Matt Sören rejoined them just as they reached the end of the shadowed walkway and came out to the noise and bright lights of Bloor Street. Ahead lay the huge stone pile of the old Park Plaza hotel. Before they crossed the road he placed a hand again on Schafer’s arm. “Thank you,” said the Dwarf.

“Well,” said Lorenzo Marcus, as they settled into chairs in his sixteenth-floor suite, “why don’t you all tell me about yourselves? Yourselves,” he repeated, raising an admonitory finger at grinning Kevin.

“Why don’t you start?” Marcus went on, turning to Kim. “What are you studying?”

Kim acquiesced with some grace. “Well, I’m just finishing my interning year at—”

“Hold it, Kim.”

It was Paul. Ignoring a fierce look from the Dwarf, he levelled his eyes on their host. “Sorry, Dr. Marcus. I’ve got some questions of my own and I need answers now, or we’re all going home.”

“Paul, what the—”

“No, Kev. Listen a minute.” They were all staring at Schafer’s pale, intense features. “Something very strange is happening here. I want to know,” he said to Marcus, “why you were so anxious to cut us out of that crowd. Why you sent your friend to set it up. I want to know what you did to me in the auditorium. And I really want to know why we were followed on the way over here.”

“Followed?” The shock registering on Lorenzo Marcus’s face was manifestly unfeigned.

“That’s right,” Paul said, “and I want to know what it was, too.”

“Matt?” Marcus asked, in a whisper.

The Dwarf fixed Paul Schafer with a long stare.