Nightfall was near. The traffic was noisy on Lexingtonand Third. Out of boredom he took to watching thestreet from the window. Two lovers feuded loudlyon the sidewalk, and only stopped when a brunettewith a hare-lip and a pekinese stood watching themshamelessly. There were preparations for a party inthe brownstone opposite: he watched a table lovinglylaid, and candles lit. After a time the spying began todepress him, so he called Valentin and asked if therewas a portable television he could have access to. Nosooner said than provided, and for the next two hourshe sat with the small black and white monitor on thefloor amongst the orchids and the lilies, watchingwhatever mindless entertainment it offered, the silverluminescence flickering on the blooms like excitablemoonlight.

A quarter after midnight, with the party across thestreet in full swing, Valentin came up. 'You want anight-cap?' he asked.

'Sure.'

'Milk; or something stronger?'

'Something stronger.'

He produced a bottle of fine cognac, and two glasses.Together they toasted the dead man.

'Mr Swann.'

'Mr Swann.'

'If you need anything more tonight,' Valentin said,'I'm in the room directly above. Mrs Swann is down-stairs, so if you hear somebody moving about, don'tworry. She doesn't sleep well these nights.'

'Who does?' Harry replied.

Valentin left him to his vigil. Harry heard the man'stread on the stairs, and then the creaking of floorboardson the level above. He returned his attention to thetelevision, but he'd lost the thread of the moviehe'd been watching. It was a long stretch 'til dawn;meanwhile New York would be having itself a fineFriday night: dancing, fighting, fooling around.

The picture on the television set began to flicker. Hestood up, and started to walk across to the set, buthe never got there. Two steps from the chair where