‘And what happens?’

‘He breathes out.’

‘He breathes out?’

‘And then he hears a motor-bike.’

‘Then what happens?’

‘I don’t know. I hadn’t finished working it out, of course.’

Goldwasser rubbed his cheek.

‘You could bring it in,’ he said. ‘I suppose.’

‘Perhaps Eye could walk down the street in the fog on his way from Mi to Lisbeth?’

‘Or on his way from Lisbeth to Howard.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘You could put it in almost anywhere.’

‘Y-e-e-e-s.’

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it.’

After Goldwasser had gone, Rowe wound a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter. He had known that the requirements of the novel form would catch up on him sooner or later, but he had imagined that he might be able to stave them off at least until he had written the extended critical appreciation for Encounter.

‘Hugh Rowe,’ he found his fingers typing gloomily, ‘has not written the totally original masterpiece that some commentators expected from him. But A Knot of Worms is a competent, workmanlike novel, whose strength lies in the stark realism of its plot, which boldly faces up to life as it is lived in the modern novel. . . .’

12

‘Ah! Afternoon, Macintosh,’ said Nunn. ‘Nice of you to look in. Take a pew. That’s right, chuck those rugger boots off on to the floor. Smoke? No? Sensible man, sensible man.’

Nunn’s hand imperceptibly noted in his Compleat Angler’s Diary, ‘Mac. v. defensive.’ Of course, he was going to put him at his ease before he interrogated him. Standard procedure.

‘Fish?’ he asked pleasantly.

‘What?’ said Macintosh.

‘Fish?’

‘Er, not now, thanks.’

‘Not now?’

‘I’ve just had lunch.’

‘Ah.’

Nunn’s hand moved over the diary again. ‘Mac. v. evasive,’ he noted.

‘I was only going to say,’ he said, ‘that it was a good day for it.’

‘A good day for fish?’

‘Yes – it’s a wet day.’

‘Oh. I thought Friday was the great day for fish?’

‘A fine day? Oh, no – wet day.’

‘I see.’

Brilliant these scientist laddies may be, thought Nunn, but ordinary human communication with them was well-nigh impossible.

‘Now look, Macintosh,’ said Nunn. ‘Let me speak to you quite frankly. As you know, I never interfere in the running of the departments. Couldn’t if I wanted to. I’m not a computer man myself, of course, and I don’t know the first thing about the work.’

‘No.’

‘And of course the Director and I have absolutely full confidence in you. Full confidence.’

‘Good.’

‘But the point is this, Macintosh – and I’ll be absolutely frank about it. I was having a word with Sir Prestwick Wining this morning. Do you know him?’

‘I’ve met him.’

‘Of course you have. Anyway, he was saying what a tremendous respect Rothermere Vulgurian had for the Institute’s academic freedom.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. Apparently he’s very anxious that the new wing should be independent in every way. He doesn’t want us to feel that because he’s putting up the money he has any influence over the work that’s being done in it at all.’