The door of the taxi closed. There was the sound of a gear engaging and then the glossy cellulose-finished metal of it slid away from me and I was staring at a fast-diminishing speck of red.
I passed my hand over my face. It was cold and clammy with sweat. Was I going mad or was I just drunk? Had that only been Shirer or… I shook myself, trying to get a grip on my thoughts. I’d been standing over the exhaust, that was all that had happened. I was tired and I’d breathed in some of the exhaust fumes. My sound leg felt weak at the knee. I was feeling sick and dizzy, too.
I turned and walked slowly down the Corso towards the Piazza Oberdan. The night air gradually cleared my brain. But I couldn’t get rid of the mental picture of Shirer standing at the top of those steps looking down at me, looking down at me and stroking his upper lip with the tips of his fingers. It had been the same gesture. I’d only to think of it to see the blasted little swine leaning over my bed fingering that dirty smudge of a moustache. Of course without that moustache the two would have looked very similar. It was Shirer I’d been introduced to and Shirer who’d come out of Number Twenty-two. It was my damned imagination, that was all.
Reece was waiting for me in the entrance hall when I reached the hotel. I didn’t even notice him until he caught me by the arm at the foot of the stairs. ‘What happened?’ he asked, peering at me.
‘Nothing,’ I snapped and shook his hand off my arm.
He gave me an odd look. I suppose he thought I’d drunk too much. ‘What did Sismondi say?’ he asked. ‘What did you find out?’
‘I didn’t find out anything,’ I answered. ‘I didn’t get a chance to talk to him alone.’
‘Well, what was your impression? Do you think he knows where Tucek is?’
‘I tell you, I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. Now leave me alone. I’m going to bed.’
He caught me by the shoulder then and spun me round. ‘I don’t believe you ever went to Sismondi’s place.’