“Oh you think it’s funny, do you? Well, let’s see if this wipes that pathetic smile off your face.” He moved his chair in closer to Patrick’s bed and leaned over so that his mouth was inches from Patrick’s ear. “You see, I just happened to be in the Caledonia Hotel last night, and lo and behold, who should be staying there but your wife and your good friend Dan Porter. Now, I thought it was a bit odd that they seemed to be getting on rather too well, so I took it upon myself to do a bit of . . .”—he sucked loudly on his blubbery bottom lip—“yes, a bit of ‘sleuthing,’ and I think that you’ll be rather grateful that I did.” He cast a glance around the ward for dramatic effect. “You see, at about two o’clock this morning, I was sitting, rather uncomfortably I might add, in a service room on the third floor of the hotel, watching their rooms. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw what happened next. Do you want to know what I saw?”

Patrick stared fixedly at the man.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then. Well, what happened was that your friend Porter came out of his bedroom and knocked on your wife’s door, and in the blink of an eye, the door opened and your wife threw herself—no, maybe catapulted might be a more appropriate word— into Porter’s arms. There was a moment when they just held each other, right there in the corridor, before your wife, very deliberately, undid the buttons on her sexy little pyjama top and let it fall to the ground. Well, I have to say, Trenchard, that I was sincerely impressed. She certainly has a good pair of paps, that wife of yours. And they were certainly good enough to get Porter jumping into that room.” Maxwell’s face took on a serious expression. “Well, now, I’m a man of integrity, and I did nothing untoward like listen at the door for the sound of heaving bedsprings, but I left in the knowledge that I could do you a great favour in letting you know what happened.” He sat back with a sigh and slapped his knees with his hands. “Well, that’s just about it. My story is told.” He leaned forward again. “So what do you think of that, Trenchard?”

Watching carefully for Patrick’s reaction, he was amazed, and somewhat perturbed when, beneath the clear plastic of the oxygen mask, he saw Patrick’s mouth stretch into a grin. He saw Patrick’s hand rise from the bed and a finger slowly beckon to him. Maxwell got to his feet and leaned over Patrick, watching him as he lifted the oxygen mask from his face. His voice was slow, but perfectly clear and perfectly precise.

“Why—don’t—you—mind—your—own—fucking— business, you—fat—bastard.”