‘Who is it?’ I called.
‘My name’s Hacket. I’m in the next room to you. I’m trying to get some sleep.’ It was an American voice, but much deeper than Shirer’s. I crossed the room and opened the door. A big, broad-shouldered man emerged from the shadows of the corridor blinking his eyes sleepily behind rimless glasses. His grey hair was ruffled and he had the appearance of a surprised and rather angry owl. He peered past me into the room. ‘Are you alone?’
‘Yes. Why?’
He looked at me rather oddly. ‘I thought you must be having an all-night conference. Suppose you go to bed and let other folk get some sleep.’
‘Have I been disturbing you in some way?’ I asked.
‘Disturbing me?’ His voice was almost a snarl. ‘Just take a look at this.’ He tapped the wall that separated my room from the next. ‘Paper thin. Do you realise I’ve been listening to your voice for nearly two hours now? I guess maybe I’m a little peculiar — I like it quiet when I sleep. Good night to you.’
His purple dressing-gown merged again into the shadows of the corridor and I heard his door close. It was only then that I realised that I must have been talking aloud to myself. I glanced at my watch. It was past two. With a rather guilty feeling I closed my door and began to undress. Now that I was going to bed I realised that I was terribly tired. I didn’t even bother to unstrap my leg. I just fell into bed and switched off the light.
My mind was still hammering away at the same problem. At what point I went to sleep, I don’t know. Probably almost at once, for I barely seemed to have turned the light out before my thoughts had merged into fantasy and I was off on a crazy chase after Sansevino through a ward planted with cacti that all looked like Shirer. I cornered him in an operating theatre where lights started as far-off pinpoints and came rushing towards me till they burst in blinding flashes inside my brain. I had Sansevino in a corner. He was the size of a mouse and I was wrestling with the spring of a trap baited with my own foot. And then he began to swell. In a moment he had filled the cockpit of my plane and was looking down at me as I descended slowly into the ground. His hands reached out towards me. They were huge hands, long-fingered and smooth. They touched my clothes, undoing the buttons, and then I felt them against my skin.
I woke then, my body rigid, all the muscles tense as though I’d been subjected to an electric shock. A slight draught touched my face and I knew the windows to the balcony were open. The bedclothes had been flung back and I was cold, particularly round the stomach where my pyjama trousers had been pulled away. There was a slight movement to my left and the sound of breathing.
Somebody was in the room with me.