O'Connor wasn't sleeping, exactly. He sat in a chair in his bare-looking living room, a book open on his lap, his head nodding slightly. Malone's entrance made no sounds, and O'Connor didn't move or look around.
"Doctor," Malone said, "is it possible that—"
O'Connor came up off the chair a good foot and a half. He went: "Eee," and came down again, still gripping the book. His head turned.
"It's me," Malone said.
"Indeed," O'Connor said. "Indeed indeed. My goodness." He opened his mouth some more but no words came out of it. "Eee," he said again, at last, in a conversational tone.
Malone took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I startled you," he said, "but this is important and it couldn't wait." O'Connor stared blankly at him. "Dr. O'Connor," Malone said, "it's me. Kenneth J. Malone. I want to talk to you."
At last O'Connor's expression returned almost to normal. "Mr. Malone," he said, "you are undressed."
Malone sighed. "This is important, doctor," he said. "Let's not waste time with all that kind of thing."
"But, Mr. Malone—" O'Connor began frostily.