I

       Castle woke and looked at his watch, though he believed that he carried time in his head—he knew it would be a few minutes to eight, giving him just long enough to go to his study and turn on the news without waking Sarah. He was surprised to see that his watch marked eight five—the inner clock had never failed him before, and he doubted his watch, but by the time he reached his room the important news was over there were only the little scraps of parochial interest which the reader used to fill the slot: a bad accident on the M4, a brief interview with Mrs Whitehouse welcoming some new campaign against pornographic books, and perhaps as an illustration of her talk, a trivial fact, that an obscure bookseller called Holliday—I'm sorry, Halliday—had appeared before a magistrate in Newington Butts for selling a pornographic film to a boy of fourteen. He had been remanded for trial at the Central Criminal Court, and his bail had been set at two hundred pounds.

       So he was at liberty, Castle thought, with the copy of Muller's notes in his pocket, presumably watched by the police. He might be afraid to pass them on at whatever drop they had given him, he might be afraid even to destroy them; what seemed his most likely choice was to keep them as a bargaining asset with the police. 'I'm a more important man than you think: if this little affair can be arranged, I can show you things... let me talk to someone from the Special Branch.' Castle could well imagine the kind of conversation which might he going on at that moment: the sceptical local police, Halliday exposing the first page of Muller's notes as an inducement.

       Castle opened the door of the bedroom: Sarah was still asleep. He told himself that now the moment had arrived which he had always expected, when he must think clearly and act decisively. Hope was out of place just as much as despair. They were emotions which would confuse thought. He must assume Boris had gone, that the line was cut, and that he must act on his own.

       He went down to the sitting-room where Sarah wouldn't hear him dial and rang a second time the number he had been given to use only for a final emergency. He had no idea in what room it was ringing the exchange was somewhere in Kensington: he dialled three times with an interval of ten seconds between and he had the impression that his SOS was ringing out to an empty room, but he couldn't tell... There was no other appeal for help which he could make, nothing left for him to do but clear the home ground. He sat by the telephone and made his plans, or rather went over them and confirmed them, for he had made them long ago. There was nothing important left to he destroyed, he was almost sure of that, no books he had once used for coding... he was convinced there were no papers waiting to be burned... he could leave the house safely, locked and empty... you couldn't, of course, burn a dog... what was he to do with Buller? How absurd at this moment to be bothered by a dog, a dog he had never even liked, but his mother would never allow Sarah to introduce Buller into the Sussex house as a permanent lodger. He could leave him, he supposed, at a kennels, but he had no idea where… This was the one problem he had never worked out. He told himself that it was not an important one, as he went upstairs to wake Sarah. Why this morning was she so deeply asleep? He remembered, as he looked at her, with the tenderness one can feel even for an enemy who sleeps, how after making love he had fallen into the deepest nullity he had known for months, simply because they had talked frankly, because they had ceased to have secrets. He kissed her and she opened her eyes and he could tell she knew at once there was no time to be lost; she couldn't, in her usual fashion, wake slowly, and stretch her arms and say, 'I was dreaming' He told her, 'You must ring my mother now. It will seem more natural for you to do it if we've had a quarrel. Ask if you can stay a few days with Sam. You can lie a little. All the better if she thinks you are lying. It will make it easier, when you are there, to let the story out slowly. You can say that I've done something unforgivable... We talked about it all last night.'

       'But you said we had time...'

       'I was wrong.'

       'Something's happened?'

       'Yes. You've got to get away with Sam right away.'

       'And you are staying here?'

       'Either they'll help me to get out or the police will come for me. You mustn't be here if that happens.'

       'Then it's the end for us?'

       'Of course it's not the end. As long as we are alive we'll come together again. Somehow. Somewhere.'

       They hardly spoke to each other, dressing rapidly, like strangers on a journey who have been forced to share the same wagon lit. Only as she turned at the door on her way to wake up Sam she asked, ' What about the school? I don't suppose anyone will bother...'

       'Don't worry now. Telephone on Monday and say he's ill. I want you both out of the house as quickly as possible. In case the police come.'

       She returned five minutes later and said, 'I spoke to your mother. She wasn't exactly welcoming. She has someone for lunch. 'What about Buller?'

       'I'll think of something.'

       At ten to nine she was ready to leave with Sam. A taxi was at the door. Castle felt a terrible sense of unreality. He said, 'If nothing happens you can come back. We shall have made up our quarrel.' Sam at least was happy. Castle watched him as he laughed with the driver.

       'If... You came to the Polana.'

       'Yes, but you said once things never happened twice the same way.'

       At the taxi they even forgot to kiss and then they clumsily remembered—a kiss which was meaningless, empty of everything except the sense that this going away couldn't be true it was something they were dreaming. They had always exchanged dreams—those private codes more unbreakable than Enigma.

       'Can I telephone?'

       'Better not. if all's well, I'll telephone you in a few days from a call box.'

       When the taxi drove away, he couldn't even see the last of her because of the tinted glass in the rear window. He went indoors and began to pack a small bag, suitable for a prison or an escape. Pyjamas, washing things, a small towel—after hesitation he added his passport. Then he sat down and began to wait. He heard one neighbour drive away and then the silence of Saturday descended. He felt as though he were the only person left alive in King's Road, except for the police at the corner. The door was pushed open and Buller came waddling in. He settled on his haunches and fixed Castle with bulging and hypnotic eyes. 'Buller,' Castle whispered, 'Buller, what a bloody nuisance you've always been, Buller.' Buller went on staring—it was the way to get a walk.

       Buller was still watching him a quarter of an hour later when the telephone rang. Castle let it ring. It rang over and over, like a child crying. This could not be the signal he hoped for—no control would have remained on the line so long—it was probably some friend of Sarah's, Castle thought. It would not, in any case, be for him. He had no friends.