'No, he didn't. He stared hard, but he didn't mention it again... What do you think it means?'
Suddenly a gyrating, spaced-out dancer careened against the table, his eyes half focused, his lips parted without control. 'Well, if it ain't old Mums and Dadsies!' he said, slurring his words with rough Yorkshire. 'Enjoying the kiddie's show-and-tell, Mums?'
'Damn!' Holcroft had spilled part of his drink.
'Ring for the butler, Pops! Charge it to old Edinburgh. He's a personal friend! Good old Edinburgh.'
The solo, freaked-out dancer bolted away as quickly as he had intruded. The other middle-aged straights were appropriately solicitous of Holcroft, simultaneously scathing of The Owl's patrons; the youngsters did their best to mollify.
'It's all right, nothing to be concerned with,' said the agent good-naturedly. 'Just a bit damp, nothing to it.' Holcroft removed his handkerchief and began blotting his front. The table returned to its prior and individual conversations. The Britisher turned to McAuliff, his resigned smiling belying his words. 'I have less than a minute; you'll be contacted tomorrow if necessary.'
'You mean that... collision was a signal?'
'Yes. Now, listen and commit. I haven't time to repeat myself. When you reach Kingston, you'll be on your own for a while. Quite frankly, we weren't prepared for you so soon - '
'Just a minute!' interrupted McAuliff, his voice low, angry. 'Goddamn you! You listen... and commit! You guaranteed complete safety, contacts twenty-four hours a day. It was on that basis I agreed - '
'Nothing has changed.' Holcroft cut in swiftly, smiling paternalistically - in contradiction to the quiet hostility between them. 'You have contacts; you've memorized eighteen, twenty names - '
'In the north country, not Kingston! You're supposed to deliver the Kingston names!'
'We'll do our best for tomorrow.'
'That's not good enough!'
'It will have to be, Mr McAuliff,' said Holcroft coldly.
'In Kingston, east of Victoria Park on Duke Street, there is a fish store called Tallon's. In the last extremity - and only then - should you wish to transmit information, see the owner. He's quite arthritic in his right hand. But, mind you, all he can do is transmit. He's of no other use to you... Now, I really must go.'
'I've got a few other things to say.' Alex put his hand on Holcroft's arm.
'They'll have to wait - '
'One thing... Alison Booth. You knew, didn't you?'
'About her husband?'
'Yes.'
'We did. Frankly, at first, we thought she was a Dunstone plant. We haven't ruled it out... Oh, you asked about Warfield's mention of Halidon; what he meant. In my judgment, he knows no more than we do. And he's trying just as hard to find out.'
With the swiftness associated with a much younger man, Holcroft lifted himself up from the booth, sidled past McAuliff, and excused himself from the group. McAuliff found himself seated next to the middle-aged woman he presumed had come with Holcroft. He had not listened to her name during the introductions, but as he looked at her now, he did not have to be told. The concern - the fear -was in her eyes; she tried to conceal it, but she could not. Her smile was hesitant, taut.
'So you're the young man...' Mrs Holcroft stopped and brought the glass to her lips.
'Young and not so young,' said McAuliff, noting that the woman's hand shook, as his had shaken an hour ago with Warfield. 'It's difficult to talk in here with all the blaring. And those godawful lights.'
Mrs Holcroft seemed not to hear or be concerned with his words. The psychedelic oranges and yellows and sickening greens played a visual tattoo on her frightened features. It was strange, thought Alex, but he had not considered Holcroft as a private man with personal possessions or a wife or even a private, personal life.
And as he thought about these unconsidered realities, the woman suddenly gripped his forearm and leaned against him. Under the maddening sounds and through the wild, blinding lights, she whispered in McAuliff's ear: 'For God's sake, go after him!'
The undulating bodies formed a violently writhing wall. He lunged through, pushing, pulling, shoving, finally shouldering a path for himself amid the shouted obscenities. He tried looking around for the spaced-out intruder who had signalled Holcroft by crashing into the table. He was nowhere to be found.
Then, at the rear of the crowded, flashing dance floor, he could see the interrupted movements of several men pushing a single figure back into a narrow corridor. It was Holcroft!