Stig and his lot. And thousands of others, hidden in the house.

He knows something as he stands polishing: the centre will be destroyed. There is tunnelling going on and they are gathering strength. He watches and listens and guesses and puts two and two together, as he moves about in the corridors doing his polishing. There is tunnelling going on beneath the centre, and the centre will be forced to collapse. He believes he knows this.

And what will become of me then?

He must become acquainted with Stig. The house is cracking and he must hurry if he is to become acquainted with Stig. The house is not cracking because it is going to split apart, but because of everything that is gathering strength and increasing the tension.

Nobody has told him this. He has felt it. Some of them stand beside his ladder and hold forth about this and that. He does not pay much attention. The ones who stop beside him know nothing. None of those who really do know tell him anything. All the same he knows where strength will finally lie.

He feels strongly drawn to that side.

Stig and his lot. I must go over to them. Preferably before I go home. It’s urgent now.

Go over is hardly the correct way of putting it, it seems to him. He does not need to go over; he has been there all the time, only they haven’t understood him. But now that the note has come it’s important to get the matter straight as soon as possible, so there’ll be no trouble.

You are under observation.

Can’t one laugh off such things?

And then he makes a decision: I must escape from this. I must talk to Stig and tell him everything, now, before I go home. Who knows what might have been put on my desk again today? Before I go home I must be such good friends with Stig that he will nod at me.

But I must explain to him that I can’t join in anything. It would be quite impossible for me, and he must surely understand that.

He goes on polishing, and looking out for Stig. Various people go past, amongst them people whom he knows are in the cellars. They never look up. They are gone again at once. But the arrow polisher recognizes a good many of them. That’s what happens in his work. Small driblets of information can be added together. Men decorated with arrows go past too, along the lighted corridors, right in the middle, at a safe distance from all walls and doors that might be hostile. The arrow polisher makes an unseen obeisance to the glittering power to which he is slightly linked. He has a respectful answer ready in case they should have a word for him about his trustworthy work. But they do not look up.

No, no – I know something, you see.

But he watches all the more intently for Stig. Stig will understand him, if only he can get so far as to talk to him. He clings to this in the windy solitude around him. A little mist of fear remains after that note. Stig will be able to dispel it with a couple of words.