of the lid stood open, the plush overlay folded back.At Dorothea's invitation he waded through the tributesto view the deceased. He liked Swann's face; it hadhumour, and a certain guile; it was even handsome in itsweary way. More: it had inspired the love of Dorothea;a face could have few better recommendations. Harrystood waist-high in flowers and, absurd as it was, felta twinge of envy for the love this man must haveenjoyed.

'Will you help me, Mr D'Amour?'

What could he say but: 'Yes, of course I'll help.' That,and: 'Call me Harry.'

He would be missed at Wing's Pavilion tonight. He hadoccupied the best table there every Friday night for thepast six and a half years, eating at one sitting enoughto compensate for what his diet lacked in excellenceand variety the other six days of the week. Thisfeast - the best Chinese cuisine to be had south ofCanal Street - came gratis, thanks to services he hadonce rendered the owner. Tonight the table would goempty.

Not that his stomach suffered. He had only beensitting with Swann an hour or so when Valentin cameup and said:

'How do you like your steak?'

'Just shy of burned,' Harry replied.

Valentin was none too pleased by the response. 'I hateto overcook good steak/ he said.

'And I hate the sight of blood,' Harry said, 'even if itisn't my own.'

The chef clearly despaired of his guest's palate, andturned to go.

'Valentin?'

The man looked round.

'Is that your Christian name?' Harry asked.

'Christian names are for Christians,' came the reply.

Harry nodded. 'You don't like my being here, am Iright?'

Valentin made no reply. His eyes had drifted pastHarry to the open coffin.

'I'm not going to be here for long,' Harry said, 'butwhile I am, can't we be friends?'

Valentin's gaze found him once more.

'I don't have any friends,' he said without enmity or