Thank you for your help,' Dorothea said. 'But I'msure everything will be fine now that Mr Butterfield hasarrived. Just fine.'

Butterfield turned to his companion.

'Why don't you go out and find a cab for MrD'Amour?' he said. Then, looking at Harry: 'We don'twant you walking the streets, do we?'

All the way downstairs, and in the hallway as Butterfieldpaid him off, Harry was willing Dorothea to contradictthe lawyer and tell him she wanted Harry to stay. Butshe didn't even offer him a word of farewell as he wasushered out of the house. The two hundred dollarshe'd been given were, of course, more than adequaterecompense for the few hours of idleness he'd spentthere, but he would happily have burned all the billsfor one sign that Dorothea gave a damn that they wereparting. Quite clearly she did not. On past experienceit would take his bruised ego a full twenty-four hours torecover from such indifference.

He got out of the cab on 3rd around 83rd Street, andwalked through to a bar on Lexington where he knew hecould put half a bottle of bourbon between himself andthe dreams he'd had.

It was well after one. The street was deserted, exceptfor him, and for the echo his footsteps had recentlyacquired. He turned the corner into Lexington, andwaited. A few beats later, Valentin rounded the samecorner. Harry took hold of him by his tie.

'Not a bad noose,' he said, hauling the man off hisheels.

Valentin made no attempt to free himself. 'Thank Godyou're alive,' he said.

'No thanks to you,' Harry said. 'What did you put inthe drink?'

'Nothing,' Valentin insisted. 'Why should I?'

'So how come I found myself on the floor? How comethe bad dreams?'

'Butterfield,' Valentin said. 'Whatever you dreamt, hebrought with him, believe me. I panicked as soon as Iheard him in the house, I admit it. I know I shouldhave warned you, but I knew if I didn't get out quicklyI wouldn't get out at all.'

'Are you telling me he would have killed you?'

'Not personally; but yes.' Harry looked incredulous.'We go way back, him and me.'

'He's welcome to you,' Harry said, letting go of thetie. 'I'm too damn tired to take any more of this shit.'He turned from Valentin and began to walk away.

'Wait -' said the other man, '- I know I wasn't toosweet with you back at the house, but you've got tounderstand, things are going to get bad. For both ofus.'

'I thought you said it was all over bar the shouting?'

'I thought it was. I thought we had it all sewn up. ThenButterfield arrived and I realised how naive I was being.They're not going to let Swann rest in peace. Not now,not ever. We have to save him, D'Amour.'

Harry stopped walking and studied the man's face.To pass him in the street, he mused, you wouldn't havetaken him for a lunatic.

'Did Butterfield go upstairs?' Valentin enquired.

'Yes he did. Why?'

'Do you remember if he approached the casket?'

Harry shook his head.

'Good,' said Valentin. 'Then the defences are holding,which gives us a little time. Swann was a fine tactician,you know. But he could be careless. That was how theycaught him. Sheer carelessness. He knew they werecoming for him. I told him outright, I said we shouldcancel the remaining performances and go home. At leasthe had some sanctuary there.'

'You think he was murdered?'

'Jesus Christ,' said Valentin, almost despairing ofHarry, 'of course he was murdered.'

'So he's past saving, right? The man's dead.'

'Dead; yes. Past saving? no.'

'Do you talk gibberish to everyone?'

Valentin put his hand on Harry's shoulder, 'Oh no,'he said, with unfeigned sincerity. 'I don't trust anyonethe way I trust you.'

'This is very sudden,' said Harry. 'May I ask why?'

'Because you're in this up to your neck, the way I am,'Valentin replied.

'No I'm not,' said Harry, ,but Valentin ignored thedenial, and went on with his talk. 'At the moment wedon't know how many of them there are, of course.They might simply have sent Butterfield, but I thinkthat's unlikely.'

'Who's Butterfield with? The Mafia?'

'We should be so lucky,' said Valentin. He reachedin his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. 'Thisis the woman Swann was with,' he said, 'the night atthe theatre. It's possible she knows something of theirstrength.'

There was a witness?'

'She didn't come forward, but yes, there was. I was hisprocurer you see. I helped arrange his several adulteries,so that none ever embarrassed him. See if you can getto her -' He stopped abruptly. Somewhere close by,music was being played. It sounded like a drunken jazzband extemporising on bagpipes; a wheezing, ramblingcacophony. Valentin's face instantly became a portrait ofdistress. 'God help us ...' he said softly, and began toback away from Harry.

'What's the problem?'

'Do you know how to pray?' Valentin asked him as heretreated down 83rd Street. The volume of the music wasrising with every interval.

'I haven't prayed in twenty years,' Harry replied.

'Then learn,' came the response, and Valentin turnedto run.

As he did so a ripple of darkness moved down thestreet from the north, dimming the lustre of bar-signsand street-lamps as it came. Neon announcementssuddenly guttered and died; there were protests outof upstairs windows as the lights failed and, as ifencouraged by the curses, the music took on a freshand yet more hectic rhythm. Above his head Harryheard a wailing sound, and looked up to see a raggedsilhouette against the clouds which trailed tendrils likea man o' war as it descended upon the street, leaving thestench of rotting fish in its wake. Its target was clearlyValentin. He shouted above the wail and the music andthe panic from the black-out, but no sooner had he yelledthan he heard Valentin shout out from the darkness; apleading cry that was rudely cut short.

He stood in the murk, his feet unwilling to carry hima step nearer the place from which the plea had come.The smell still stung his nostrils; nosing it, his nauseareturned. And then, so did the lights; a wave of powerigniting the lamps and the bar-signs as it washed backdown the street. It reached Harry, and moved on to thespot where he had last seen Valentin. It was deserted;indeed the sidewalk was empty all the way down to thenext intersection.

The drivelling jazz had stopped.

Eyes peeled for man, beast, or the remnants of either,Harry wandered down the sidewalk. Twenty yards fromwhere he had been standing the concrete was wet. Notwith blood, he was pleased to see; the fluid was the colourof bile, and stank to high heaven. Amongst the splasheswere several slivers of what might have been humantissue. Evidently Valentin had fought, and succeeded inopening a wound in his attacker. There were more tracesof the blood further down the sidewalk, as if the injuredthing had crawled some way before taking flight again.With Valentin, presumably. In the face of such strengthHarry knew his meagre powers would have availed himnot at all, but he felt guilty nevertheless. He'd heard thecry - seen the assailant swoop - and yet fear had sealedhis soles to the ground.

He'd last felt fear the equal of this in Wyckoff Street,when Mimi Lomax's demon-lover had finally thrown offany pretence to humanity. The room had filled with thestink of ether and human dirt, and the demon had stoodthere in its appalling nakedness and shown him scenesthat had turned his bowels to water. They were with himnow, those scenes. They would be with him forever.

He looked down at die scrap of paper Valentin hadgiven him: the name and address had been rapidlyscrawled, but they were just decipherable.

A wise man, Harry reminded himself, would screwthis note up and throw it down into the gutter. But ifthe events in Wyckoff Street had taught him anything,it was that once touched by such malignancy as he hadseen and dreamt in the last few hours, there couldbe no casual disposal of it. He had to follow it toits source, however repugnant that thought was, andmake with it whatever bargains the strength of his handallowed.