‘The question is,’ Muldoon said, ‘how you found this house? I was told you’d no idea where the girl lived.’

I tried to think who could have told Muldoon anything like that, but I was too tired. Who had I told? Whose business would it be?

‘But you did,’ I said, out of simplicity not cunning. ‘You knew her house all right.’

‘Cut out the dirty talk!’ When I meant nothing he decided to have his outburst of temper. ‘I’ve never liked you and that’s the truth. That come as a shaker to you? You’re one of those fellows think they’re great. Everybody has to like them. Not me, friend. Not one little bit – and if you’ve got it coming, I’ll be there to cheer.’

I had been amazed before by someone telling me what I was like – and they never came anywhere near being right.

‘If you’re ever there when I get something coming, Muldoon, don’t cheer. Not unless you want your jaw broken.’

‘You’re a right bastard!’

He moved as if to go for me, and changed his mind.

‘Come and give us a kiss!’ I said.

The minutes in the chair or the surge of adrenalin unthawed me.

‘Better still,’ I said, ‘tell me why you’re here. Did big Peter Kilpatrick send you?’

Muldoon went quiet in his seat.

‘Well Peter’s a good friend of mine,’ he said. ‘It would be possible he sent me. He might be wanting something back.’

‘He might be wanting something back,’ I mimicked him.

He made an ugly face and leaned forward.

‘Peter’s sorry he gave the girl the parcel. He wants it back.’

‘So?’

‘So let me have it and I’ll give it back to him.’

‘Did you think it was here?’ I needed some leverage to make him explain. ‘You haven’t told me why you came here.’

‘That’s got nothing to do with anything.’

‘I think it does. You tell me why you’re here and then we can talk about the parcel.’

He sat back like a man deliberately relaxing.

‘If it’ll make you happy. I thought Peter would be here.’

‘What would he be doing here?’

‘What would he not?’ Muldoon said. ‘Isn’t he thick with the girl?’

I thought about that. I had to be stupid to have taken it for granted Margaret would be running errands for someone she knew only casually. He might be a friend of hers; because you did someone a favour it did not mean you went to bed with him.

‘I can’t imagine Margaret’s parents having Kilpatrick here as a house guest,’ I said.

Muldoon put his hand in his side pocket and drew out a piece of paper. I remembered the paper he’d lifted from the table.

‘Her folks are away on holiday. She’s left this note for them – they’re due back, but they’ve been away.’

‘Let me see.’

He folded it in his hand. I considered getting up fast but, whatever he saw in my eyes, he eased to the front of his chair. I didn’t think I was in condition to catch him before he made it out of the door.

‘Why has she left them a note? Has she gone away with Kilpatrick?’

‘With Peter?’ He looked as if he hadn’t thought of that. ‘It’s possible. He’d want out of here when she—’

‘What – when she what?’ My brain was too tired; I let the possibilities spill out. ‘When she gave me the parcel? Or when she came back and told him she’d given it to me? Why would that upset him? He told her to give it to me – that’s what she said. And I was to keep it for Brond.’

‘For who?’ I had never pictured what they meant when they said a man’s jaw dropped – that’s what happened, like a box lid on a hinge his jaw fell open. ‘For Brond?’

‘All I know is I was asked to give him the parcel – and now he’s got it.’

Muldoon stood up.

‘You’ve given it to Brond,’ he said colourlessly.

I straightened in the chair and took a grip on the stick. It had never occurred to me that there might be something in Muldoon to be afraid of – not till now.

‘I gave him a box,’ I said slowly, ‘and it was wrapped in brown paper tied with string – the hairy kind of string—’

‘Are you working for Brond?’

I ignored the question.

‘And there was tape, lots of tape. And we took off the tape and the string and the box opened. And there were two things inside.’ This was the moment when his face should tell me if he knew what had been in the parcel. He looked worried, tired suddenly – as always, red foxy. I could not tell. ‘A cloth and a gun. The cloth had stains on it – maybe ketchup off a fish supper. Somebody had fired the gun.’

Muldoon’s face was closed and secret.

‘I’ve been thinking Kilpatrick must have been the one who fired it and that was why he wanted to get rid of it. But now you say he wants it back and I’ve been wondering why he would change his mind. Has Kilpatrick killed someone?’

Muldoon grinned at me.

‘You want to give your head a rest,’ he said. ‘You’re too old for fairy stories.’

I got the stick under both hands and lurched to my feet. Muldoon came back into proportion. He was a little weed of a fellow.

‘How would you like me to rest the back of my hand across your mouth?’

‘There’s no need for that,’ he said. ‘Listen, Peter’ll explain. He’s the man that’s worrying you – let him do the explaining. I didn’t want to tell you he was here until I was sure everything was all right.’

‘Here? He is? Is Margaret here too?’

‘Of course, in the bedroom. I’ll get them.’

And he turned as naturally as that and went out. Even before I heard the outside door close, I knew he had fooled me. Margaret and Kilpatrick were not in this house. I listened to the stillness. The house was empty except for me and I had no right to be here and had to get out. I fell into a chair and tiredness rose over me like a small death. I wondered if Margaret Briody had really gone away . . . If that had been a note Muldoon had folded in his hand . . . If . . .

I woke in a fright. My arm had folded under me in the chair. Out in the hall red light came through the glass door from a street lamp. I took the first likely door and was lucky for there was a bed. My jacket and tie came off easily, then my trousers dragged and tugged with twin bundles of socks tangled in the cuffs.

Under the borrowed blankets, I couldn’t stop shivering.

NINE

Kilpatrick’s friend? Kilpatrick’s friend. Who was Kilpatrick’s friend? Muldoon, I remembered, and remembering came awake.

The room was full of light. A white ceiling and net curtains with sunlight behind them. On the other side, a dressing table covered with glass animals. The nearest was an elephant with ears like bright drops of water.

I felt alive and full of energy. I yawned and thought about getting up.

Hunger and a full bladder bobbed me gently to the surface again. Sitting up, I saw a yellow dressing-gown lying on the floor. The pillow beside me showed an edge of yellow and when I tugged on it a nightdress of yellow nylon slipped into my hand. It smelled of Margaret Briody.

There were eggs in the fridge in the kitchen. I put a pan on the hot ring and dropped a knob of butter in it, but by the time I had broken three eggs into a dish the butter was giving off black smoke. It was a fine morning and a strange house. Breakfast should be done properly. I found a dishcloth and wiped the pan clean; put their Cona on with coffee; added black pepper and stirred my three eggs with a fork; put a plate under the grill to warm; threw in butter again and as it spat and sizzled across the pan poured in the eggs. The mix spread and I shook the pan, folded, turned out the golden half moon on a plate. Perfect.

Naturally, I had forgotten to make toast.

Eat or make toast while the omelette deflates: it was like a question from the old professor in Moral Philosophy. I ate the omelette. Later out of hunger, I searched and found half a shop loaf in its wrapper and chewed down slices of it. The butter was good even with that – salt butter from the Orkneys.