'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 wherehe'd been sitting the picture folded up and went outaltogether, plunging the room into total darkness. Harrybriefly had time to register that no light was finding itsway through the windows from the street. Then theinsanity began.

Something moved in the blackness: vague forms roseand fell. It took him a moment to recognise them. Theflowers! Invisible hands were tearing the wreaths andtributes apart, and tossing the blossoms up into theair. He followed their descent, but they didn't hit theground. It seemed the floorboards had lost all faith inthemselves, and disappeared, so the blossoms just keptfalling - down, down - through the floor of the roombelow, and through the basement floor, away to Godalone knew what destination. Fear gripped Harry, likesome old dope-pusher promising a terrible high. Eventhose few boards that remained beneath his feet werebecoming insubstantial. In seconds he would go the wayof the blossoms.

He reeled around to locate the chair he'd got up from- some fixed point in this vertiginous nightmare. Thechair was still there; he could just discern its form in thegloom. With torn blossoms raining down upon him hereached for it, but even as his hand took hold of the arm,the floor beneath the chair gave up the ghost, and now,by a ghastly light that was thrown up from the pit thatyawned beneath his feet, Harry saw it tumble away intoHell, turning over and over 'til it was pin-prick small.

Then it was gone; and the flowers were gone, and thewalls and the windows and every damn thing was gonebut him.

Not quite everything. Swann's casket remained, itslid still standing open, its overlay neatly turned backlike the sheet on a child's bed. The trestle had gone,as had the floor beneath the trestle. But the casketfloated in the dark air for all the world like somemorbid illusion, while from the depths a rumblingsound accompanied the trick like the roll of a snare-drum.

Harry felt the last solidity failing beneath him; felt thepit call. Even as his feet left the ground, that groundfaded to nothing, and for a terrifying moment he hungover the Gulfs, his hands seeking the lip of the casket.His right hand caught hold of one of the handles, andclosed thankfully around it. His arm was almost jerkedfrom its socket as it took his body-weight, but he flunghis other arm up and found the casket-edge. Using itas purchase, he hauled himself up like a half-drownedsailor. It was a strange lifeboat, but then this was astrange sea. Infinitely deep, infinitely terrible.

Even as he laboured to secure himself a better hand-hold, the casket shook, and Harry looked up to discoverthat the dead man was sitting upright. Swann's eyesopened wide. He turned them on Harry; they werefar from benign. The next moment the dead illusionistwas scrambling to his feet - the floating casket rockingever more violently with each movement. Once vertical,Swann proceeded to dislodge his guest by grinding hisheel in Harry's knuckles. Harry looked up at Swann,begging for him to stop.

The Great Pretender was a sight to see. His eyes werestarting from his sockets; his shirt was torn open todisplay the exit-wound in his chest. It was bleedingafresh. A rain of cold blood fell upon Harry's upturnedface. And still the heel ground at his hands. Harryfelt his grip slipping. Swann, sensing his approachingtriumph, began to smile.

'Fall, boy!' he said. 'Fall!'

Harry could take no more. In a frenzied effort to savehimself he let go of the handle in his right hand, andreached up to snatch at Swann's trouser-leg. His fingersfound the hem, and he pulled. The smile vanishedfrom the illusionist's face as he felt his balance go. Hereached behind him to take hold of the casket lid forsupport, but the gesture only tipped the casket furtherover. The plush cushion tumbled past Harry's head;blossoms followed.

Swann howled in his fury and delivered a vicious kickto Harry's hand. It was an error. The casket tipped overentirely and pitched the man out. Harry had time toglimpse Swann's appalled face as the illusionist fell pasthim. Then he too lost his grip and tumbled after him.

The dark air whined past his ears. Beneath him, theGulfs spread their empty arms. And then, behind therushing in his head, another sound: a human voice.

'Is he dead?' it inquired.

'No,' another voice replied, 'no, I don't think so.What's his name, Dorothea?'

'D'Amour.'

'Mr D'Amour? Mr D'Amour?'

Harry's descent slowed somewhat. Beneath him, theGulfs roared their rage.

The voice came again, cultivated but unmelodious.'Mr D'Amour.'

'Harry,' said Dorothea.

At that word, from that voice, he stopped falling; felthimself borne up. He opened his eyes. He was lying ona solid floor, his head inches from the blank televisionscreen. The flowers were all in place around the room,Swann in his casket, and God - if the rumours were tobe believed - in his Heaven.

'I'm alive,' he said.

He had quite an audience for his resurrection.Dorothea of course, and two strangers. One, theowner of the voice he'd first heard, stood close tothe door. His features were unremarkable, except forhis brows and lashes, which were pale to the point ofinvisibility. His female companion stood nearby. Sheshared with him this distressing banality, stripped bareof any feature that offered a clue to their natures.

'Help him up, angel,' the man said, and the womanbent to comply. She was stronger than she looked,readily hauling Harry to his feet. He had vomited inhis strange sleep. He felt dirty and ridiculous.

'What the hell happened?' he asked, as the womanescorted him to the chair. He sat down.

'He tried to poison you,' the man said.

'Who did?'

'Valentin, of course.'

'Valentin?'

'He's gone,' Dorothea said. 'Just disappeared.' Shewas shaking. 'I heard you call out, and came in hereto find you on the floor. I thought you were going tochoke.'

'It's all right,' said the man, 'everything is in ordernow.'

'Yes,' said Dorothea, clearly reassured by his blandsmile. 'This is the lawyer I was telling you about, Harry.Mr Butterfield.'

Harry wiped his mouth. 'Please to meet you,' hesaid.

'Why don't we all go downstairs?' Butterfield said.'And I can pay Mr D'Amour what he's due.'

'It's all right,' Harry said, 'I never take my feeuntil the job's done.'

'But it is done,' Butterfield said. 'Your services are nolonger required here.'

Harry threw a glance at Dorothea. She was pluckinga withered anthurium from an otherwise healthy spray.

'I was contracted to stay with the body -'

'The arrangements for the disposal of Swann's bodyhave been made,' Butterfield returned. His courtesy wasonly just intact. 'Isn't that right, Dorothea?'

'It's the middle of the night,' Harry protested. 'Youwon't get a cremation until tomorrow morning at theearliest.'