He heard and felt the rustle of her quick movement out of his sight; and then she was in front of him, face to face, and her arms around him and his hands under the soft eaves of her hair.
"Simon — are you all right now?"
"I'm as much use as I'll ever be tonight." His smile was still invisible through the darkness, and in some ways he was glad of it. His touch was strong and tender together. He said: "And Pat did his best, and I'm sure nothing is going to wait for him."
He kissed her again and held her against him; and he remembered a great many things, perhaps too many, and perhaps too many of them were not with her. But none of that mattered any more.
He let her go presently, and in time it had only been a moment.
"I suppose," he said, "you wouldn't happen to have any artillery in your weekend kit? A machine-gun might be useful; but if you're travelling light a small stiletto would help."
"I haven't anything better than a pair of nail scissors."
"I'm afraid," Simon said sadly, "it might be hard to persuade Zellermann to sit still for that."
Light slashed through the room like a stealthy blade as he found the door handle and opened it.
The corridor outside was dim and lifeless; but as he stepped out into it the sea murmurs were left in the room behind him, and the other stirrings of sound that had crept through to him in there resolved themselves into their own individual pattern — a rumble and twitter of muffled voices and movement downstairs. There was no movement that could be identified and no single word that could be picked out; but they had a pitch and a rhythm of deadly deliberation that spilled feathery icicles along his spine. He knew very well now why Avalon hadn't been able to sleep, and why she had come looking for Pat Hogan or Tom Simons or anyone else solid and ordinary and potentially safe and wholesome. As she had said, they weren't the sort of noises that people made if they were just trying to go on with a party. You couldn't put a finger on any one solitary thing about them; but if you had a certain kind of sensitivity, you knew... There was a quality of evil and terror that could set a pace and a key even in confused and distant mutterings.