After an interval, someone opened the door. It was a young man, collected even brought from sleep, his hair combed, in a green and silver dressing gown and leather slippers.

"There has been an accident," said Michael.

The man stared. He saw the Scarabae. He winced.

"You'll need the police."

"No. We'll take rooms here. We shall need a telephone."

"Well, look," said the young man in green and silver, smiling, "it's just that it is very early—" He had a nice London accent. He kept smiling. He meant to do well. He was lovely to the customers and could limit himself to three G and T's a night. He did not stand for nonsense.

Did not expect nonsense, particularly at six in the morning.

"We must come in," said Michael. He sounded barbaric. Sure. He produced and held out a wad of notes, twenties, fifties. The nice young man gaped.

"For God's sake—"

"This," said Michael, "is an emergency."

Had Rachaela not said that, years ago? Would this work? Had the green and silver man seen Miriam, lying against Sasha on the road?

He only looked exasperated now.

"Oh—all right. Okay. Just hold on. I'll open up."

The Scarabae waited. Without tension. Without relief. They were not arrogant or insecure.

The pub door was opened a foot.

"Come in. Quickly. Okay."

They stood in the lofty interior now. A fake log fire which would burn in the vast hearth. Old china, perhaps made last week.

Eric said, "We will have champagne."

"Now look," said the young man. "I haven't—I mean, you can't."

Eric said nothing else.

Sasha said, standing by Miranda, whose dark eyes looked clear as forgotten ponds, "In a room."

The young man registered that Michael was now carrying a woman, scorched and hapless as the rest, but also prone and lifeless.

"You want a doctor."

"No," said Eric. "We want champagne."

The rooms were little and chintzy. The beams were not real. False flowers, dyed deep purple and cerise, poked from jugs.

Michael had laid Miriam on a bed, and in this room the others sat. They did not say anything, but Michael had paid the man, and he brought them, grudgingly, two bottles of a good champagne, on ice.

Michael had also apparently used a telephone, for no one approached the telephone in the room.

Who had been called?

Rachaela was given a glass of champagne.

She drank it, and tears flooded her eyes.

No one spoke to her, and she wiped the water from her face with toilet tissue from the bathroom.

They all drank. All but Miriam.

On the chinz coverlet Miriam lay, patiently dead.

In the afternoon, things started to happen.

They had been left alone, with the champagne, and Miriam. Rachaela had eventually got up and gone to the room Cheta said was hers. Here she lay on the bed and slept, the strange daylight sleep of alcohol and fear.