“What happened?”

“Oh. A sort of—not a threat. Or not a serious one. I mentioned, only joking, that I was keen on your Katje. And Bloat became very cold, and said, ‘I’d stay clear of that one if I were you.’ Tried to cover it with a laugh, as if he had his eye on her too. But that wasn’t it. I-I don’t have his confidence any more. I’m— I feel I’m only useful to him in a way I can’t see. Being tolerated for as long as he can use me. The old University connection. I don’t know if you ever felt it at Harvard… from time to time back in Oxford, I came to sense a peculiar structure that no one admitted to—that extended far beyond Turl Street, past Cornmarket into covenants, procuring, accounts due… one never knew who it would be, or when, or how they’d try to collect it… but I thought it only idle, only at the fringes of what I was really up there for, you know… .”

“Sure. In that America, it’s the first thing they tell you. Harvard’s there for other reasons. The ‘educating’ part of it is just sort of a front.”

“We’re so very innocent here, you see.”

“Some of you, maybe. I’m sorry about Bloat.”

“I still hope it’s something else.”

“I guess so. But what do we do right now?”

“Oh I’d say—keep your date, be careful. Keep me posted. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll have an adventure or two to tell you about, for a change. And if you need help,” teeth flashing, face reddening a bit, “well, I’ll help you.”

“Thanks, Tantivy.” Jesus, a British ally. Yvonne and Françoise peek in, beckoning them outside. On to the Himmler-Spielsaal and chemin-de-fer till midnight. Slothrop breaks even, Tantivy loses, and the girls win. No sign of Bloat, though dozens of officers go drifting in and out, brown and distant as rotogravure, through the evening. Nor any sight of his girl Ghislaine. Slothrop asks. Yvonne shrugs: “Out with your friend? Who knows?” Ghislaine’s long hair and tanned arms, her six-year-old face in a smile… . If it turns out she does know something, is she safe?

At 11:59 Slothrop turns to Tantivy, nods at the two girls, tries to chuckle lewdly, and gives his friend a quick, affectionate punch in the shoulder. Once, back in prep school, just before sending him into a game, young Slothrop’s football coach socked him the same way, giving him confidence for at least fifty seconds, till being trampled flat on his ass by a number of red-dogging Choate boys, each with the instincts and mass of a killer rhino.

“Good luck,” says Tantivy, meaning it, hand already reaching for Yvonne’s sweet chiffon bottom. Minutes of doubt, yes yes… Slothrop ascending flights of red-carpeted stairway (Welcome Mister Slothrop Welcome To Our Structure We Hope You Will Enjoy Your Visit Here), malachite nymphs and satyrs paralyzed in chase, evergreen, at the silent landings, upward toward a single staring bulb at the top… .