Hewson laughed and said goodnight to the man. After some thought, he put the armchair with its back to Dr Bourdette. He couldn’t say why but Bourdette was much worse to look at that the other figures. He felt quite happy as he put the chair in its place. But as the watchman’s feet died away, he though of the long night in front of him. Weak light lit the lines of figures. They seemed near to be living people. The big dark room was very quiet. Hewson wanted to hear the usual sounds of people talking and moving around, but there was nothing. Not a movement. Not a sound.
‘I feel I’m on the floor of the sea,’ he thought. ‘I must remember to put that into my story.’
He looked without much interest at the unmoving figures all round him. But before long. He felt those eyes again, the hard eyes of Dr Bourdette, looking at him from behind. He wanted more and more to turn round and look at the figure.
