“Phew! It sounds overhead already,” Conrad said.
O’Brien walked into the hall where a guard sat nursing a riot gun.
Conrad joined him and together they walked up the stairs.
“Hot enough to fry eggs,” Conrad said, taking out his handkerchief to mop his face.
O’Brien didn’t say anything. He was wondering if Ferrari had got inside the bathroom yet. His mouth felt dry, and he was aware the muscles in his legs were fluttering and his heart was pounding.
They walked along the lighted passage where another guard sat facing the head of the stairs.
“Hark at that: rain,” Conrad said. “Well, you were right. There must be quite a gale blowing.”
They could hear the rain hammering on the roof. Conrad paused a moment to peer out of the window on the landing. A solid sheet of water streamed down the window pane, sending a white mist of spray as it cascaded down the sloping roof. Jagged flashes of lightning lit up the rain-soaked trees and lawn.
Thunder rolled and crashed in a deafening crescendo.
O’Brien opened Pete’s bedroom door.