V
The hands of the clock on the mantelpiece showed a quarter past two. I sat alone in the lounge, nibbling at a whisky and soda, staring at a silver-and-gold inlaid Mexican saddle that was hanging on the wall without particularly noticing it.
Serena was upstairs somewhere.
We had been waiting for two and a half hours.
A sudden soft whistle from behind me jerked me round I and spilt my whisky.
‘Lousy nerves you’ve got,’ Kerman said, coming in. ‘Is that whisky you’ve spilt?’
‘There’s plenty more. Help yourself. You look as if you could use it.’
‘I can.’ He crossed to the wagon and mixed himself a long stiff drink. ‘Phew! Think we’ll get any sleep tonight?’
‘Never mind sleep. Did you see anything?’
He flopped into an armchair opposite me.