarted tojiggle fitfully
where it sat, but thseant stillas Dirk approachedit. Dirkreached
out slowly ancdalmly and pushed the button whicshet themachine to
Answer.
The disturbancein the airthen passed backthrough theroom to Richard’slong desk where two old-fashioned rotary-dialtelephones nestled amongthe piles ofpaper and micro floppy disks. Digrukessed what would happen, but elected to watch rather than to intervene. One of the telephone receivertsoppled offits cradle.Dirk could
hear the diallintgone. Then,slowly and with obvious difficulty, the dialbegan to turn. It moved unevenly round, further round, slower and slower, and then suddenly slipped back.
There was a moment’s pause. Then the recerivesetrs went down and up again toget a newdialling tone.The dial beganto turn again, but
creaking even more fitfully than the last time. Again it slipped back.
There wasa longerpause this time, and then the entire process was repeated once more.
When thedial slipped back a third time there was a sudden explosion of fury -t-he whole phoneleapt into theair and hurtled across the
room. The receiver cord wrapped itself roaunndAnglepoiselamp on the

way and brought it crashing down in a tangle of cables,ccuopfsfeaend
floppy disksA.
pile of books erupted off the desk and on to the floor.
The figure of Sergeant Gilks stood stony-faced in the doorway.
‘I’m going to come in again,’ he s‘aaindd,
when I doI, don’t want
to see anything of that kind going on whatsoIesvethr.atunderstood?’ He turned and disappeared.
Dirk leaptfor the cassetteplayer and hit the Rewind buttoTnh.en
heturned and hissed at the empty air, ‘I don’t know who you are, but I
can guess. Ifyou want mhyelp, don’t you eveermbarrass me like that again!’
A few moments laterG, ilks walked in again. ‘Ah, there you are,’ he said.
He surveyed the wreckage with aenven gaze. ‘I’ll pretend I can’t
see any of this, tshoat I won’t have
atosk any questions the answers
to which would, I know, only irritate me.’ Dirk glowered.
In the momenot r two ofsilence that followed, aslight ticking
whirr could be heard whiccahused the sergeanto look sharply atthe cassette player.
‘What’s that tape doing?’
‘Rewinding.’
‘Give it to me.’
The tapereached the beginningand stoppedas Dirk reached it. He took it out and handed it to Gilks.
‘Irritatingly, thisseems toput your client completely in the
clear,’ saidthe sergeant. ‘Cellnethave confirmed thathe last call

made from the car was at 8.46 pm last nigwhht,ichat point your client waslightly dozing in front of several hundredwitnesses. I say
witnesses,in fact they werme ostly students, but we will probably be forced to assume that they can’t all be lying.’
‘Good,’ said Dirk, ‘well, I’m glad that’s all cleared up.’
‘We never thought he haadctually done it, of course. Simpdliydn’t
fit.But you know us -- we like to get results. Tell him we still want to ask him some questions, though.’
‘I shall be sure to mention it if I happen to run into him.’
‘You just do that little thing.’
‘Well, I shan’t detain you any longer, Sergeant,’ said Dirk, airily waving at the door.
‘No, but Ishall bloody detainyou ifyou’re not out of here in thirtyseconds, Cjelli. I don’t knowhat you’reup to,but if I can possibly avoid finding out I shall sleep easier in my office. Out.’
‘Then Ishall bid you gooday, Sergeant. Iwon’t say it’s been a pleasure because it hasn’t.’
Dirk sweptout of the room, and made his way out of the flat, noting with sorrow that where there had baeelanrge chesterfield sofa wedged magnificently in the staircase, there was now just a smaplli,lesaodf
sawdust.
With a jerk Michael Wenton-Weakes looked up from his book. His mind suddenly was alive with purpose. Thoughts, images,
memories, intentionsa, ll crowded in upon him, and the more they seemed

tocontradict each other thme ore they seemed to fit together, to pair and settle.
The match at last was perfect, tteheeth of one slowly aligned with the teeth of another.
A pull and they were zipped.
Though the waiting had seemed an eternoitfy eternities when it was filled with failure, with fadiwngaves of weakness, with feeble groping and lonelyimpotence, the match once made cancelled iat ll. Would cancel it all. Would undo what had been so disastrously done. Who thought that? It did not matter, the mawtcahs made, thematch was perfect.
Michael gazed outof the window across the well-manicureCdhelsea
streetand did not care whether what he saw were slimy things with legs or whether they were all Mr A. K. Ross. What mattered wathseywhhaatd stolen and what they woubled compelled toreturn. Ross now lay in the
past. What he was now concerned with lay still further in it.
His large soft cowlike eyeresturned to the last few lines of ‘Kubla Khan’, which he had jubseten reading. The match wamsade, the zip was pulled.
He closed the book and put it in his pocket.
His path back now wasclear. Heknew what he mustdo. It only remained to do a little shopping and then do it.
[::: CHAPTER 22 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]

‘You? Wanted for murder? Richard what are you talking about?’
The telephone wavered in Richard’s handH.
e washolding it about
halfan inchaway from his ear anyway because it seemtheadt somebody
had dipped the earpiecine
some chowmein recently, but that wasn’t so
bad. This waas public telephone so it was clearly an oversight that it was working aatll. But Richardwas beginningto feel as if the whole world had shifted abohuat lf an inch awafyrom him, likesomeone in a deodorant commercial.
‘Gordon,’ said Richard, hesitantly, ‘Gordon’s been murdered -- hasn’t he?’
Susan paused before she answered.
‘Yes, Richard,’ she said in a distressed voic‘be,ut no one thinks you did it. They want to question you of course, but --’
‘So there are no police with you now?’
‘No, Richard,’ insisted Susan, ‘Look, why don’t you come here?’
‘And they’re not out searching for me?’
‘No! Where on earth did ygoeut the idea that you were wanted for -- that they thought you had done it?’
‘Er -- well, this friend of mine told me.’
‘Who?’
‘Well, his name is Dirk Gently.’
‘You’ve never mentioned him. Who is he? Did he say anything else?’
‘He hypnotised me and, er, mamdee jump in the canal, and, er, well, that was it really --’
There was a terribly long pause at the other end.

‘Richard,’ said Susanat last withthe sort of calmnestshat comes overpeople when they realise that however bad things mseaeym to be, thereis absolutely no reason whthyey shouldn’t simply get worse and worse, ‘come over herIe.was going to say I neetdo see you, but I think you need to see me.’
‘I should probably go to the police.’
‘Go to the police later. Richard, please. A few hwoounrs’t make any difference. I... cIan hardly even thinkR. ichard, it’s so awfuIl.t
would just help if you were here. Where are you?’
‘OK,’ said Richard, ‘I’ll be with you in about twenty minutes.’
‘Shall I leavethe windowopen or would you liktoe
try the door?’
she said with a sniff.
[::: CHAPTER 23 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
‘No, please,’ said Dirkr,estraining Miss Pearce’s hand from opening a letter from the InlaRndevenue, ‘thereare wilder skies than these.’
He had emergedfrom a spell of tense brooding in his darkened office and therewas an air of excitecdoncentration about him. It had taken hisactual signature on an actual salary cheque to persuade Miss Pearce toforgive him for thleatest unwarrantable extravagance with which he
had returnedto the office and he felt that just to sit there blatantly opening letters from the taxmwanas to take his magnanimous gesture in entirely the wrong spirit.
She put the envelope aside.

‘Come!’ hesaid. ‘I have something I wish youto see. Ishall observe your reactions with the very greatest of interest.’ He bustled back into his own office and sat at his desk.
She followed him in patiently and soaptposite, pointedly ignoring the new unwarrantable extravagance sitting on the desk.
The flashy brass plaque for the door had stihrererdup pretty badly
but the sillpyhone with bigred push buttonsshe regarded as being
beneath contemptA.
nd she certainly wasn’t going to adnoything rash
like smile until she knew for certainththeatcheque wouldn’tbounce.
The last time he signed a cheque for hcearncheelled it before the end of the day, to prevent it,heasexplained,‘falling into the wrong
hands’. The wrong hands presumably, being those of her bank manager. He thrust a piece of paper across the desk.
She picked itup and looked atit. Then she turned it round and looked at iatgain. She looked at the other side and then she put it down.
‘Well?’ demanded Dirk. ‘What do you make of it? Tell me!’ Miss Pearce sighed.
‘It’s alot of meaningless squiggles donein bluefelt tip on a pieceof typing paper,’ she said. ‘It looks like you did them yourself.’
‘No!’ barked Dirk‘,Well, yes,’ headmitted, ‘but onlybecause I
believe that it is the answer to the problem!’
‘What problem?’
‘The problem,’insisted Dirk, slapping the table, ‘of the conjuring

trick! I told you!’
‘Yes, MrGently, several times.I think it wasjust a conjuring trick. You see them on the telly.’
‘With this difference -- that this one was completely impossible!’
‘Couldn’t have beenimpossible orhe wouldn’t have done it. Stands to reason.’
‘Exactly!’ saidDirk excitedly. ‘Exactly! MissPearce, you area lady of rare perception and insight.’
‘Thank you, sir, can I go now?’
‘Wait! I haven’t finished yet! Not by along way, not by a
bucketful! You have demonstrated to me the depythouorf perception and insight, allow me to demonstrate mine!’
Miss Pearce slumped patiently in her seat.
‘I think,’said Dirk, ‘you will be impressedC. onsider this. An intractable problem. In trying to ftihned solution toit Iwas going
round and round
liinttle circlesin my mindo, ver and over the same
maddeningthings. Clearly I wasn’tgoing to beable to think of anythingelse until I hatdhe answer, but equally clearly I would have to think osfomething else if I waesver going to get the answer. How to break this circle? Ask me how.’
‘How?’ said Miss Pearce obediently, but without enthusiasm.
‘By writing down what theanswer is!’ exclaimed Dirk. ‘And here it is!’ He slapped thpeiece of paper triumphantly and sbaat ck with a satisfied smile.
Miss Pearce looked at it dumbly.
‘With the result,’continued Dirk, ‘that I am noawble to turnmy

mind to fresh and intriguing problems, like, for instance...’
He took the piece of paper, coverwedith itsaimless squiggles and doodlings, and held it up to her.
‘What language,’ he said in a lodwar,k voice, ‘is this written in?’ Miss Pearce continued to look at it dumbly.
Dirk flung thepiece of paper down, phuits feet up on the table, and threw his head back with his hands behind it.
‘You see what I have doneh?’e asked theceiling, which seemedto flinch slightlyat beingyanked so suddenly inttohe conversation. ‘I
have transformed the problem from inatnractably difficult and possibly quiteinsoluble conundruminto amere linguistic puzzleA. lbeit,’ he muttered, aftera long moment of silenpt ondering, ‘an intractably
difficult and possibly insoluble one.’
He swung back to gaze intently at Janice Pearce.
‘Go on,’ he urged, ‘sathyat it’s insane -- but it might just work!’ Janice Pearce cleared her throat.
‘It’s insane,’ she said, ‘trust me.’
Dirk turned awayand sagged sideways off hicshair, much asthe
sitter for The Thinker probabdliyd when Rodin went otfof
be excused.
He suddenly looked profoundly tired and depressed.
‘I know,’he said in a low, dispirited voice, ‘that thereis
something profoundly wronsgomewhere. AndI knowthat Imust go to Cambridgeto put it right. But I would feel less fearful if I knew what it was...’
‘Can I get on now, please, then?’ said Miss Pearce.

Dirk looked up at her glumly.
‘Yes,’ he said with saigh, ‘but just -- just tell me --’ he flicked atthe piece ofpaper with his fingertips -- ‘what do ytohuink of
this, then?’
‘Well, I think it’s childish,’ said Janice Pearce, frankly.
‘But --but --but!’ saidDirk thumping the table in frustration.
‘Don’tyou understand that we need to be childish in order to understand?Only a child sees things with perfecclatrity, because it hasn’t developedall those filters which prevent us from seethininggs that we don’t expect to see?’
‘Then why don’t you go and ask one?’
‘Thank you,Miss Pearce,’ said Dirk reaching for his hat, ‘once againyou have rendered me an inestimable service forwhich I am profoundly grateful.’
He swept out.
[::: CHAPTER 24 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
The weather began tboleaken as Richard made hisway to Susan’s flat. The skwy hich had started out with such verve and spiniritthe morning was beginning to lose its concentration andbasclikp into its normal English condition, that odfaamp and rancid dish cloth. Richard took a taxi, which got him there in a few minutes.
‘They shouldall be deported,’ said thtaexi driver as they drew to
a halt.

‘Er, who should?’ said Richard, who realised he hadn’t been listening to a word the driver said.
‘Er --’said the driver, who suddenly realised he hadn’t been listening either‘,er, thewhole lotof them. Get riodf the whole
bloody lot, that’ws hat I say.And their bloody newts,’ haedded for good measure.
‘Expect you’re right,’ said Richard, and hurried into the house. Arriving at the front doof her flat he could hear from within the sounds of Susan’s cello playing a slow, stately meHloedyw. asglad of that,that she was playing. She had an amazing emotional self sufficiencyand control provided she could play hercello. He had
noticed an odadnd extraordinary thing about her relationship wthiteh
music she played. If ever swhaes feeling emotional or upset she could sit and play sommeusic withutter concentration and emerge seeming fresh and calm.
The nexttime she played the same music, however, it would all burst from her and she would go completely to pieces.
He let himself ians quietly as possible so as not to disturb her concentration.
He tiptoed past the smarlolom she practised inb,ut the doorwas
open so he paused and lookedhear,t with the slightest of signals that she shouldn’st top. She was looking pale and drawn bguat ve him a flicker of a smile and continued bowing with a sudden intensity.
With animpeccable timing of which it is very rarely capable the sun
chosethat momentto burst brieflythrough the gatheringrainclouds,

andas she playedher cello a stormy light played on ahnedr on the
deep old brown of the woodthoef instrument. Richard stood transfixed. The turmoiol f the day stood still for a moment and kept a respectful distance.
He didn’t know themusic, but it sounded like Mozart and he
remembered her sayinsghe had some Mozarto learn. He walked quietly on and sat down to wait and listen.
Eventually shefinished the piece, and there waabsout a minute of silence before she came through. She blinaknedd smiled and gavheim a long,trembling hug, thenreleased herself and put the phobnaeck on
the hook. It usually got taken off when she was practising.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I didn’t want to stop.’ She briskly brushed away a tear as if it was a slight irritation. ‘How are you Richard?’
He shrugged and gavheer a bewilderedlook. Thatseemed about to cover it.
‘And I’mgoing to have tcoarry on, I’m afraid,’ said Susan with a sigh‘I’m sorry. I’ve jusbteen...’ She shook hehread. ‘Who would do it?’
‘I don’t know. Some madman. I’m not sure that it matters who.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Look, er, have you had any lunch?’
‘No. Susan, you keep playing and I’ll see whinathse fridge.We can talk about it all over some lunch.’
Susan nodded.
‘All right,’ she said, ‘except...’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, just for the moment I dorne’atlly want to talk about Gordon.

Just till it sinkins. I feel sort of caught out. It would be easier if
I’d been closer to hibmu,t I wasn’t and I’m sort of embarrassed by not having areaction ready. Talking about it woublde all right except
that you have to use the past tense and that’s what’s...’
She clung to him foarmoment and then quieted herself with a sigh.
‘There’s not much in the fridgeat the moment,’she said,‘some yoghurt, I thinka,nd a jar of roll-mop herrinygosu couldopen. I’m sureyou’ll be ableto muck it up if you try, but it’s actually quite straightforward. The main trick is not to throw them all ovfleororthe
or get jam on them.’
She gave him a hug, a kiss aandglum smile and then retreated back to her music room.
The phone rang and Richard answered it.
‘Hello?’ he said. Therwe as nothing, just a faint sort of windy noise on the line.
‘Hello?’ he said again, waited,shrugged and putthe phone back down.
‘Was there anybody there?’ called Susan.
‘No, no one,’ said Richard.
‘That’s happened a coupleof times,’ said Susan.‘I think it’s a sort of minimalist heavy breather.’ She resumed playing.
Richard went into the kitchen and opentheed fridge. Hewas less of ahealth-conscious eater than Susan and was therefore less than
thrilled by what hfoeund there, but hemanaged to put somreoll-mop
herrings, someyoghurt, somerice andsome oranges on taray without

difficulty andtried not to thintkhat a couple of fat hamburgers and fries would round it off nicely.
He founda bottleof white wine and carrieitd allthrough to the small dining table.
After a minute otrwo Susanjoined him there. Shwe as ather most
calm andcomposed, and aftera few mouthsful she asked him about the canal.
Richard shookhis head inbemusement and tried to explain about it, and about Dirk.
‘What did you say his namweas?’ said Susan with a frown when he had come, rather lamely, to a conclusion.
‘It’s, er, Dirk Gently,’ said Richard, ‘in a way.’
‘In a way?’
‘Er, yes,’ said Richardwith a difficulstigh. Hereflected that
just about anything you could say about
wDairsk subject tothese kind
of vagueand shifty qualifications. Therewas even, on his letter heading,a stringof vague and shifty-looking qualifications after his name. Hepulled out the piecoef paper on which he had vainly been trying to organise his thoughts earlier in the day.
‘I...’ he started, but the doorbell rang. They looakt eedach other.
‘If it’s thepolice,’ said Richard‘,I’d better see them. Let’s get it over with.’
Susan pushed backher chair, went tothe frontdoor and picked up the Entryphone.
‘Hello?’ she said.
‘Who?’ shesaid after amoment. She frownedas shelistened then

swung round and frowned at Richard.
‘You’d bettercome up,’ she said ina less thanfriendly tone of
voice and then pressed the button. She came back and sat down.
‘Your friend,’ she said evenly, ‘Mr Gently.’
The Electric Monk’s daywas going tremendouslywell and hebroke into an excited galloTp.hat is to satyhat, excitedly, he spurred his horse to a gallop and, unexcitedly, his horse broke into it.
This world, theMonk thought, was a good one. He loved it. He didn’t know whose iwt as or whereit hadcome from, butit was certainlya deeplyfulfilling place for someone wihthis unique and extraordinary
gifts.
He was appreciatedA.
ll dayhe had goneup to people, fallen into
conversationwith them, listened ttoheir troubles, andthen quietly uttered those three magic words, ‘I believe you.’
The effecthad invariably been electrifying. Iwt asn’t that people onthis world didn’toccasionally say ito each other, but they rarely,it seemed, managed taochieve thatdeep timbre ofsincerity
which the Monk had been so superbly programmed to reproduce.
On his own world, after all, he
twakasen for granted. People would
just expect him to get on and believe thfoinr gtshem without bothering
them.Someone would come tothe door with some greatnew idea or
proposal or evean newreligion, andthe answer would be ‘Oh,
agnod
tellthat to the Monk.’ And the Monk would sit and listen and patiently
believe it all, but no one would take any further interest.

Only oneproblem seemed to arise on this otherweixsecellent world. Often, afterhe had utteredthe magic words, the subject would rapidly change to that of moneayn,d the Monk of course didnh’at ve any -- a shortcomingthat hadquickly blighted a number of otherwise very promising encounters.
Perhaps he should acquire some -- but where?
He reined his horse in for a moment, and the horse jerked gratefully to a halatnd started in otnhe grass on the roadside verge. The horse had noidea what altlhis galloping upand downwas in aid ofa,nd
didn’tcare. All it did care about was that it was being made to gallop upand down past a seemingly perpetual roadsibdueffet. It made the
best of its moment while it had it.
The Monk peered keenly up anddown theroad. It seemedvaguely familiar. He trotted a little further up it for another loohko. rsTehe
resumed its meal a few yards further along. Yes. The Monk had been here last night.
He rememberedit clearly, well, sort of clearly. He believed that he remembered it clearly, anthdat, afterall, was the mainthing. Here
was where he had walkteod in amore than usually confused state of mind, and jusatround the verynext corner, if he was nvoet ry much mistaken,again, lay the smarlloadside establishment at whiche had jumpedinto the back of that nice man’s -c-arthe niceman who had subsequently reacted so oddly to being shot at.
Perhaps they would have sommeoney there and would lheitm have it.
He wondered. Welhl,e would find outH.
e yanked the horsefrom its
feast once again and galloped towards it.

As he approached the petrol station he noticed a car parked there at an arrogant angle. The angle made it quite cleatrhethcaatr was not
therefor anything so mundanaes to have petroplut into it, and was
much too importantot
park itself neatloyut of the way. Any other car
that arrived for petrol would jhuasvt e to manoeuvre arounidt as best itcould. The car was white withstripes and badges andimportant looking lights.
Arriving at the forecourtht e Monk dismounted and tethered his horse toa pump.He walkedtowards the small shop building and sawthat
insideit there was a man with his back htiom wearing a darbklue
uniform and a peaked cap. The man was danucpinagnd down and twisting hisfingers in hisears, and this was clearly making a deep impression
on the man behind the till.
The Monk watched intransfixed awe. The man, hbeelieved withan instanteffortlessness which would have impressed even a Scientologist, must be a God of sokmined to arouse such fervour. He waited with bated breath to worship him. In a moment the man turned arounwdalkaned out
of the shop, saw the Monk and stopped dead.
The Monk realisedthat the God musbte waiting for him tmo ake an act ofworship, so he reverently danced upand down twisting his fingers in his ears.
His God stared at him formaoment, caught hold of him, twisted him round,slammed him forward spreadeagled over the car and frisked him
for weapons.

Dirk burst into the flat like a small podgy tornado.
‘Miss Way,’ hesaid, grasping her slightly unwilling hand and
doffing his absurhdat, ‘it is thme ost inexpressible pleasure to meet you, but also the matter of the deepest regretthethaotccasion of our
meeting shouldbe one of such great sorrow and one which bids me extend toyou my mostprofound sympathy and commiseration.I ask you to
believe me that I would not intruupdoen your private grief for all the
world if it were noont
a matter otfhe gravest moment and magnitude.
Richard --I have solvedthe problem of the conjuring trick and it’s extraordinary.’
He swept through the room and deposited himosnelfa spare chaiart the small dining table, on which he put his hat.
‘You will have to excuse us, Dirk --’ said Richard, coldly.
‘No, I am afraid yowu ill have to excuse mer,e’turned Dirk.‘The puzzle issolved, and the solution isso astounding thaitt took a seven-year-oldchild on the street to giveit to me.But it is
undoubtedlythe correct one, absolutelyundoubtedly. “What, then, is the solution?”you ask me, or rather woualdsk me ifyou could get a wordin edgeways, which yocuan’t, so I will savyeou the bother and ask the question for you, and answaesr witell by saying thaIt will
not telyl ou, because you won’t believe me. I sihnasltlead showyou, this very afternoon.
‘Rest assured, however, that it explains everythinge.xpItlains the trick.It explains the note you found-- thatshould have made it perfectlyclear tome but I was a fool. And it explains what the
missing third questiown as, or rather-- and this is thseignificant

point -- it explains what the missing first question was!’
‘What missing question?’ exclaimed Richardc, onfused by the sudden pause, and leaping in with the first phrase he could grab.
Dirk blinked as if ant
idiot. ‘Themissing question that George
III asked, of course,’ he said.
‘Asked who?’
‘Well, theProfessor,’ said Dirkimpatiently. ‘Don’t youlisten to
anything yousay? Thewhole thing was obvious!’ he exclaimed, thumping the table‘,So obvious thatthe only thing which preventemd e from
seeingthe solution was thetrifling fact that it was completely
impossible. Sherlock Holmeosbserved that once you have eliminattehde impossible,then whateverremains, however improbable,must be the answer.I, however, do not liktoe eliminatethe impossible. Now. Let us go.’
‘No.’
‘What?’ Dirk glanced up at Susan, from whom this unexpected -- or at least, unexpected to him -- opposition had come.
‘Mr Gently,’ saidSusan in avoice youcould notcha stick with,
‘whydid youdeliberately misleadRichard intothinking thathe was wanted by the police?’
Dirk frowned.
‘But he was wanted by the police,’ he said, ‘and still is.’
‘Yes, but just to answerquestions! Not becausehe’s a suspected murderer.’
Dirk looked down.

‘Miss Way,’ he said, ‘thepolice are interested in knowing who murderedyour brother.I, with thevery greatest respect, am not. It
may, I concede, turn outhatove a bearing on the case, but it may just as likely turonut to be a casumaladman. I wanted to know, still need desperatelyto know, /why Richard climbed into this flat last night/.’
‘I told you,’ protested Richard.
‘What you told mies immaterial -- it only reveals the crufcaicatl
thatyou do not know the reason yourself! For heaven’s sake I thought I
had demonstrated that to you clearly enough at the canal!’ Richard simmered.
‘It was perfectly clear to me watching you,’ pursued Dirk, ‘that you had very little idea what ywoeure doing, and had absolutely no concern aboutthe physical dangeryou were in. At first I thougwhat,tching,
that it wajsust a brainless thuogut on his first and qupitoessibly
last burgle. But then the figure looked banacdkI realised it was you
-- andI know youto be anintelligent, rational, and moderatme an. Richard MacDuff? Risking hniseck carelessly climbing udprainpipes at night?It seemed to me thaytou wouldonly behave in such a reckless andextreme way ifyou were desperately worrieadbout something of terrible importance. Is that not true, Miss Way?’
He lookedsharply up at Susan, whsolowly sat down, looking at him with an alarm in her eyes which said that he had struck home.
‘And yet, when you came steoe me this morninygou seemed perfectly calm andcollected. You arguedwith meperfectly rationallywhen I
talked alot ofnonsense aboutSchrödinger’s Cat. This wasnot the
behaviour of someone who htahde previous night been driven to extremes

by somedesperate purpose. I confess that it was at mthoamt ent that I stoopedto, well, exaggerating yourpredicament, simplyin order to keep hold of you.’
‘You didn’t. I left.’
‘With certain ideas in your head. I knewyou would be back. I apologise most humbly fohraving misled you, ers,omewhat, butI knew that whatI had tofind out lay far beyondwhat the police would concernthemselves with. And itwas this --if you were noqtuite
yourself when you climbed the wlaasllt night... then /who were you, -- and why/?’
Richard shivered. A silence lengthened.
‘What has it got to do with conjuring tricks?’ he said at last.
‘That is what we must go to Cambridge to find out.’
‘But what makes you so sure -- ?’
‘It disturbsme,’ said Dirk, and a dark and heavy look came into his face.
For one so garrulous he seemed suddenly oddly reluctant to speak. He continued, ‘It disturbs me very greatly wIhfeind thatI know thingsand do not know why I know them. Maybe it is the same
instinctive processing of datthaat allows you to catch a ball almost before you’veseen it. Maybe it is thedeeper and lessexplicable instinct that tells you whseonmeone iswatching you. It is a very
great offence to my intellect that vtehrey things that I despise other people for being credulous aocftually occur tome. You wilrlemember
the... unhappiness surrounding certain exam questions.’

He seemedsuddenly distressed and haggard. He had to dig deep inside himself to continue speaking.
He said, ‘The abilityto puttwo and twotogether andcome up
instantly with fouirs one thing. The ability to put the square root of fivehundred andthirty-nine point seventogether with the cosine of twenty-six point four thretwe o and come upwith... with whatever the
answer to that is, qiusite another. And I... well, mleet
give you an
example.’
He leant forward intently. ‘Lansitght I saw yoculimbing into this flat.I /knew/ that something waswrong. Today I got you tetoll me every last detail you knew about what happened last annigdhta,lready, as a result, usinmgy intellect alone, Ihave uncovered possibly the greatest secret lying hiddeonn this planet. I swear to you that this
is true and thatcaIn proveit. Nowyou must believe mwe hen I tell you that I know, I know tthearte issomething terribly, desperately, appallingly wrong and that we mfuinstd it. Will you go with me now, to Cambridge?’
Richard nodded dumbly.
‘Good,’ said Dirk‘.What is this?’he added,pointing at Richard’s plate.
‘A pickled herring. Do you want one?’
‘Thank you, no,’ saiDd irk, rising andbuckling his coat.‘There
is,’ he added as he headtoewd ards the door, steering Richard with him,
‘no suchword as “herring” in my dictionary. Good afternoMonis,s Way, wish us God speed.’

[::: CHAPTER 25 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
There wasa rumbleof thunder,and the onsetof that interminable tight drizzle from the north-east by whsoichmany of the worldm’sost momentous events seem to be accompanied.
Dirk turnedup the collar of his leather overcoat againstthe weather,but nothing could dampen hisdemonic exuberance as haend Richard approached the great twelfth-century gates.
‘St Cedd’s College, Cambridge,’he exclaimed,looking at themfor
the first time in eight yea‘Frso.unded in the year something or other, bysomeone I forgetin honour of someone whosneame forthe moment escapes me.’
‘St Cedd?’ suggested Richard.
‘Do you know, I think ivt ery probablywas? Oneof the duller
Northumbrian saints. His brother Chad was edvuelnler. Has acathedral
in Birmingham
tifhat gives yousome idea.Ah, Bill, how good
stoee
youagain,’ he added, accostingthe porter who wajsust walking into the college as well. The porter looked round.
‘Mr Cjelli, nice to seeyou back,sir. Sorry you had sapot of bother, hope that’s all behind you now.’
‘Indeed, Bill, it is. Yofuind me thriving. And MRrsoberts? How is she? Foot still troubling her?’
‘Not sinceshe hadit off, thanksfor asking, sir. Between you and
me,sir, I would’ve been jusats happyto have had her amputated and

keptthe foot. I had alittle spot reserved on the mantelpiece, but there we are, we have to take things as we find them.
‘Mr MacDuff,sir,’ headded, noddingcurtly atRichard. ‘Oh that horse you mentioned, sir, when you were lhaestrenight,I’m afraid we had to have it removed. It was bothering Professor Chronotis.’
‘I was onlycurious, er, Bill,’ said Richard. ‘I hope diitdn’t disturb you.’
‘Nothing ever disturbs me, sir, so long as it isn’t wearing a dress. Can’t abide it when the young fellers wear dresses, sir.’
‘If the horsebothers you againB, ill,’ interrupted Dirk, patting
himon the shoulder, ‘send it up to me asnhdallI speak with it. Now, youmention the good Professor Chronotis. Is he in at the moment? We’ve come on an errand.’
‘Far asI know, sir. Can’ctheck for you because his phone’s out of order.Suggest yougo and look yourself. Flaerft corner of Second Court.’
‘I know it well, Bitlhl,ank you, and my best to what remains of Mrs
Roberts.’
They swept on through into First Couor ,at least Dirskwept, and Richardwalked inhis normal heron-like gaiwt, rinkling uphis face against the measly drizzle.
Dirk had obviously mistaken himself for a tour guide.
‘St Cedd’s,’he pronounced, ‘the college of Coleridge, and the collegeof Sir Isaac Newton, renowned inventoofr the milled-edge coin and the catflap!’
‘The what?’ said Richard.

‘The catflap! A device of theutmost cunning, perspicuity and invention. It is a door within a door, you see, a...’
‘Yes,’ said Richard, ‘there was also the small matter of gravity.’
‘Gravity,’ saidDirk with a slightldyismissive shrug,‘yes, there wasthat as well, I suppose.Though that,of course, was merelay
discovery. It was there to be discovered.’
He took a penny oouft
his pocket and tossedcaitsually on tothe
pebbles that ran alongside the paved pathway.
‘You see?’ hesaid, ‘They even keeipt on at weekends. Someone was bound to notice sooner or laBteur.t the catflap... ah, there is a very different matter. Invention, pure creative invention.’
‘I wouldhave thought it was quite obvious.Anyone could have thought of it.’
‘Ah,’ saidDirk, ‘it isa rare mind indeed that can render the
hithertonon-existent blindingly obvious. The cry “I could have thought of that”is a very popular and misleading ofnoer,the factis that
they didn’t, and a very significaanndt
revealingfact it is too. This
if I am not mistaken is the staircase we seek. Shall we ascend?’
Without waiting for an answer he plungoend
up the stairs. Richard,
following uncertainlyf,ound him already knocking onthe inner door. The outer one stood open.
‘Come in!’ called avoice from within. Dirk pushed tdhoeor open,
andthey were just in timtoe
see theback of Reg’swhite head as he
disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Just making some tea,’ he calledout. ‘Like some? Sit dowsni,t

down, whoever you are.’
‘That wouldbe most kind,’returned Dirk.‘We are two.’ Dirk sat, and Richard followed his lead.
‘Indian or China?’ called Reg.
‘Indian, please.’
There was a rattle of cups and saucers.
Richard looked around the room. It seemed suddenly humdrum. The fire
wasburning quietly away to itself, but the lwigahst
that of the grey
afternoon. Though everythinagbout itwas the same, the old sotfhae,
tableburdened withbooks, there seemed nothing to connect it with the
hecticstrangeness of the previous night. The room seemed ttohesreit
with raised eyebrows, innocently saying ‘Yes?’
‘Milk?’ called out Reg from the kitchen.
‘Please,’ replied Dirk. Hgeave Richard a smile which seemed to him to be half-mad with suppressed excitement.
‘One lump or two?’ called Reg again.
‘One, please,’ said Dirk, ‘...and twspooons of sugar if you would.’ There was a suspensionof activityin the kitchen. A moment or two passed and Reg stuck his head round the door.
‘Svlad Cjelli!’he exclaimed. ‘Good heavens! Well, thawt as quick
work,young MacDuff,well done. My dear fellow, how very exceltloent
see you, how good of you to come.’
He wiped his hands on a tea towel whaes carrying and hurried over to shake hands.
‘My dear Svlad.’
‘Dirk, please, if you would,’ said Digrrka,sping hishand warmly,

‘I prefer it. hIat s moreof a sort of Scottisdhagger feel to it, I
think.Dirk Gently is thename underwhich I now trade. Theraere
certain events in the paIs’tm,
afraid, from which I wouldwish to
disassociate myself.’
‘Absolutely, I know howyou feel. Most otfhe fourteenth century, for instance, was pretty grim,’ agreed Reg earnestly.
Dirk was abouto correct the misapprehension, but thougthhtat it might be somewhat of a long trek and left it.
‘So how have youbeen, then,my dear Professor?’ hseaid instead, decorously placing his hat and scarf upon the arm of the sofa.
‘Well,’ said Reg, ‘it’s been an interesting time recently, or
rather,a dulltime. Butdull for interestingreasons. Now, sit down again,warm yourselves by the fire, andI will get the tea and endeavourto explain.’ He bustled out again, humming busily, laenftd
them to settle themselves in front of the fire.
Richard leant over to Dirk. ‘I had no idea you knew him so well,’ he said with a nod in the direction of the kitchen.
‘I don’t,’ said Dirkinstantly. ‘We met once by chance at some dinner, but there was an immediate sympathy and rapport.’
‘So how come you never met again?’
‘He studiously avoided me, of course. Close rapports with people are dangerous ifyou have a secret to hide. And as secrets go, I fancy that this issomewhat of a biggieI.f there is a bigger secret anywhere in
the worldI wouldvery much care,’he said quietly, ‘to know what it
is.’

He gave Richard a significanltook and heldhis hands out to the
fire. Since Richard had tribeedfore without success to draw him out on exactly what the secrwetas, herefused to riseto the bait on this
occasion, but sat back in his armchair and looked about him.
‘Did I ask you,’ said Reg, returning at that moment, ‘iwf aynotued any tea?’
‘Er, yes,’ saidRichard, ‘we spoke about aitt length.I think we agreed in the end that we would, didn’t we?’
‘Good,’ said Reg, vaguely, ‘by a happy chance tsheeerme s to be some ready inthe kitchen.You’ll have toforgive me. I have a memory like a...like a... whatare those things you drain riicne? What am I
talking about?’
With a puzzledlook heturned smartly roundand disappearedonce more into the kitchen.
‘Very interesting,’ saidDirk quietly,‘I wondered if hismemory might be poor.’
He stood, suddenly, andprowled around theroom. His eyes fell on the abacuswhich stood on the only clear space thoen largemahogany table.
‘Is this thetable,’ he asked Richard in a lovwoice, ‘whereyou found the note about the salt cellar?’
‘Yes,’ saidRichard, standing, andcoming over, ‘tuckedinto this
book.’ He picked up the gutiodethe Greek islands and flippetdhrough it.
‘Yes, yes,of course,’ saidDirk, impatiently. ‘We know abouatll
that. I’m jusitnterested that this was the tablHe.e’
ran his fingers

along its edge, curiously.
‘If you think it wassome sort of prior collaboration betweReneg andthe girl,’ Richard said‘,then Imust saythat I don’t think it possibly can have been.’
‘Of course it wasn’t,’ said Dirk test‘ilIy,would have thought that was perfectly clear.’
Richard shrugged in an effort notgetot angry and put the book back down again.
‘Well, it’s an odd coincidence that the book should have been...’
‘Odd coincidence!’ snortedDirk. ‘Ha! Weshall see howmuch of a coincidence. Weshall seeexactly how odd itwas. I wouldlike you, Richard, to ask our friend how he performed the trick.’
‘I thought you said you knew already.’
‘I do,’ said Dirk airily. ‘I would like to hear it confirmed.’
‘Oh, I see,’said Richard, ‘yes, that’s rather easy, isint?’t Get
him to explain it, and then say, “tYhaets’,s exactly what I thought it was!” Verygood, Dirk. Havewe comeall theway up here in order to have himexplain how he did a conjuring trick? I think I mmusatdb.’e
Dirk bridled at this.
‘Please do as I askh,’e snapped angrily. ‘You saw him do the trick, you musat sk how he did iBt. elieve me, there is an astounding secret hidden within it. I know it, but I want you to hear it from him.’
He spun roundas Regre-entered, bearinga tray,which he carried roundthe sofa and put on thtoe low coffee table that sat in front of
the fire.

‘Professor Chronotis...’ said Dirk.
‘Reg,’ said Reg, ‘please.’
‘Very, well,’ said Dirk, ‘Reg...’
‘Sieve!’ exclaimed Reg.
‘What?’
‘Thing youdrain ricein. A sieve. wI as trying to rememberthe
word,though I forget now the reason why. No matter. Dirk, dear fellow, you look aisf you are about to explode about something. Wdohny’t you
sit down and make yourself comfortable?’
‘Thank you,no, I would ratherfeel freeto pace up and down fretfully if I may. Reg...’
He turned to face him square on, and raised a single finger.
‘I must tell you,’ he said, ‘that I know your secret.’
‘Ah, yes, er-- do you indeed?m’ umbled Reg, looking down awkwardly and fiddling with the cups and teapot. ‘I see.’
The cupsrattled violentlyas he moved them. ‘Yes, I was aforafid
that.’
‘And there are some questions thwaet
wouldlike to ask you. I must
tell you thaIt await the answers with the very greatest apprehension.’
‘Indeed, indeed,’ Reg muttered. ‘Weplle, rhaps it is at last time. I hardly know myself what mtoake of recent events andam... fearful myself.Very well. Ask what you will.’ Hloeoked up sharply, his eyes glittering.
Dirk noddedcurtly at Richardt,urned, and started to pace, glaring at the floor.
‘Er,’ said Richard, ‘well. I’d be... interestedkntow how you did

the conjuring trick with the salt cellar last night.’
Reg seemedsurprised and rather confused by thequestion. ‘The
/conjuring/ trick?’ he said.
‘Er, yes,’ said Richard, ‘the conjuring trick.’
‘Oh,’ said Regt,aken aback, ‘well, the conjuring part oitf, I’m notsure I should-- MagicCircle rules, you know, very straicbtout revealing thesesecrets. Very strict. Impressive trick, thougdho, n’t you think?’ he added slyly.
‘Well, yes,’ said Richard, ‘sietemed verynatural at the time, but
nowthat I... thinkabout it, I have to admit that
wit as a bit
dumbfounding.’
‘Ah, well,’said Reg, ‘it’s skilyl.ou see. PracticeM.
ake it look
natural.’
‘It didlook very natural,’continued Richard, feelinghis way, ‘I
was quite taken in.’
‘You liked it?’
‘It was very impressive.’
Dirk was getting a little impatient. sHheot alook to that effect at Richard.
‘And I can quite see,’ said Richfairrdmly, ‘why it’s impossible for you to tell me. I was just interested, that’s all. Sorry I asked.’
‘Well,’ saidReg ina sudden seizure of doubt, ‘I supposwe.e..ll,
so long as you absolutely promnisoet totell anyone else.’ he carried
on,‘I suppose you can probably work
foourt yourself that uIsed two
ofthe salt cellars on the tableN. o one was going to notice the

difference between onaend another. The quicknessof thehand, you know,deceives the eye, particularly some of the eyesaround that
table. While I was fiddling with my woolly hat, giving, thsoauyghsoI
myself, a very cunning simulatiofn clumsinessand muddle,I simply slipped the salt cellar down my sleeve. You see?’
His earlier agitation habdeen swept away completely by his pleasure in showing off his craft.
‘It’s the oldest trickin the world, in facth,’e continued, ‘but
nevertheless takes a gredaet al of skilland deftness. Thena little
later,of course, I returned tiot
thetable with the appearance of
simply passing it to someoenlese. Takes years opfractice, of course, to make it loonkatural, but I muchprefer it to simply slipping the thing down ttohe floor. Amateur stuff that. You can’t picukp,itand the cleanersnever notice iftor atleast a fortnight. I onchead a
dead thrush undemr y seat fora month. No trick involved thereo, f course. Cat killed it.’
Reg beamed.
Richard felt he had done his bit, but hatdhne’tfaintest idea where
it was supposed
htoave got them. Hgelanced at Dirk, whgoave him no
help whatsoever, so he plunged on blindly.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, I understand that tchaant
be done by sleight
of hand. What I don’t understandhoiws
the salt cellar got embedded in
the pot.’
Reg looked puzzled oncaegain, as if thewy ere all talking at cross purposes. Helooked at Dirk, who stopped pacing and starehdimatwith bright, expectant eyes.

‘Well, that’s... perfectly straightforward,’ saRideg, ‘didn’t take
any conjuring skill at all. I nipped out for my hat, you remember?’
‘Yes,’ said Richard, doubtfully.
‘Well,’ said Reg,‘while I was out of the roomwenIt to findthe
man who made thpeot. Tooksome time, of course. About three weeks of detective workto trackhim down andanother couple of daytso sober
him up, and then with a little difficIupletyrsuaded himto bake the saltcellar into the pot forme. After thatI briefly stopped off somewhere tofind some, er, powderto disguise the suntan,and of
course I hatdo time the return a little carefully so as to make it all
look naturalI.
bumped into myselinf the ante-room, whichI always
find embarrassingI,
never knowwhere to look, buet,r... well, there
you have it.’
He smiled a rather bleak and nervous smile. Richard tried to nod, but eventually gave up.
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ he said. Reg looked at him in surprise.
‘I thought you said you knew my secret,’ he said.
‘I do,’ said Dirk, with a beoafmtriumph. ‘He, as yet, doensot, thoughhe furnished all theinformation I neededto discover it. Let me,’ he added, ‘fill aincouple of little blanks. Ionrder to help
disguisethe fact that you had in fact baewenay for weeks when as far asanyone sitting at the table was concerned you had only popped out of the door for caouple ofseconds, you had to writdeown for your own
referencethe last thing you said, in order that you cpoicukld up the

thread of conversatioangain as naturallyas possible. An important detail if your memory is not what it once was. Yes?’
‘What it once was,’ said Resglo,wly shaking hiswhite head, ‘I can hardly remember what oint ce was. Butyes, you arevery sharp to pick up such a detail.’
‘And then there is the littlematter,’ continued Dirk, ‘ofthe questions that George III asked. Asked you.’
This seemed to catch Reg quite by surprise.
‘He askedyou,’ continuedDirk, consulting a small notebook he had pulled fromhis pocket, ‘ifthere was any particulareason why one thinghappened after another and tihfere was any waoyf stopping it.
Did he not alsaosk you, and ask you first, if it was possible to move backwards in time, or something of that kind?’
Reg gave Dirk a long and appraising look.
‘I was righat bout you,’ he said, ‘you have a very remarkable mind, young man.’He walked slowly over to the window that looked outot on
SecondCourt. He watched theodd figures scuttling through it hugging
themselves in the drizzle or pointing at things.
‘Yes,’ said Reg at last
ain subdued voice, ‘that is precisely what
he said.’
‘Good,’ saidDirk, snappingshut his notebook witha tight little
smile which said that he lived for such p‘rtahiesen, that explains why
the answers were yenso,
and maybe -- in that order. Now. Where is it?’
‘Where is what?’
‘The time machine.’
‘You’re standing in it.’ said Reg.

[::: CHAPTER 26 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
A party of noisy people spilled into the train at Bishop’s Stortford.Some were wearing morninsguits with carnationslooking a little battered bay day’s festivityT. he women ofthe party werein
smart dresses and hatcsh, attering excitedly about how pretty Julia had looked in all that silk taffeta, how Ralphlosotkileld like a smug oaf
even doneup in all his finery, and generaglliyving thewhole thing about two weeks.
One of the men stuck his head outtheofwindow and hailed a passing railwayemployee just to checkthat this was the right train awnads stoppingat Cambridge. The porter confirmethdat of courseit bloody
was. Theyoung mansaid that theydidn’t all want to find thewyere going off in thwerong direction, didthey, and made a soundlitatle likethat of afish barking, as if to indicate thatthis wasa
pricelessly funny remark, anthden pulled his head back in, bangiitng
on the way.
The alcohol content otfhe atmosphere in thcearriage rose sharply. There seemed to be a general feelingthein air that the best way of gettingthemselves inthe rightmood for the post-weddingreception
party that eveninwg as to make a foray to the sboatrhat any members of theparty who were not already completeldyrunk couldfinish the
task.Rowdy shouts of acclamation greeted thisnotion, the train

restarted with a jolt and a lot of those still standing fell over. Three young men droppeidnto the three empty seartosund one table,
of which the fourth waalsready taken by a sleekly overweight man in an
old-fashioned suitH.
e had a lugubrious face and his large,wet,
cowlike eyes gazed into some unknown distance.
Very slowly his eyes began to refocus all the way from infinity and gradually tohome in on hismore immediate surroundings, his new and intrusive companionsT. here wasa need he felt, as he had felt before. The three men were discussing loudly whether thewyould all go to
the bar, whether some of them wouldtogtohe bar and bring back drinks forthe others, whether the onews ho wentto the barwould getso
excited by all the drintkhsere that they would stay put and forget to bring anyback forthe others who wouldbe sitting here anxiously awaiting theireturn, and whether eveinf theydid remember to come backimmediately with thedrinks they would actually be capable of carryingthem andwouldn’t simply throw them all over cthareriage on the way back, incommoding other passengers.
Some sortof consensus seemedto be reached, but almost immediately noneof them could remember what it was. Two of tghoetmup, then sat downagain as the third one got Tuphe. n he satdown. Thetwo other
ones stood uapgain, expressingthe idea that it might sbime pler if they just bought the entire bar.
The third was about to geutp again and follow themw,hen slowly, but withunstoppable purpose, the cow-eyed man sittingopposite him leant across, and gripped him firmly by the forearm.
The youngman inhis morningsuit looked up as sharply as his

somewhat bubblybrain wouldallow and, startled, said,‘What do you want?’
Michael Wenton-Weakes gazedinto his eyes with terrible intensity, and said, in a low voice, ‘I was on a ship...’
‘What?’
‘A ship...’ said Michael.
‘What ship, what are you talking about? Get off me. Let go!’
‘We came,’ continued Michael, in a quieat,lmost inaudible, but
compelling voice, ‘ma onstrous distance. We came to build a paradise. A
paradise. Here.’
His eyes swam brieflryound the carriage, and then gazed briefly out throughthe spatteredwindows at the gathering gloom of a drizzly East Anglian eveningH. e gazed withevident loathing. His grip on the
other’s forearm tightened.
‘Look, I’m going fora drink,’ said thewedding guest, though feebly, because he clearly wasn’t.
‘We left behind those who would destroy themselves withwar,’ murmuredMichael. ‘Ours was to be a world of peace, of music, of art, of enlightenment. All thwatas petty,all that was mundane, atlhl at
was contemptible would have no place in our world...’
The stilled reveller lookeadt Michael wonderinglyH. e didn’tlook like anold hippy.Of course,you nevercould tell. Hisown elder
brotherhad once spent caouple of years living in a Druidic commune, eating LSD doughnuts anthdinking he was a tree, since when he had gone
on to become dairector of a merchant bank. Tdhiefference, of course,

wasthat he hardly everstill thought he wasa tree, exceptjust occasionally, and he halodng ago learnt to avoid the particular claret which sometimes triggered off that flashback.
‘There werethose who said we would faiclo,’ntinued Michael in his
low tonethat carriedclearly under theboisterous noise that filled
the carriage, ‘who prophesied that twooe
carriedin usthe seed of
war, but it waosur high resolve andpurpose that only art and beauty shouldflourish, the highest art, the highebsetauty -- music. We took with us only those who believed, who wished it to be true.’
‘But what are you talking about?’ asked the wedgduinegst though not
challengingly, for he hafdallen under Michael’s mesmeric spe‘llW.
hen
was this? Where was this?’
Michael breathedhard. ‘Before you were born -h-’e said at last,
‘be still, and I will tell you.’
[::: CHAPTER 27 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
There was along startledsilence during which theevening gloom outside seemed to darken appreciably and gather the rinotoomits grip. A trick of the light wreathed Reg in shadows.
Dirk was,for one of the few times in a life of exuberantly prolific loquacity,wordless. His eyesshone with a child’swonder as they passedanew over the dull and shabby furnitureof the room, the
panelled walls, the threadbare carpets. His hands were trembling.
Richard frowned faintly to himself fomr oament as if he was trying

to work out the square rofotsomething in his head, and then looked back directly at Reg.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ said Reg brightly, ‘mucmhyomf emory’s
gone completelyI.
amvery old, you see. Startlingly old. Yes, I think
if I were to tell you how
wolads Iitwould be fairto say that you
would be startled. Oddasre that sowould I, because I can’t remember. I’ve seen an awfluolt, youknow. Forgottenmost of it,thank God.
Trouble is, wheynou startgetting to my age, whicha,s I think I
mentioned earlier, is a somewhat startling one -- did I say that?’
‘Yes, you did mention it.’
‘Good. I’d forgotten whether hIad or not. Thething is that your memory doesn’t actually gaent y bigger, anda lot of stuff just falls out. So yosuee, the majordifference betweensomeone of my age and
someone of yours is nhootw much I know, but how much I’ve forgotten. Andafter a while you even forgwethat it is you’ve forgottena, nd
afterthat you even forget that there wsoams ething toremember. Then you tend to forget, er, what it was you were talking about.’
He stared helplessly at the teapot.
‘Things you remember...’ prompted Richard gently.
‘Smells and earrings.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Those arethings that lingerfor some reason,’said Reg, shaking hishead in a puzzledway. Hesat down suddenly. ‘The earrings that QueenVictoria wore onher Silver Jubilee.Quite startlingobjects.

Toneddown in the pictures othfe period, of course. The smoefll the streetsbefore therewere cars inthem. Hard to sawy hich was worse. That’s whyCleopatra remains so vividly inthe memory, of course. A quite devastating combination oeafrrings and smell. I thinthkat will probably be the last thing that remains wahllenelse has finally fled.
I shall sit alone indaarkened room, /sans/ teeth, /sans/ eyes, /sans/ taste, /sans/ everything baut little grey old head, and in that little greyold head a peculiarvision of hideous blue and golddangling thingsflashing in thelight, and the smell ofsweat, catfood and
death. I wonder what I shall make of it...’
Dirk was scarcely breathingas he beganto move slowly round the room,gently brushinghis fingertips over thewalls, thesofa, the
table.
‘How long,’ he said, ‘has this been --’
‘Here?’ said Reg. ‘Justabout twohundred years. Ever since I
retired.’
‘Retired from what?’
‘Search me.Must have beensomething pretty good, though, what do you think?’
‘You meanyou’ve been in this sameset of roomshere for... two
hundred years?’ murmured Richard. ‘You’d think someone wnooutlidce, or think it was odd.’
‘Oh, that’sone of thedelights ofthe older Cambridge colleges,’
saidReg, ‘everyone is so discreet. If we all went aromunedntioning
what was odd aboeuat ch other we’d be here till Christmas. Svlad, er -- Dirk, my dear fellow, please don’t touch that just at the moment.’

Dirk’s hand wasreaching out to touch the abacus standing on its own on the only clear spot on the big table.
‘What is it?’ said Dirk sharply.
‘It’s just what it lookslike, an old woodenabacus,’ saidReg.
‘I’ll show yoiun a momentb, ut first I must congratulate you on your powers of perception. May I ask how you arrived at the solution?’
‘I haveto admit,’ said Dirk with rare humility, ‘that I did not. In the end aIsked a child. tIold him thestory of the trick and asked him howhe thoughtit hadbeen done, andhe said and I quote, “It’s bleedin’obvious, innit, he must’ve ‘ada bleedin’time machine.’ I thanked the littlfeellow and gavehim a shilling for htirsouble. He kickedme rather sharply on the shin and went abhoisutbusiness. But
he was the one who solved it. My only contribtoutitohne matter was to seethat he /must/ be right. He had even saved me the bother of kicking myself.’
‘But you hadthe perception to think of asking a child,’ said Reg.
‘Well then, I congratulate you on that instead.’ Dirk was still eyeing the abacus suspiciously.
‘How... does itwork?’ he said, trying to makeit sound like a casual enquiry.
‘Well, it’s reallyterribly simple,’ said Reg, ‘it works any way you want it toY. ou see,the computer thatruns it is a rather advanced one. Infact itis more powerfulthan the sum total of all the
computers on this planet includi-n-g andthis is the tricky par-t-
including itself. Neverreally understood that bit myself, to be honest

with you. But over ninety-fipveer cent of that power is used in simply understanding what it is ywouant it to do. I simply plonk my abacus
downthere andit understands the way I use it. I think I mhauvset
been broughtup to use anabacus when I was a... well, cahild, I
suppose.
‘Richard, for instancew, ould probably want to use his own personal computer. If you put it down there, whereabtahceus is the machine’s computerwould simple takecharge of it andoffer you lots ofnice
user-friendlytime-travel applications complete with pull-down menus
and deskaccessories if you likeE.xcept that you point to 1066 on the screenand you’vegot the Battleof Hastings goingon outside your
door, er, if that’s the sort of thing you’re interested in.’ Reg’s tone of voice suggestetdhat his own interestslay in other areas.
‘It’s, er, reallyquite fun in its way,’ he concluded. ‘Certainly betterthan television anda great deal easier tuose than a video
recorder.If Imiss a programme I just pop back in time and watch it. I’m hopeless fiddling with all those buttons.’
Dirk reacted to this revelation with horror.
‘You have a time machinaend you use it for... watching television?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t use it at all if I could get thoef htahneg video recorder.It’s a very delicate business, time travel, you know. Full of appalling trapsand dangers, if you shouldchange the wrong thing in
the past, you could entirely disrupt the course of history.
‘Plus, of course, it mucks up ttehleephone. I’m sorry,’he said to
Richard alittle sheepishly, ‘that you were unable to phone
younrg

lady last nighTt.here seems to be something fundamentally inexplicable aboutthe British telephone systema,nd mytime machine doesn’ltike it.There’s never any problem with tphleumbing, the electricity,or
eventhe gas. The connectioninterfaces are taken careof at some quantumlevel I don’t entirely understand, andit’s neverbeen a problem.
‘The phone onthe other hand is definitely a problem. Every tIime
usethe time machine, which is, of course, hardlyat all, partly
because of this very problem with the phtohnee,phone goes haywire and Ihave to get some lout from the phcoonme pany to come and fix it, and hestarts asking stupidquestions theanswers to which he has no hope
of understanding.
‘Anyway, the point is that I have a very strict rule that I must not changeanything in the past atall --’ Reg sighed -- ‘whatever the temptation.’
‘What temptation?’ said Dirk, sharply.
‘Oh, it’sjust a little, er, thing I’m interested isna,’id Reg,
vaguely, ‘iits perfectly harmless because I stick very strictly to the rule. It makes me sad, though.’
‘But you brokeyour own rule!’ insisted Dirk. ‘Last night! You changed something in the past --’
‘Well, yes,’ said Reg, a little uncomfortably, ‘but that was
different. Very different. yIfou had seen the look on the poor child’s face. So miserable. She thought the world shouldmbaervaellous place, andall those appalling old dons were pouring their withesrcionrgn on

her just because it wasn’t marvellous for them anymore.
‘I mean,’ he addeda,ppealing to Richard, ‘remember CawleWy. hat a bloodless old goat. Someonsehould getsome humanity intohim even if theyhave to knock itin with a brick. No, that was perfectly
justifiable. Otherwise, I make it a very strict rule --’
Richard looked at him with dawning recognition of something.
‘Reg,’ he said politely, ‘may I give you a little advice?’
‘Of courseyou may, my dear fellowI, should adoreyou to,’said
Reg.
‘If our mutual friend here offers to tyaokue for a stroll along the banks of the River Cam, /don’t go/.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘He means,’said Dirk earnestly, ‘that he thinksthere may be somethinga little disproportionate between whyaot u actually did, and your stated reasons for doing it.’
‘Oh. Well, odd way of saying it --’
‘Well, he’s a veryodd fellow. Butyou see, there sometimes may be other reasons fotrhings you do which you are not necessarily aware of. As in the case of post-hypnotic suggestion -- or possession.’
Reg turned very pale.
‘Possession --’ he said.
‘Professor -- Reg -- bIelieve there was some reason you wanted to see me. What exactly was it?’
‘Cambridge! thisis... Cambridge!’came thelilting squawk ofthe station public address system.

Crowds of noisyrevellers spewed out on to the platform barking and honking at each other.
‘Where’s Rodney?’said one, who hadclambered with difficulty from thecarriage in which the bar was situated. He and his companion looked up anddown the platform, totteringly. Thelarge figure of Michael
Wenton-Weakes loomed silently past them and out to the exit. They jostled their way down the sideof the train, looking in
through thedirty carriagewindows. Theysuddenly sawtheir missing companionstill sitting, trance-like, in hisseat inthe now almost
empty compartmentT. hey banged on the windoawnd hootedat him. For a momentor two he didn’t reacatn, d when he did hweoke suddenly ina puzzled way as if seeming not to know where he was.
‘He’s pie-eyed!’ his companionbsawled happily, bundling themselves on to the train again and bundling Rodney back off.
He stood woozilyon the platform and shoohkis head. Then glancing
up he saw througthe railings thelarge bulk of Michael Wenton-Weakes heaving himself and laarge heavy baginto a taxi-cab, andhe stood
for a moment transfixed.
‘’Straordinary thing,’he said, ‘that manT.elling me a lonsgtory about some kind of shipwreck.’
‘Har har,’ gurgledone of histwo companions, ‘getany money off you?’
‘What?’ saidRodney, puzzled. ‘No. NoI, don’tthink so. Except it
wasn’t ashipwreck, morean accident, an explosio-n- ? Heseems to
think he caused iint
some way. Or rather there was an accident, and he

causedan explosion trying to piutt right and killed everybodTy.hen
he said therwe as an awfulot of rotting mud for years and years, and then slimy things with legs. It was all a bit peculiar.’
‘Trust Rodney! Trust Rodney to pick a madman!’
‘I think he mushtave been madH.
e suddenlywent off ona tangent
aboutsome bird. Hesaid thebit about the bird was all nonsenHsee.
wished he could get rid of btiht eaboutthe bird. But then he said it would be put right. It would all be put Froigrhts.ome reason I didn’t like it when he said that.’
‘Should have come along to the bar with us. Terribly funny, we --’
‘I alsodidn’t like the way he sagiododbye. Ididn’t like that at all.’
[::: CHAPTER 28 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
‘You remember,’ said Reg‘,when you arrivedthis afternoon Isaid that times recently had been dull, but for... interesting reasons?’
‘I remember it vividly,’ said Dirk, ‘it happeanemd ere tenminutes ago.You werestanding exactly there asI recall. Indeedyou were
wearingthe very clothes with which you are currently apparelled, and -
-’
‘Shut up, Dirk,’ said Richard, ‘let the poor man talk, will you?’ Dirk made a slight, apologetic bow.
‘Quite so,’said Reg. ‘Well, the truth is thatfor many weeks,
months even, I have not used the time machine baetcaulls, e I had the

oddest feelingthat someone orsomething was trying to makmee do it.
It startedas thevery faintest urge, and then it seemed to come at me in stronger ansdtronger waves. It was extremely disturbinIg.had to
fight it very harinddeed because it was trying to make me do something
I actuallywanted to do.I don’t think I would harveealised that it
was something outside omfe creating this pressuraend not just my own wishesasserting themselvesif it wasn’ftor the fact that I wasos
waryof allowingmyself to do any such thing. sAoos n asI began to
realise that
wit as something else trying toinvade me things got
reallybad and the furniture began to fly aboutQ. uite damaged my little Georgian writing desk. Look at the marks on the --’
‘Is that what you were afraid oflast night, upstairs?’asked
Richard.
‘Oh yes,’ said Reg in a hushed vo‘imceo,st terribly afraidB. ut it
wasonly that rather nice horse, so that
awllasright.I expect it
just wanderedin when I wasout getting some powder tocover up my suntan.’
‘Oh?’ said Dirk, ‘And where did you go for that?’ he asckaend’.t ‘I
think of many chemists that a horse would be likely to visit.’
‘Oh, there’sa planet off in what’s known here as the Pleiades where the dust is exactly the right --’
‘You went,’ saidDirk in awhisper, ‘to another planet? To get face powder?’
‘Oh, it’s no distance,’ saiRd eg cheerfully. ‘Yousee, the actual
distance between two points thine whole of the space\time continuum is

almost infinitelysmaller than the apparent distance between adjacent
orbits ofan electron. Really,it’s a lot less far than cthemist,
andthere’s no waiting about at the tillI.
neverhave the right
change, do you? Go for the quantum jump is always my prefEerxecnecpet.
ofcourse thatyou then get allthe trouble with the telephone. Nothing’s ever that easy, is it?’
He looked bothered for a moment.
‘I think you may be rightwihnat I think you’re thinkintgh,ough,’
he added quietly.
‘Which is?’
‘That I went througah rather elaborate bit of business to achieve a very smalrlesult. Cheering up a little girl, charming, delighatnfudl
sad though she was, doesn’t seem toenboeugh explanation for -w- ell,
it was faairly major operation in time-engineering, now that I come to faceup toit. There’s no doubt thait would have beensimpler to compliment her on her dress. Maybe the... g-h-oswt eare talking of a ghost here, aren’t we?’
‘I think we are, yes,’ said Dirk slowly.
‘A ghost?’ said Richard, ‘Now come on --’
‘Wait!’ said Dirk, abruptly. ‘Please continue,’ he said to Reg.
‘It’s possible thatthe... ghost caught me off my guardI.was fighting sostrenuously against doing one thing thaet aistily tripped me into another --’
‘And now?’
‘Oh, it’s gone completely. The ghost left me last night.’
‘And where,we wonder,’ said Dirk, turning his gaze on Richard, ‘did

it go?’
‘No, please,’said Richard, ‘not this. I’m not even sure I’ve agreed we’re talking about time machines yet, and now suddenly it’s ghosts?’
‘So what was it,’ hissed Dir‘kth,at got into you to maykoeu climb the wall?’
‘Well, you suggested that I was under post-hypnostuigcgestion from someone --’
‘I did not! I demonstrated the powerpoosft-hypnotic suggestionto you.But Ibelieve that hypnosis and possessiownork in very, very similarways. You can bemade to do all kinds of absutrhdings, and willthen cheerfully invent the most transparernattionalisations to explainthem to yourself. Bu-t- you cannot bemade to dosomething that runsagainst the fundamentalgrain ofyour character. You will fight. You will resist!’
Richard remembered then the sense of reliefwith which he had impulsively replacedthe tape inSusan’s machine last nightI.t had
been the end oaf struggle which he had suddenly won. With the sense of another strugglethat hewas now losinghe sighed and related this to
the others.
‘Exactly!’ exclaimed Dirk. ‘You wouldn’dto it!Now we’re getting somewhere!You see,hypnosis works best when the subject has some fundamental sympathy with what ohre she is being asked to do. Find the right subject for youtarsk and the hypnosis can take a very, very deep hold indeed. AnIdbelieve the same to be true of possession. So. What do we have?

‘We havea ghostthat wants something done anids looking for the
right person to take possession of to do that for him. Professor --’
‘Reg --’ said Reg.
‘Reg -- may Iask you something that mabye terriblypersonal? I will understand perfectly if you don’t wanatnstwo er, but I wijlul st keeppestering you until yoduo. Just my methods, you see. You said therewas something that yofuound to be a terrible temptation to you.
That you wanted to
bduot would not allow yourself, and that gthhoest
was trying to make you do? PleTashei.s may be difficult for you, but I
think it would be very helpful if you would tell us what it is.’
‘I will not tell you.’
‘You must understand how important --’
‘I’ll show you instead,’ said Reg.
Silhouetted in thegates of St Cedd’s stoodlaarge figure carrying
a large heavy blacnkylon bag. The figure was thoaft MichaelWenton- Weakes,the voice that asked thpeorter if Professor Chronotis was currentlyin hisroom was that of Michael Wenton-Weakes, the ears that heardthe porter say he was buggeredif heknew because thephone
seemedto beon the blink again was that of Michael Wenton-Weakes, but the spirit that gazed out of his eyes was his no longer.
He had surrenderedhimself completely. All doubt, disparityand confusion had ceased.
A new mind had him in full possession.
The spirit that was not MichaWelenton-Weakes surveyedthe college which laybefore it, to which it hgardown accustomed in the last few

frustrating, infuriating weeks.
Weeks! Mere microsecond blinks.
Although the spirit-- the ghost -- thatnow inhabited Michael
Wenton-Weakes’body had known long periods of noebalrivion, sometimes even for centurieast a stretch, the time for which it had wandered the earthwas such that it seemed only minutes ago that the creatures which haderected these walls haadrrived. Most of his personal eternity -- notreally eternity, but faew billion years could easily seem like it
--had been spent wanderingacross interminable mud, wading through ceaseless seas, watching with stunned horror when the sthliimngys with legs suddenlyhad begun tocrawl from thoserotting seas -- anhdere theywere, suddenlywalking around asif they ownedthe placeand complaining about the phones.
Deep ina dark and silenptart of himself he knew that he wnoasw
mad, had been driven mad almiomsmt ediately after theaccident by the knowledgeof whathe had doneand of the existence hfaeced, by the memories of his fellows who hdaiedd and who for a whihlead haunted him even as he had haunted the Earth.
He knew that whahte now hadbeen driven to would have revolted the selfhe only infinitesimally remembered, but thitatwas theonly way
for him to end tcheeaseless nightmare in which each second of billions of years had been worse than the previous one.
He hefted the bag and started to walk.

[::: CHAPTER 29 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
Deep in the rainforest it wasdoing what it usually doeins rain forests, which was raining: hence the name.
It was a gentle, persistent rain, not the heslaavsyhing which would come later in thyeear, in thehot season. Itformed a fine dripping mistthrough which the occasional shafot f sunlightwould break, be
softened andpass through on its way towards the wet bark of a calvaria treeon which it would settle agnldisten. Sometimes iwt ould do this
next to bautterfly or a tiny motionless sparkling lizard, and then the effect would be almost unbearable.
Away upin thehigh canopy of the treesan utterly extraordinary thoughtwould suddenly strike a bird, aintdwould go flapping wildly through the branches and settlelaast in a different and altogether better tree where witould sit and consider things again more calmly until thesame thought came alonagnd struckit again, or it was time to eat.
The airwas full of scents -- tlhigeht fragrance offlowers, and
theheavy odour of the sodden mulwchith which the floor of the forest was carpeted.
Confusions of roots tangledthrough the mulch, moss grew on them, insects crawled.
In a space in the forest, on an empty patwchet ogfround betweena circle ofcraning trees, appearedquietly and without fuss aplain whitedoor. Aftera few seconds it opened a little way with a slight
squeak. Atall thin man looked out, looked around, blinked in surprise,

and quietly pulled the door closed again.
A few seconds later the door opened again and Reg looked out.
‘It’s real,’ he said, ‘I promise you. Come out and see for yourself.’Walking out into theforest, heturned andbeckoned the other two to follow him.
Dirk stepped boldly through, seemeddisconcerted for about the
length of time it takteos blink twicea, nd then announced that he saw exactly howit worked, that it waosbviously to do withthe unreal numbers thaltay betweenminimum quantum distancesand defined the fractal contours of the enfolded Univearnsed he was only astonished at himself for not having thought of it himself.
‘Like the catflap,’ said Richard from the doorway behind him.
‘Er, yes, quiteso,’ said Dirk,taking off his spectacles and
leaning againsat
treewiping them, ‘you spotted of course tIhawt as
lying.A perfectly natural reflexin the circumstances as Ithink you’llagree. Perfectlynatural.’ He squinted slightly and put his
spectacles back on. They began to mist up again almost immediately.
‘Astounding,’ he admitted.
Richard stepped through more hesitantly and stood rocking foar
moment with one foot still onfltohoer in Reg’s room and tohteher on thewet earth ofthe forest. Thenhe steppedforward and committed himself fully.
His lungs instantly filled witthe headyvapours and his mind with
thewonder of theplace. He turned and looked
tahte doorway through
whichhe hadwalked. It was still a perfectly ordinary door frame with

aperfectly ordinary little white dooswr inging open in it, but it was standing free in thoepen forest,and through it could clearly he seen
the room he had just stepped out of.
He walked wonderingly round the back of the door, tesetainchg
foot
on the muddy ground, not so muchfefaorr of slipping as foferar that itmight simply notbe there. Frombehind it was just aperfectly ordinaryopen door frame, such as you mighftail to find in any
perfectly ordinary rain forest. He walked through the fdroomor behind, andlooking back again could once more see, as if hejuhsat dstepped
out of themagain, the college rooms of Professor Urban Chronotis of St Cedd’sCollege, Cambridge, which must bethousands of milesaway. Thousands? Where were they?
He peered off througthhe trees and thought he caught aslight shimmer in the distance, between the trees.
‘Is that the sea?’ he asked.
‘You can seeit a little more clearly from up here,’ called Reg, who had walkedon a little way uap slippery incline and wansow leaning, puffing, against a tree. He pointed.
The othertwo followed him up, pullingthemselves noisily through
the branchesand causinga lot ofcawing andcomplaining from unseen birds high above.
‘The Pacific?’ asked Dirk.
‘The Indian Ocean,’ said Reg.
Dirk wiped his glasses again and had another look.
‘Ah, yes, of course,’ he said.
‘Not Madagascar?’ said Richard. ‘I’ve been there --’

‘Have you?’ said Reg‘.One of the most beautiful anadstonishing placeson Earth,and one thatis alsofull of the most appalling... temptations for me. No.’
His voice trembled slightly, and he cleared his throat.
‘No,’ he continued, ‘Madagascar i-s- letme see, whichdirection
are we -- where’s the suYne?s. That way. Westish. Madagascar is about five hundred milersoughly westof here. The island of Réuniolnies
roughly in-between.’
‘Er, what’s the place called?’ said Dirksuddenly, rapping his knuckleson the tree and frighteninag lizard. ‘Place where that stamp comes from, er -- Mauritius.’
‘Stamp?’ said Reg.
‘Yes, you must know,’ said Dir‘kv,ery famous stamp. Can’rtemember anything abouitt, but it comefsrom here. Mauritius. Famoufsor its
very remarkable stamp, all brown and smudged andcoyuolud buy Blenheim
Palace with it. Or am I thinking of British Guiana?’
‘Only you,’ said Richard, ‘know what you are thinking of.’
‘Is it Mauritius?’
‘It is,’ said Reg, ‘it is Mauritius.’
‘But you don’t collect stamps?’
‘No.’
‘What on /earth/’s that?’ said Richard suddenly, but Dirk carried on withhis thought to Reg, ‘Pity, youcould getsome nicefirst-day
covers, couldn’t you?’
Reg shrugged. ‘Not really interested,’ he said.

Richard slithered back down the slope behind them.
‘So what’s the greaatttraction here?’ said Dirk. ‘Itn’sot, I have
to confessw,
hat I was expecting. Vernyice in its way, of course, all
this nature, buIt’m a city boymyself, I’m afraid.’ He cleanehdis glasses once again and pushed them back up his nose.
He startedbackwards atwhat he saw, anhdeard a strange little
chuckle from RegJ.ust in front of the door back
Rinetog’s room, the
most extraordinary confrontation was taking place.
A large cross bird was looking at Richard and Richard was looking at alarge crossbird. Richard was looking at the birdifasit was the
most extraordinary thing hhead ever seen in his life, and the bird was looking at Richarads if defyinghim to findits beak even remotely
funny.
Once it hadsatisfied itself that Richardid notintend to laugh,
the birdregarded himinstead with a sorotf grim irritable tolerance andwondered if hewas just going to standthere oractually do something useful and feed itp. aIdt ded a coupleof steps back anad
couple of steps to the side and jtuhsetna singlestep forward again, on great waddling yellow feet. It then looked at him again, impatiently, and squarked an impatient squark.
The bird then bent forwaradnd scraped its greatabsurd red beak across the grounads if to give Richard the idea that this might be a good area to look for things to give it to eat.
‘It eats the nuts of the calvaria tree,’ called out RRegichtoard. The big bird looked sharpulyp at Reg in annoyance, aifsto say
thatit was perfectlyclear to any idiot what it aIte.then looked

backat Richard once more ansdtuck its head on one side as if it had suddenly been struck bthye thought that perhaps it was an idiot it had todeal with, and that it might need to reconsiderits strategy
accordingly.
‘There are oneor two on the grounbdehind you,’ called Reg softly.
In a trance of astonishment Richard turnaewd kwardly and saw one or
two large nuts lyinogn the ground. He bent and picked one up, glancing up at Reg, who gave him a reassuring nod.
Tentatively Richard held the thing out ttohe bird, which leant
forward and pecked it sharpflryom between his fingers. Then, because
Richard’s hand wasstill stretched out, the bird knockeitd irritably aside with its beak.
Once Richardhad withdrawn toa respectful distance, it stretched its neckup, closed its large yellow eyes and seemed to gargle gracelessly as it shook the nut down its neck into its maw.
It appeared then to be leaatst partiallysatisfied. Whereas before
ithad been a cross dodo, it was at least now a cross, fed dodo, which was probably about as much as it could hope for in this life.
It made a slow, waddling, on-the-spot turn paandded back into the forestwhence ithad come, as if defying Richard to ftihned little
tuft of curlfyeathers stuck up on toopf its backside evernemotely funny.
‘I only come to look,’ said Rega isnmall voice,and glancing at
himDirk was discomfitedto see that the old man’s eyes were brimming with tears which hqeuickly brushed away. ‘Really, it is notmfoer to

interfere --’
Richard came scurrying breathlessly up to them.
‘Was that a /dodo/?’ he exclaimed.
‘Yes,’ said Reg, ‘onoef only three left at this timThe.e yearis
1676.They will all be dead within four years, and tahfatetrno one will ever see them again. Come,’ he said, ‘let us go.’
Behind thestoutly lockedouter door in the corner staircase in the SecondCourt ofSt Cedd’sCollege, where only a millisecond earlier there had beean slight flicker as the inner ddooepr arted, there was another slight flicker as the inner door now returned.
Walking through thedark evening towards itthe largefigure of
Michael Wenton-Weakeslooked upat thecorner windows. Ifany slight flicker had beevnisible, it would have gone unnoticedin the dim
dancing firelight that spilled from the window.
The figure then looked up into the darkness of the sky, looking for
what it knew
btoe there though therwe as not the slightest chance of
seeing ite, ven on a clear nigwhthich this was not. The orbitsof
Earth were now scoluttered with pieces ofjunk and debristhat one
more itemamong them -- even such a large one as this was -- would pass perpetually unnoticed. Indeed, it had donethsou, gh its influence had
from time to time exerted itself. From ttoimteime. When the waves had beenstrong. Notfor nearly two hundred years htahdey been so strong
as now they were again.
And allat last wasnow in place. Theperfect carrier had been found.

The perfect carrier moved his footsteps onwards through the court. The Professorhimself had seemed theperfect choice at first, but thatattempt hadended in frustration, fury, and then -- inspiration! Bring a Monk to EartThh!ey weredesigned to believe anythingt,o be completelymalleable. It couldbe suborned to undertake the task with the greatest of ease.
Unfortunately, however, this one had proved to be completely hopeless.Getting it to believseomething was very easy. Getting it to continue to believe the samtheing for more than five minutes at a time
had proved to be eavnen more impossible task than that of gettthineg
Professor todo what he fundamentally wanted to do but wouldn’t allow himself.
Then another failure antdhen, miraculously, the perfect carrier had come at last.
The perfect carrier had alreadyproved that it would have no compunction in doing what would have to be done.
Damply, cloggedin mist, the moon struggled in a cornertheof sky to rise. At the window, a shadow moved.
[::: CHAPTER 30 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
From thewindow overlooking Second Court Dirk watched mthoeon. ‘We shall not,’ he said, ‘have long to wait.’
‘To wait for what?’ said Richard.

Dirk turned.
‘For theghost,’ he said, ‘to returton
us. Professor--’ he added
to Reg, who was sitting anxiously by the fire, ‘do yoaunyhabvreandy, French cigarettes or worry beads in your rooms?’
‘No,’ said Reg.
‘Then I shall have tofret unaided,’ saidDirk and returnedto staring out of the window.
‘I have yet to be convincedsa,’id Richard, ‘that there nisot some other explanation than that of... ghosts to --’
‘Just as yourequired actually tosee atime machine in operation
before you couladccept it,’ returned Dirk. ‘Richard,coImmend you on your scepticism, but evethne sceptical mind must be prepared to accept the unacceptable when there is no alternatIifvei.t looks like a duck,
and quackslike aduck, we haveat least toconsider the possibility
that we have a small aquatic birtdheoffamily Anatidae on our hands.’
‘Then what is a ghost?’
‘I thinkthat aghost...’ saidDirk, ‘issomeone who diedeither violently or unexpectedlwy ith unfinished business on hihse, r -- or its-- hands. Whocannot restuntil it has been finished, or put right.’
He turned to face them again.
‘Which is why,’ he said, ‘a time machine would have such a fascination fora ghost once it knew of eixtsistence. Atime machine providesthe means toput rightwhat, in theghost’s opinion, went wrong in the past. To free it.
‘Which is why it will be baIctkt.ried first to take possession of

Reg himself, but he resisted. Then cameintchiedent with the conjuring trick, the facpeowder andthe horse in thebathroom which I --’ he paused -- ‘which evendoI not understand, thougIh intendto if it
kills me. And then you, Richard, appear on the sTcheeneg. host deserts
Reg and concentrates instead on yAoulm. ost immediately there occurs an odd butsignificant incident. You do something that you then wyiosuh
hadn’t done.
‘I refer, of course, to the phone ycoaull made to Susan and left on her answering machine.
‘The ghost seizes its chancaend tries to induce you to undo it. To, as it wereg,o backinto thepast and erase that message -- to change the mistakeyou had made. Just to see if wyoouuld do itJ. ust to see
if it was in your character.
‘If it had been, you would now be totally under its control. But at the very last second yonuarture rebelled and you would not do it. And so the ghost gives you auspa bad job and deserts you in turn. It must find someone else.
‘How long has it been doing this?
nI odtoknow. Does this nomwake
sense to you? Do you recognise the truth of what I am saying?’ Richard turned cold.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I think you must be absolutely right.’
‘And at what moment, then,’ said Dirk, ‘did the ghost leave you?’ Richard swallowed.
‘When Michael Wenton-Weakes walked out of the room,’ he said.
‘So I wonder,’ saidDirk quietly, ‘what possibilities the ghost saw

in himI.
wonder whether thitsime it foundwhat it wanted. I believe
we shall not have long to wait.’ There was a knock on the door.
When it opened, there stood Michael Wenton-Weakes. He said simply, ‘Please, I need your help.’
Reg and Richard stared at Dirk, and then at Michael.
‘Do youmind if Iput thisdown somewhere?’said Michael.‘It’s rather heavy. Full of scuba-diving equipment.’
‘Oh, I see,’said Susan, ‘oh well, thanks, Nicola, It’rlyl that fingering.I’m sure he onlyput the E flaitn there just to annoy people.Yes, I’vebeen at it solidly all afternoon.Some of those semiquaver runsin the second movementare absolutebastards. Well, yes,it helpedtake my mindoff itall. No,no news. It’s aljul st
mystifying andabsolutely horrible. I don’t want even to -- look, maybe
I’ll give you a call again laantedr see how you’re feeling. kInow, yes,you never know which is worse, do you, the illness, the antibiotics, or the doctor’s bedside manner. Look after youorsrelaft,
least, make surSeimon does. Tell himto bring yougallons of hot lemon. OK. Well, I’ll talk to you later. Keep warm. Bye now.’ She put the phone downand returned toher cello. She had hardly started to reconsider the probleomf the irritating E flat whenthe
phonewent again. She had simply left it off the hookfor the
afternoon, but had forgotteton
do so again after making her ocwalnl.
With a sigh she propped up the cello, put down the abnodww, ent to
the phone again.

‘Hello?’ she demanded.
Again, there was nothingju, st a distant cry of wind. Irritably, she slammed the receiver back down once more.
She waited a few seconds for the linceletaor, and thenwas about
totake the phone off the hook once more when she realised that perhaps
Richard might need her. She hesitated.
She admitted toherself that she hadn’tbeen using the answering
machine, because shuesually just put
oitn for Gordon’sconvenience,
andthat wassomething ofwhich she didnot currently wish tobe reminded.
Still, she put the answeringmachine on,turned the volume right down,and returned again to the E flat Mthaotzart had putin only to annoy cellists.
In the darknessof the officesof DirkGently’s Holistic Detective
Agency,Gordon Way clumsilyfumbled the telephone receiver back
toon
its rest ansdat slumpedin the deepest dejection. He didn’t even stop himself slumpingall the way througthhe seatuntil he rested lightly
on the floor.
Miss Pearcehad fled theoffice the first timethe telephonehad started actuallyusing itself, her patience with all this sort of thing finally exhausted again, since which tiGmoerdon had had the office to himself. However, his attempts to contact anybody had failed completely.

Or rather, his attempts to contactSusan, which was all he cared
about.It was Susan he had been speaking to when he died and he knew he had somehowto speak toher again. But shhead left her phone off the
hookmost of the afternoon and even when she had answered she could not
hear him.
He gave upH.
e roused himself from the floor, stood aunpd, slipped
outand down into thedarkening streets. Hedrifted aimlesslyfor a while, went for a walk on the canal, which was tahattripckalled very quickly, and then wandered back up to the street again.
The houseswith light andlife streaming from them upsheitm most particularly sincethe welcome they seemed toextend wouldnot be extended to him. He wonderedaniyfone would mind ihfe simply slipped into their house and watched televisionthfeor evening. He wouldn’t be any trouble.
Or a cinema.
That would be better, he could go to the cinema.
He turned with more positive,stiifll insubstantial, footsteps into
Noel Road and started to walk up it.
Noel Road, he thought. rIatng a vague bell. Hhead a feeling that
he had recentlhyad some dealings with someonein Noel Road. Who was it?
His thoughts were interruptebdy aterrible scream ofhorror that rang throughthe street. He stoosdtock still. A few seconds later a door flew open a few yafrrdosm him anda woman ranout ofit, wild-
eyed and howling.

[::: CHAPTER 31 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
Richard had neverliked Michael Wenton-Weakes and he likheidm even less with a ghost hiinm. He couldn’t sawy hy, he had nothinaggainst ghostspersonally, didn’t think paerson should be judged adversely
simply for being dead, but -- he didn’t like it.
Nevertheless, it was hard not to feel a little sorry for him.
Michael sat forlornly on a stool with his elbow resting on the large table and hihsead resting on hifsingers. He looked iallnd haggard. Helooked deeply tired.He looked pathetic. His story hadbeen a harrowing one, and concluded with his attemtoptspossess first Reg and then Richard.
‘You were,’ he concluded, ‘right. Entirely.’
He said thislast toDirk, and Dirkgrimaced as if tryinngot to beam with triumph too many times in a day.
The voice was Michael’s andyet it wasnot Michael’s. Whatever
timbre avoice acquires through abillion orso years of dread and
isolation, this voice had acquired it, anfidlleidt
those who heard it
with a dizzying chill aktoin that whichclutches the mind and stomach when standing on a cliff at night.
He turned his eyes on Regand on Richard, andthe effect of the eyes, too, wasone that provoked pity atnedrror. Richard had tloook away.
‘I owe you both an apology,’ said gthhoest withinMichael ‘which I

offer you from thdeepths of myheart, andonly hope that as you come to understand thdeesperation of mypredicament, and the hope which
this machine offers me, you will understwanhdy I have acted as I have, and that you will find it wiythoiunrselves to forgive meA. nd to help
me. I beg you.’
‘Give the man a whisky,’ said Dirk gruffly.
‘Haven’t got any whisky,’ said Re‘gE. r, port?There’s a bottle or
so of MargauxcoI uld open. Veryfine one. Should bcehambréd for an hour, but I can do that of course, it’s very easy, I --’
‘Will you help me?’ interrupted the ghost.
Reg bustled to fetch some port and some glasses.
‘Why have you taken over the body of this man?’ said Dirk.
‘I need to have a voice with which to speak and a body with which to act. No harm will come to him, no harm --’
‘Let me ask thqeuestion again. Why have you taken over the body of this man?’ insisted Dirk.
The ghost made Michael’s body shrug.
‘He was willing. Both of thetsweo gentlemen quite understandably resistedbeing... well,hypnotised -- your analogy is faTirh.is one?
Well, Ithink his sense of self is at a low ebb, and he has acquiesced. I am very grateful to him and will not do him any harm.’
‘His senseof self,’ repeated Dirk thoughtfully, ‘is alot wa ebb.’
‘I supposethat is probably true,’ said Richard quietly to Dirk. ‘He seemed very depresseldast night. The one thing thwaat s importantto
him had been taken away because he, well, he wasn’t reallgyoovderyat
it. Although he’s proud I expect he was probably quite recteopttihvee

idea of actually being wanted for something.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Dirk, and said aigt ain. He said it thaird time with
feeling. Then he whirled round and barked at the figure on the stool.
‘Michael Wenton-Weakes!’
Michael’s head jolted back and he blinked.
‘Yes?’ he said,in his normal lugubrious voice. His eyes followed
Dirk as he moved.
‘You can hear me,’ said Dirk, ‘and you can answer for yourself?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Michael, ‘most certainly I can.’
‘This... being, thisspirit. You know he iins
you? You accept his
presence? You are a willing party to what he wishes to do?’
‘That is correct. I was much moved by his account of himsealfm, and
very willing thoelp him. In fact I think it is right for me to do so.’
‘All right,’ said Dirk with a snap of his fingers, ‘you can go.’ Michael’s head slumped forward suddenly, and then aftesrecaond or
so it slowlryose again, as if being pumped up from inside like a tyre. The ghost was back in possession.
Dirk took hold of cahair, spun it rounadnd sat astrideit facing the ghost in Michael, peering intently into its eyes.
‘Again,’ he said, ‘tell me again. A quick snap account.’ Michael’s body tensed slightly. It reached out to Dirk’s arm.
‘Don’t -- touchme!’ snapped Dirk‘.Just tell me thefacts. The
first time you traynd make me feel sorrfyor you I’ll poke you in the eye. Or at least, the oynoeu’ve borrowed. So leaveout all the stuff that sounded like... er --’

‘Coleridge,’ said Richard suddenly, ‘it sounded exactly like
Coleridge. It was lik“eThe Rime of the AncieMntariner”. Well bits of it were.’
Dirk frowned. ‘Coleridge?’ he said.
‘I tried to tell him my story,’ admitted the ghost, ‘I --’
‘Sorry,’ said Dirk‘,you’ll have to excusme e -- I’ve nevecrross- examineda four-billion-year-old ghost beforeA. re wetalking Samuel Taylorhere? Are you saying youtold your story to Samuel Taylor Coleridge?’
‘I wasable to enter his mind at... certain times. When he was in an impressionable state.’
‘You mean when he was on laudanum?’ said Richard.
‘That is correct. He was more relaxed then.’
‘I’ll say,’ snortedReg, ‘Isometimes encountered him whehne was quite astoundingly relaxed. Look, I’ll make some coffee.’
He disappeared intothe kitchen, where he could be heard laughing to himself.
‘It’s anotherworld,’ muttered Richard to himself, sitting down and shaking his head.
‘But unfortunately whenhe was fully ipnossession of himself I, so to speak, was not,’ satihde ghost,‘and so that failed. Anwdhat he wrote was very garbled.’
‘Discuss,’ said Richard, to himself, raising his eyebrows.
‘Professor,’ called out Dirk, ‘this may sound absurd. Did -- Coleridgeever tryto... er...use your time machine? Feel free to discuss the question in any way which appeals to you.’

‘Well, do you know,’ said Reg, looking rotuhned door, ‘he dicdome inprying around on one occasion, but I thinkwahse ina great deal
too relaxed a state to do anything.’
‘I see,’ said Dirk. ‘But whyh,’e added turning back to the strange figureof Michaelslumped on its stool, ‘whhyas it taken you so long to find someone?’
‘For long, long periods I avmery weak, almost totally non-existent, andunable to influence anything at all. Athnedn, of course,before
that time there was no timaechine here, and... no hope for meallat
--’
‘Perhaps ghosts exist like wavpeatterns,’ suggested Richard, ‘like interference patternsbetween the actual with the possible. There would be irregular peaks and troughs, like in a musical waveform.’
The ghost snapped Michael’s eyes around to Richard.
‘You...’ he said, ‘you wrote that article...’
‘Er, yes --’
‘It moved me vergyreatly,’ said the ghost, with a sudden remorseful longingin hisvoice whichseemed to catch itself almost amsuch by surprise as it did its listeners.
‘Oh. I see,’said Richard, ‘Well,thank you. You didn’t like it so
much last time you mentioned it. Well, I know that wasn’t syuochu a-s
-’
Richard sat back frowning to himself.
‘So,’ said Dirk, ‘to return to the beginning --’
The ghost gathered Michael’s breath fhoimr
and started again‘.We

were on a ship --’ it said.
‘A spaceship.’
‘Yes. Out fromSalaxala, aworld in... well, very far from here. A violent and troublepdlace. We -- aparty of some nine dozen of us -- set out, as peopflreequently did, to find naew worldfor ourselves.
All theplanets in thissystem werecompletely unsuitable for our purpose,but we stopped onthis world to replenish somenecessary mineral supplies.
‘Unfortunately our landing ship wasdamaged on itsway into the atmosphere. Damaged quite badly, but still quite reparable.
‘I was the engineer on board and it fell to me to supervise the task of repairing thsehip and preparing it to return to our main ship. Now, in orderto understand what happenednext you muskt now something of the nature oaf highly-automated societyT. here is no task that cannot
be done moreasily with the aid of advanced computerisation. And there weresome very specificproblems associatedwith a trip with an aim
such as ours --’
‘Which was?’ said Dirk sharply.
The ghost in Michael blinked as if the answer was obvious.
‘Well, to find a neawnd better world on which we could all inlive
freedom, peace and harmony forever, of course,’ he said. Dirk raised his eyebrows.
‘Oh, that,’ he said.‘You’d thought this all outcarefully, I
assume.’
‘We’d had it thought out for us. We had with us some very specialiseddevices for helpingus to continue tobelieve in the

purposeof the trip evenwhen things godt ifficult. They generally worked verywell, butI think we probablcyame torely on themtoo much.’
‘What on earth were they?’ said Dirk.
‘It’s probably hardfor you tounderstand how reassuring they were.
And thatwas why I made my fatal mistake. When I wanted to know whether or not it was satfoe takeoff, Ididn’t wantto knowthat it might
/not/ be safe. I just wanttoedbe reassuredthat it /was/. So instead of checking it myself, you see, I sent out othnee EolfectricMonks.’
[::: CHAPTER 32 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
The brass plaque on the red door in Peckender Street glittered as it reflected the yellow light of a street laItmgpl.ared fora moment as itreflected the violentflashing light of a passing police car
sweeping by.
It dimmed slightly aas pale, pale wraith slippesdilently through
it.It glimmered as it dimmed, becautshee wraith was tremblingwith such terrible agitation.
In the dark hallway the ghost of GordonWay paused. Heneeded
something to lean ofnor support, and of course there was nothing. He
tried to get a grip on himself, but there was nothing
gtoripgeotna.
He retched atthe horror of what he had seen, but there was, of course,
nothing in his stomach. He half stumbled, half swatmhe usptairs, like

a drowning man trying to grapple for a grip on the water.
He staggered throughthe wall, through thdeesk, through the door,
and tried to compose and settle himisnelfront of the desink
Dirk’s
office.
If anyone hadhappened into the officea few minuteslater -- a nightcleaner perhaps, if Dirk Genthlyad ever employed one, which he didn’t on thgerounds that they wished to be paid and henodtidwish
to pay them, or a burglar, perhaptsh,erife had beenanything inthe office worth burgling, which there wasn’t -- they whoauvledseen the following sight and been amazed by it.
The receiver of the large rteedlephone on the desk suddenly rocked and tumbled off its rest on to the desk top.
A diallingtone started to burr. Then, onbey one, seven of the large, easily pushebduttons depressed themselves, and after thveery long pause whicthhe Britishtelephone system allowsyou within which to gather your thoughts and forget whoyiotui’sre phoning, the sound of a phone ringing at the other end of the line could be heard. After acouple of rings there was a click, a whainrdr, a sound as
of a machinderawing breath. Then vaoice started to say, ‘Hello, this isSusan. I can’t comteo the phone right tahte moment because I’m
trying toget an E flat right, but if you’d like to leave your name...’
‘So then,on the say so oanf
-- I can hardly bring myself to utter
thewords -- Electric Monk,’said Dirk in a voice ringing with derision,‘you attempt to launch the ship and to your utter
astonishment it explodes. Since when -- ?’

‘Since when,’ said the ghost, abject‘lyI ,have beenalone on this planet.Alone with the knowledgeof what I had done to my fellows on the ship. All, all alone...’
‘Yes, skip that, I said,’ snapped Dirk angrily. ‘What about the main ship? That presumably went on and continued its search for --’
‘No.’
‘Then what happened to it?’
‘Nothing. It’s still there.’
‘Still /there/?’
Dirk leapt tohis feetand whirled offto pace the roomh,is brow furiously furrowed.
‘Yes.’ Michael’s headdrooped a little, buhte looked up pitieously at Reg and at Richar‘Ad.ll of us were aboardthe landingcraft. At first I felt myself to be haunted by the ghosts of tbhuet rietstw, as onlyin my imagination.For millions of years, and then billions, I
stalked the mud utterly alonIte.is impossible for you to conceive of even the tiniest part tohfe torment of such eternity. Then,’ he added,
‘justrecently life arose on the planLeti.fe. Vegetation, thingsin
the sea, then, at last, you. Intelligent Ilitfuer.n to you to release me from the torment I have endured.’
Michael’s head sank abjectly on htios chest for somefew seconds. Thenslowly, wobblingly, itrose andstared atthem again, with yet darker fires in his eyes.
‘Take meback,’ hesaid, ‘I beg you, takmee back tothe landing
craft. Let me undo what wdaosne. A word from me, and it can be undone,

therepairs properly made,the landing craft catnhen returnto the
mainship, we can be on our way, my torment will be extinguished, and I
will cease to be a burden to you. I beg you.’
There was a short silence while his plea hung in the air.
‘But that can’twork, can it?’ saidRichard. ‘If we dtohat, then
this won’t have happened. Don’t we generate all sorts of paradoxes?’ Reg stirred himselfrom thought. ‘Noworse than many thaet xist
already,’ he said. ‘If the Universe camaen toend every time there was
some uncertainty about what had happened in it, it would nevegrothave
beyond thefirst picosecond.And manyof coursedon’t. It’slike a
human body, yosuee. Afew cuts and bruises here and there dohun
r’t
it.Not even major surgery it’s done properly. Paradoxeasre just thescar tissue. Time and space heal themselveusp around them and
people simplyremember a version of events which makes as much sense as they require it to make.
‘That isn’t to saythat if you get involved in a paradoaxfew
things won’t strike yoaus being veryodd, butif you’ve got through lifewithout that alreadyhappening toyou, then I don’t know which Universe you’ve been living in, but it isn’t this one.’
‘Well, ifthat’s thecase,’ said Richard, ‘why weyreou so fierce about not doing anything to save the dodo?’
Reg sighed. ‘Youdon’t understandat all. The dodo wouldn’thave died if I hadn’t worked so hard to save the coelacanth.’
‘The coelacanth?The prehistoric fish?But how couldone possibly affect the other?’
‘Ah. Now there you’re askinTg.he complexitiesof cause andeffect

defy analysis. Nootnly is the continuum like a humbaondy, it is also verylike a piece of badly put upwallpaper. Push downa bubble
somewhere, another one pops up somewhelrsee. Thereare no more dodos
because of my interferencIen.
theend I imposed therule on myself
because I simply couldn’t bearaniyt
more. Theonly thing that really
gets hurt when you tarnyd change time is yourself.’ He smiled bleakly, and looked away.
Then headded, after along moment’s reflection, ‘Noit, can be
done. I’m just cynical because it’s gone wrong so many timeps.ooTrhis
fellow’s story ias very pathetic one, anitd can do no harm to put an
end to hims isery. It happened so very, very long ago on a dead planet.
If we do thiswe will each remember whatever it is that has happened to
us individuallyT. oo bad if the rest of the world doeqsuni’tet
agree.
It will hardly be the first time.’ Michael’s head bowed.
‘You’re very silent, Dirk,’ said Richard.
Dirk glaredangrily at him. ‘I want to see sthips,’ he demanded.
In the darkness, the red telephone receiver slipped and slid
fitfully back across the desk.anIyf body had been there to see it they might just have discerned a shape that moved it.
It shone onlyvery faintly, less than would the hands loufmainous
watch. Itseemed moreas if the darkness around it was just mthuacth
darkerand the ghostlyshape sat within
liitke thickened scar tissue
beneath the surface of the night.

Gordon grappled one lastitme with the recalcitrant receiver. At
lengthhe got afinal grip and slipped uipt
onto the top ofthe
instrument.
From thereit fell back on to its rest and disconnected the call. At thesame moment the ghost of GordonWay, his last call finally
completed, fell back to his own rest and vanished.
[::: CHAPTER 33 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
Swinging slowly roundin the shadow of theEarth, justone more
piece of debriasmong that which floated now forever in high orbit, was one dark shape that was larger and mreogruelarly formed than the rest. And far, far older.
For four billion years it had continuetdo absorb data from the world belowit, scanning, analysing, processing. Occasionally sietnt
piecesback if it thought they would heiflpi,t thought they might be
received. But otherwiseit,
watched, it listened, it recordeNdo. t the
lapping of a wave nor the beating of a heart escaped its attention. Otherwise, nothing inside it had movedfor four billion years,
except forthe air which circulated still, and the motes of dust within
the air that danced and danced and danced and danced... and danced. It was only a very slighdtisturbance that occurrednow. Quietly,
without fussl,ike a dew drop precipitating from the aitrooan leaf,
thereappeared ina wallwhich hadstood blank and grey forfour
billion yearsa,
door. A plain, ordinarywhite-panelled door with a

small dented brass handle.
This quiet event, too, was recorded and incorporated in the continualstream of data processing that the ship ceaselessly performed. Not only thaerrival of thedoor, but the arrival of those
behind the door, thweay they looked, the way thmeyoved, the way they felt about being there. All processed, all recorded, all transformed. After a moment or two had passed, the door opened.
Within it could be seen a room unlike oanythe ship.A roomof
wooden floorso, f shabby upholstery, a room in which a fire danced. And as the fire danced, ditasta danced within thsehip’s computers, and
the motes of dust in the air also danced with it.
A figure stood inthe doorway -- a largluegubrious figure witha strange light thadtanced nowin its eyes. It stepped forwaradcross
the threshold inttohe ship, and its face was suddenly suffused awith
calm forwhich it had longed but had thought never again to experience. Following him stepped outa smaller, olderman with hair that was
white and wayward. He stopped and blinked with woansdehre passed from out ofthe realm of his room and into the reoaflmthe ship. Following
himcame a thirdman, impatientand tense, with a large leather overcoatthat flapped about him. Hteo,o, stopped andwas momentarily bewilderedby something hedidn’t understand. With a look doefepest puzzlement onhis face he walked forward and lookaerodund at the grey
and dusty walls of the ancient ship.
At lastcame a fourth mant,all and thinH.
e stooped as he walked
out of the door, atnhden instantly stopped as if hhaed walked into a

wall.
He had walked into a wall, of a kind.
He stood transfixed. If anyonhead been lookingat his face at that moment, it would havbeeen abundantlyclear to themthat the single mostastonishing event ofthis man’s entire existence was currently happening to him.
When slowly he begatno move it was with a curious gaiti,f hase
wasswimming very slowly. Each tiniest movemeonft
his head seemed to
bring fresh floods of awe and astonishment intofachei.sTears welled in his eyes, and he became breathless with gasping wonder. Dirk turned to look at him, to hurry him along.
‘What’s the matter?’ he called above the noise.
‘The... music...’ whispered Richard.
The airwas full of music. So full it seemetdhere was room for
nothingelse. And each particle of air seemed to have its own music, so
thatas Richard movedhis head he heard anew and differenmt
usic,
thoughthe new anddifferent music fitted quitpeerfectly with the music that lay beside it in the air.
The modulationsfrom one to another were perfecatlcycomplished -- astonishingleaps to distant keys made effortlessly in the mere
shiftingof the head. New themes, new strands of melody, all perfectly and astoundingly proportioned, constantilnyvolved themselves intothe continuingweb. Huge slow waves of movement, faster dances that
thrilled through them, tiny scintillatisncgampers that dancedon the dances,long tangled tuneswhose ends were so liktheeir beginnings
that theytwisted around uponthemselves, turnedinside out, upside

down,and then rushedoff again on the bacokf yet another dancing melody in a distant part of the ship.
Richard staggered against the wall. Dirk hurried to grab him.
‘Come on,’he said, brusquely, ‘what’s the matteCr?an’t you stand the music?It’s abit loud, isn’t it? For God’s sake, pull yourself together.There’s something hereI still don’tunderstand. It’s not right. Come on --’
He tugged Richard after him, and then had tosupport him as Richard’smind sank further and furthuernder the overwhelming weight of musicT. he visionsthat were woven in hismind by themillion thrillingthreads of music as they werepulled through it, were increasinglya welterof chaos, but the more thcehaos burgeoned the
moreit fitted with the other chaos, and the next greater cuhnatiol s,
it albl ecame a vast explodingball of harmony expanding in his mind faster than any mind could deal with.
And then it was all much simpler.
A single tune dancedthrough his mind and ahlils attention rested upon it. It was a tuthnaet seethed throughthe magical flood, shaped
it, formedit, lived through
hitugely, lived through it minutely, was
its veryessence. It bounced and trilled along, at firsat
little
trippingtune, then itslowed, then it dancedagain but with more difficulty,seemed to founderin eddiesof doubtand confusion, and thensuddenly revealed that the eddies were just the first ripples of a
huge new wave of energy surging up joyfully from beneath.

Richard began very, very slowly to faint.
He lay very still.
He felt he was an old sponge steeped in paraffin and left in the sun to dry.
He felt like the body of an hoolrdse burning hazilyin the sun. He dreamed of oil, thin afnrdagrant, ofdark heavingseas. Hewas on a whitebeach, drunk with fish, stupefied with sand, bleached, drowsing, pummelledwith light, sinking, estimating the density of vapcolouur ds
indistant nebulae, spinning with dead delight. He was a pump spouting fresh water in thsepringtime, gushing into ma ound of reeking newmown grass. Sounds, almost unheard, burned away like distant sleep.
He ran and was falling. The ligohftsa harbour spun into night. The sea like a dark spirit slapped infinitesimalltyheatsand, glimmering, unconscious. Out where it wdaeseper and colder he sank easily with the heavy sea swellinlgike oilaround his ears, and was disturbed only by
a distant burr burr as of the phone ringing.
He knew he had been listening to the music of life itself. The music oflight dancing on water that ripplwedith the wind and the tides, of
the life thamt oved through the water, othfe lifethat movedon the land, warmed by the light.
He continued to lievery still. Hecontinued to bedisturbed by a distant burr burr as of a phone ringing.
Gradually he became awartehat the distantburr burr as of a phone ringing was a phone ringing.
He sat up sharply.

He was lying on a small crumpbleed in a small untidy panelled room that he knewhe recognised butcouldn’t place. Itwas clutteredwith
books and shoes. He blinked at it and was blank. The phone by the bed was ringing. He picked it up.
‘Hello?’ he said.
‘Richard!’ It was Susan’s voice, utterly distraught. He shohoiks head and had no recollection of anything useful.
‘Hello?’ he said again.
‘Richard, is that you? /Where are you?/’
‘Er, hold on, I’ll go and look.’
He put thereceiver down on thecrumpled sheets, whereit lay squawking,climbed shakily off thebed, staggered to the door and opened it.
Here was abathroom. He peered at it suspiciously. Again, he
recognised itbut felt that therwe as something missing. Oh yes. There
should be a horse in it. Or at
tlheaesret, had been haorse in it the
last time he hasdeen it. He crossed the bathroom floor and went out of the other door. He found his way shakily dowsntaitrhse and into Reg’s main room.
He was surprised by what he saw when he got there.
[::: CHAPTER 34 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
The storms of the day beforea,nd ofthe day before that, and the

floods ofthe previous week,had nowabated. The skies still bulged withrain, but all that actualfleyll in thegathering evening gloom
was a dreary kind of prickle.
Some wind whipped across the darkenipnlgain, blundered throughthe low hills and gusted acroassshallow valley where stood a structure, a kind of tower, alone in a nightmare of mud, and leaning.
It wasa blackened stump oaf tower. It stood like eaxntrusion of magma from onoef the more pestilential pits hoefll, and it leaned at apeculiar angle, as if oppressed by something altogether more terrible thanits ownconsiderable weight. It seemed a dead thing, loangges
dead.
The only movement was that of a roivfemr ud that movedsluggishly
alongthe bottom of the valley past the tower. A mile or so further on, the river ran down a ravine and disappeared underground.
But as theevening darkened it becamaepparent that thetower was not entirely withoulitfe. There was saingle dim redlight guttering deep within it.
It was this scentehat Richardwas surprised tosee from a small white doorwayset in the side of the valley waaflel,w hundred yards from the tower.
‘Don’t step out!’ saidDirk, putting up an arm, ‘The atmosphiesre
poisonous. I’m not suwrehat’s in it but it would certainglyet your carpets nice and clean.’
Dirk was standing inthe doorway watching the valleywith deep mistrust.
‘Where are we?’ asked Richard.

‘Bermuda,’ said Dirk. ‘It’s a bit complicated.’
‘Thank you,’ said Richard and walkgerdoggily back across threoom.
‘Excuse me,’he saidto Reg, who wasbusy fussing roundMichael Wenton-Weakes,making surethat the scuba divinsguit he waswearing fittedsnuggly everywhere, that the mask wassecure and that the regulator for the air supply was working properly.
‘Sorry, can I just get past?’ said Richard. ‘Thanks.’
He climbed back upthe stairs, went backinto Reg’s bedrooms, at shakily on the edge of the bed and picked up the phone again.
‘Bermuda,’ he said, ‘it’s a bit complicated.’
Downstairs, Reg finishedsmearing Vaselineon all thejoins of the suitand the few pieces of exposedskin aroundthe mask, andthen announced that all was ready.
Dirk swunghimself away from the doorand stood asidewith the utmost bad grace.
‘Well then,’ he said, ‘boeff with you. Good riddance. I wasmhy
handsof thewhole affair. I suppose we will have to wait here for you tosend back the empty, for what it’s worth.’ He stalked round the sofa with an angry gesturHe.e didn’t like thisH. e didn’t like any of it. Heparticularly didn’t like Reg knowing more abosuptace\time than he
did. It made him angry that he didn’t know why he didn’t like it.
‘My dear fellow,’ said Reg in a conciliatonye, ‘consider whata very smalel ffort it is fours to help the poosorul. I’m sorry if it seemsto youan anti-climax afterall your extraordinary feats of
deduction. I knowyou feel that a mere errand of mercy seems not enough

for you, but you should be more charitable.’
‘Charitable, ha!’ said Dirk. ‘I paymy taxes,what more doyou want?’
He threw himself otno the sofa, rahnis hands through his hair and sulked.
The possessed figure ofMichael shook hands with Reg and said a few wordsof thanks. Then hwe alked stiffly to thdeoor, turned and bowed
to them both.
Dirk flung his head round andglared at him,his eyes flashing
behindtheir spectacles and his hair flying wildly. The ghost looked at Dirk,and for a moment shivered inside with apprehension. A superstitious instinct suddenly made the ghost wave. He wMavicehdael’s hand round in a circle, three times, and then said a single word.
‘Goodbye,’ he said.
With thathe turnedagain, grippedthe sidesof the doorway and stepped resolutely ouitnto the mud, and inthoe foul andpoisonous wind.
He paused for a moment to be sure htihsaftootingwas solid, that
he had his balance, and then without anolothoekr
backhe walkedaway
from them, out othfe reach of the slimy things with legs, towhairsds
ship.
‘Now, what on earth did /that/ mean?’ said Dirk, irritably mimicking the odd triple wave.
Richard came thunderingdown the stairs, threwopen thedoor and plunged into the room, wild-eyed.
‘Ross has been murdered!’ he shouted.

‘Who the hell’s Ross?’ shouted Dirk back at him.
‘Whatsisname Ross, for God’s sake,’ exclaimed Richard, ‘the new editor of /Fathom/.’
‘What’s /Fathom/?’ shouted Dirk again.
‘Michael’s bloodymagazine, Dirk! Remember?Gordon chuckedMichael off the magazinaend gaveit tothis Ross guy to fun instead. Michael hated him for that. Welalls,t night Michael went and bloodmy urdered him!’
He paused, panting. ‘At least,’ hesaid, ‘he was murdered. And
Michael was the only one with any reason to.’
He ranto the door, looked out at the retreating figure disappearing into the gloom, and spun round again.
‘Is he coming back?’ said Richard.
Dirk leapt to his feet and stood blinking for a moment.
‘That’s it...’ he said, ‘/that’s/ why Michaelwas the perfect
subject. /That’s/what I should have beelnooking for.The thing the ghost madehim do in ordetro establishhis hold, the thing he had to befundamentally /willing/ to do,the thing that would match the
ghost’s own purpose. Omhy dear God. Hethinks we’vesupplanted them
and that’s what he wants to reverse.
‘He thinks this is their world not ours. /Twhiass/
where they were
going to settle and build their blasted paradise. It matchessteevpery
of the way.
‘You see,’ he said, turninogn Reg, ‘what we have donew? oIuld not
be surprised to discover that the accident
pyoour tormented soul out

there is trying to reverse is the very thing wstahritcehd life on this planet!’
He turnedhis eyessuddenly from Reg, who wawshite and trembling, back to Richard.
‘When did you hear this?’ he said, puzzled.
‘Er, just now,’ said Richard, ‘on... on the phone. Upstairs.’
‘What?’
‘It was Susan, dIon’t know how -- sasidhe had amessage on her answering machinetelling her aboutit. Shesaid the message... was from --she saidit was fromGordon, but I think she was hysterical. Dirk, what the hell is happening? Where are we?’
‘We arefour billionyears in the past,’said Reg in a shaking
voice, ‘pleasedon’t askme why it is that the phone works when we are anywhere inthe Universe other thanwhere it’s actuallyconnected,
that’s amatter you will havteo take up with British Telecom, but --’
‘Damn and blastBritish Telecom,’ shoutedDirk, the words coming easily from force of habit. He ran to theanddoopr eered again atthe
dim shadowy figure trudging through the mtouwdards the Salaxalan ship, completely beyond their reach.
‘How long,’ saidDirk, quite calmly, ‘would you guessthat it’s
going to taktehat fat self deluding bastard to reach his ship? Because that is how long we have.
‘Come. Let us sit down. Letthuisnk. Wehave two minutesin which to decide what we are going to do. After that, I verysusmpuect that the threeof us, and everything we have ever knownin, cluding the
coelacanthand the dodo, dear Professor, will ceaseever tohave

existed.’
He sat heavily on the sofa, then stood upagain and removed
Michael’s discarded jacket fromunder him. Ashe did soa,
book fell
out of the pocket.
[::: CHAPTER 35 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
‘I think it’s an appalling act of desecration,’ said RichaRrdegt,o
as they sat hiding behind a hedge.
The night was full of summer smells from the cottage gardetnh,eand
occasional whiffof sea air which camein on the light breezes that were entertaining themselves on the coast of the Bristol Channel. There was abright moon playing over the sea off in the distance, andby its light it was also possible to see some distanceExomveoror stretching away to the south of them.
Reg sighed.
‘Yes, maybe,’ he said‘,but I’m afraid he’s right, you know, it must bedone. It was the only sure way. tAhell instructions were clearly contained inthe piece once you knew what you were lookingIt fohra.s to be suppressedT.he ghost wilal lways be around. In fatcwt o of him now. That isa,ssuming thisworks. Poor devil.Still, Isuppose he
brought it on himself.’
Richard fretfully pulledup some bladesof grassand twisted them between his fingers.

He heldthem up tothe moonlight, turned them
dtoifferent angles,
and watched the way light played on them.
‘Such music,’ he said. ‘I’mnot religious, but if I were I would say
it was like a glimpisneto the mind of God. Perhaps it
awnads I ought
tobe religious. Ihave tokeep remindingmyself thatthey didn’t
create the music, they onclryeated the instrument which could read the score. And the score was life itself. And it’s all up there.’
He glanced into the sky. Unconsciously he started to quote:
‘Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! Those caves of ice!’
‘Hmmm,’ said Reg to himself, ‘I wondehreifarrived earlyenough.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just a thought.’
‘Good God, he can talk, can’t he?’ Richard exclaimed sudd‘eHnely’s.
been in there over an hour now. I wonder what’s going on.’ He got upand looked over the hedgeat the small farmcottage
basking in the moonlight behitnhdem. About an hourearlier Dirk had walked boldly up to the front door and rapped on it.
When the doorhad opened, somewhat reluctantly, and a slightly dazed
face had looked ouDt,irk had doffed his absurd hat and said loinuda

voice, ‘Mr Samuel Coleridge?
‘I was justpassing by, on my way from Porlock, you understand, and
Iwas wonderingif I might trouble yotou
vouchsafe mean interview?
It’sjust for a little parisbhroadsheet I edit. Won’take much of
your time I promise, I know you must be busy, famous poet libkuet
I do so admire your work, and...’
The rest was losbt,ecause bythat time Dirk had effected his entry and closed the door behind him.
‘Would you excuse me a moment?’ said Reg.
‘What? Oh sure,’said Richard, ‘I’m just going to havelooak and see what’s happening.’
While Reg wandered off behind a tree Richpaursdhed openthe little gate and was just about to make his wathye uppath whenhe heard the sound of voices approaching the front door from within.
He hurriedly darted back, as the front door started to open.
‘Well, thank you very mucinhdeed, Mr Coleridge,’ saiDd irk, ashe
you,
emerged, fiddling withis hat and bowing, ‘you have been most kind and generous with your timaen, d I do appreciatiet very much, as I’m sure willmy readers. I’msure it will work uinpto avery nice little
article, a copy owfhich you may rest assureIdwill send you for you
to peruse aytour leisure. I will most certainly welcome your comments if you have any, any pointsstyolfe, you know, hints, tips, things of
that nature. Well, thank you agasion,much, for your time, I do hope I
haven’t kept you from anything important --’ The door slammed violently behind him.

Dirk turnedwith another in a lonsguccession of triumphantbeams and hurried down the path to Richard.
‘Well, that’s put a stop to that,’ he saidp, atting hishands
together,‘I think he’d made a stoarnt writingit down, but he won’t rememberanother word, that’s for certain. Where’s the egregious Professor?Ah, there youare. Good heavens, I’d no idea bI’eden that long. A most fascinatinagnd entertaining fellow, ouMr r Coleridge, or
at least I’msure he would have been if I’d given him the chance, but I
was rather too busy being fascinating myself.
‘Oh, but Idid doas you asked, Richard, Iasked himat the end
about thealbatross and he said what albatross? So I said, oh it wasn’t important, the albatross did not signify. He wsahiadt albatross didn’t
signify, and I said never mind the albatross, it
mdiadtnte’tr, and he
said itdid matter -- someone cometos
hishouse in the middle of the
night ravingabout albatrosses, he wanted to know why. I said blast the bloodyalbatross and he said he had a good mitnodand he wasn’t
certain that that didn’t give him an idea for a poem wheorkwinasg on. Much betterh, e said,than being hibt y an asteroid, which he thought was stretching credulity a bit. And so I came away.
‘Now. Having saved the entihreuman race from extinctioIn could do with a pizza. What say you to such a proposal?’
Richard didn’toffer anopinion. He was staring insteawd ith some puzzlement at Reg.
‘Something troubling you?’ said Reg, taken aback.
‘That’s a good trick,s’aid Richard, ‘I could have sworn you didn’t have a beard before you went behind the tree.’

‘Oh --’ Regfingered the luxuriant three-inch growth -- ‘yes,’ he said, ‘just carelessness,’ he said, ‘carelessness.’
‘What have you been up to?’
‘Oh, just a fewadjustments. A little surgery,you understand. Nothing drastic.’
A few minutes later as he usherethdem into the extra door that a nearbycowshed had mysteriously acquired, he looked baucpk intothe skybehind them, just in time tosee asmall light flareup and
disappear.
‘Sorry, Richard,’ he muttered, and followed them in.
[::: CHAPTER 36 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::]
‘Thank you,no,’ said Richard firmly, ‘muchas I would lovtehe
opportunity to buy yoau pizza and watch you eat it, Dirk, I want to go straighthome. I have to see Susan. Isthat possible, Reg? Just
straight to my flat? I’ll cometoupCambridge next week and collect my car.’
‘We are already there,s’aid Reg, ‘simply step out of the daonodr,
you arehome in your owfnlat. It is early oFnriday eveningand the weekend lies before you.’
‘Thanks. Er, look, Dirk, I’ll seeyou around, OK? DoI owe you something? I don’t know.’
Dirk wavedthe matter asideairily. ‘You will hearfrom myMiss

Pearce in due course,’ he said.
‘Fine, OK, wellI’ll see you whenI’ve hadsome rest. It’sbeen, well, unexpected.’
He walked to the doorand opened it. Stepping outsidehe found
himself halfway up his owstnaircase, in the wall of which the door had materialised.
He was about tostart up the stairswhen he turned again as a
thought struck him. He stepped back in, closing the door behind him.
‘Reg, could we make ontieny detour?’ he said. ‘I think it wobueld
agood move if I tooSkusan out for ma eal tonight, only the placIe
have inmind you have to book in advance. Could you manage three weeks for me?’
‘Nothing could be easier,’ said Reg, and madsuebtale adjustment to
the disposition otfhe beads on the abacus. ‘There,’ he s‘aWide,
have
travelled backwards itnime three weeks. You know where the phone is.’ Richard hurried up the internal staircase toReg’s bedroomand
phoned L’Esprit d’EscalierT.he maître d’ was charmed adnedlighted to takehis reservation, and looked forward to seeing him in wtherekes’ time. Richard went back downstairs shaking his head in wonder.
‘I need a weekenodf solid reality,’he said. ‘Whowas that just going out of the door?’
‘That,’ saidDirk, ‘was your sofa being delivered. The masakned if
we minded himopening the door so thecyould manoeuvre it round anId
said we would be delighted.’
It was onlya few minutes later that Richard fouhnimd self hurrying

upthe stairs to Susan’fslat. As he arrived at her front door he was pleased, as he alwaywsas, to hear the deetpones of her cello coming faintly from withinH. e quietly let himself in and then as he walked to the doorof her music room he suddenly froze in astonishmTehnet. tune shewas playing was one he had hearbdefore. A little tripping tune,
that slowed, then danced again but with more difficulty...
His face was so amazed that
stoepped playing the instant shseaw
him.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said, alarmed.
‘Where did you get that music?’ said Richard in a whisper. She shrugged. ‘Well, from the music shop,’ sshaeid, puzzled.She wasn’t being facetious, she simply didn’t understand the question.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s from a cantata I’m playing in cinouaple of weeks,’ she said,
‘Bach, number six.’
‘Who wrote it?’
‘Well, Bach I expect. If you think about it.’
‘Who?’
‘Watch my lips. Bach. B-A-C-H. Johannes Sebastian. Remember?’
‘No, never heard of him. Who is he? Did he write anything else?’
Susan putdown her bow, propped up her cello, stood up and came over to him.
‘Are you all right?’ she said.
‘Er, it’s rather hard to tell. What’s...’
He caught sight oaf pile of music books sitting in a corner of the

room with the same namone
thetop one. BACH. He threhwimself at the
pile and started to scrabble throughBoito. k after book -- J. S. BACH. Cello sonatas. Brandenburg Concertos. A Mass in B Minor.
He looked up at her in blank incomprehension.
‘I’ve never seen any of this before,’ he said.
‘Richard mydarling,’ she said, putting her hand to his cheek, ‘what on earth’s the matter? It’s just Bach sheet music.’
‘But don’t you understand?’ he said, shaking a handful of the stuff.
‘I’ve never, ever seen any of this before!’
‘Well,’ she saidwith mock gravity, ‘perhaps if you didn’t spend all your time playing with computer music...’
He looked at hewr ith wild surprise, then slowly he sat back against the wall and began to laugh hysterically.
On Monday afternoon Richard phoned Reg.
‘Reg!’ he said. ‘Your phone is working. Congratulations.’
‘Oh yes, my dear fellow,’ saRideg, ‘how delightfulto hearfrom
you. Yes. A very capable young man arrived and thfiexepdhone a little earlier. I don’tthink it will go wrong again now. Good news, don’t you think?’
‘Very good. You got back safely then.’
‘Oh yes, thankyou. Oh, we had high excitement here when we returned fromdropping you off. Remember the horse? Well he turned up again with his owner. They’hdad some unfortunate encounter with tchoenstabulary andwished to be takehnome. Justas well. Dangerous sort of chap to
have on the loose I think. So. How are you then?

‘Reg... The music --’
‘Ah, yes, I thought you’d be pleased. Took a bit of Iwcoarnk,tell you. I saved only the tiniteinsitest scrap, of course, but even Iso
cheated.It was rather more thanone man could actually doin a
lifetime,but I don’t suppose anybody will look at that too seriously.’
‘Reg, can’t we get some more of it?’
‘Well, no. The ship has gone, and besides --’
‘We could go back in time --’
‘No, well, I tolydou. They’vefixed the phone so it won’t go wrong again.’
‘So?’
‘Well, the time machine won’t work now. Burnt out. Dead as a dodo. I
thinkthat’s itI’m afraid.Probably just as well, though, dony’otu think?’
On Monday, Mrs Sauskind phoned DirkGently’s Holistic Detective
Agency to complain about her bill.
‘I don’t understand what all this is about,’ shesaid, ‘it’s complete nonsense. What’s the meaning of it?’
‘My dear Mrs Sauskind,’ hseaid, ‘I can hardly tell you how much I have been looking forward htaoving this exactsame conversation with you yet again. Where shall we betogdinay? Whichparticular item is it that you would like to discuss?’
‘None of them, thank yovuery much, Mr Gently. I do not know who you
areor why youshould think mycat is missingD.
ear Roderick passed

away in my arms two years ago and I have not wished to replace him.’
‘Ah, wellMrs Sauskind,’ said Dirk, ‘what you probably fail to appreciateis that it is as a direct resulmt yofefforts that -- If I might explain aboutht e interconnectednessof all...’ He stopped. It
was pointless. He slowly dropped the telephone back on its cradle.
‘Miss Pearce!’ hecalled out,‘Kindly send out a revised bill would
you to our dear Mrs Sauskind.
nTehwe
bill reads “Tsoaving human race
from total extinction -- no charge.”’
He put on his hat and left for the day.