in the bathroom. Alison stood in the corridor doorway, watching him.
He approached her. 'Will you stay here until I get back?'
'Yes,' she answered simply.
He kissed her on the lips, staying close to her, he knew, longer than she expected him to; it was his message to her. 'You are a lovely lady.'
'Alex?' She placed her hands carefully on his arms and looked up at him. 'I know the symptoms. Believe me, I do. They're not easy to forget... There are things you're not telling me and I won't ask. I'll wait.'
'You're overdramatizing, Alison.'
'That's funny.'
'What is?'
'What you just said. I used the words with David. In Malaga. He was nervous, frightened. He was so unsure of himself. And of me. And I said to him: David, you're being overly dramatic... I know now that it was at that moment he knew.'
McAuliff held her eyes with his own. 'You're not David and I'm not you. That's as straight at I can put it. Now, I have to get to a telephone. I'll see you later. Use the latch.'
He kissed her again, went out the door, and closed it behind him. He waited until he heard the metallic sounds of the inserted bolt, then turned towards the elevators.
The doors closed; the elevator descended. The soft music was piped over the heads of assorted businessmen and tourists; the cubicle was full. McAuliff's thoughts were on his imminent telephone call to Westmore Tallon, his concerns about Sam Tucker.
The elevator stopped at an intermediate floor. Alex looked up at the lighted digits absently, vaguely wondering how another person could fit in the cramped enclosure. There was no need to think about the problem; the two men who waited by the parting doors saw the situation, smiled, and gestured that they would wait for the next elevator.
And then McAuliff saw him. Beyond the slowly closing panels, far down in the corridor. A stocky man in a dark jacket and light trousers. He had unlocked a door and was about to enter a room; as he did so, he pulled back his jacket to replace the key in his pocket. The shirt was yellow.
The door closed.
'Excuse me! Excuse me, please!' said McAuliff rapidly as he reached across a tuxedoed man near the panel of buttons and pushed the one marked 2, the next number in descent. 'I forgot my floor. I'm terribly sorry.'
The elevator, its thrust suddenly, electrically interrupted, jerked slightly as it mindlessly prepared for the unexpected stop. The panels opened and Alex sidled past the irritated but accommodating passengers.
He stood in the corridor in front of the bank of elevators and immediately pushed the Up button. Then he reconsidered. Where were the stairs?
The 'EXIT - STAIRCASE' sign was blue with white letters. That seemed peculiar to him; exit signs were always red. It was at the far end of the hallway. He walked rapidly down the heavily carpeted corridor, nervously smiling at a couple who emerged from a doorway at midpoint. The man was in his fifties and drunk; the girl was barely in her twenties, sober and mulatto. Her clothes were the costume of a high-priced whore. She smiled at Alex; another sort of message. He acknowledged, his eyes telling her he wasn't interested but good luck, take the company drunk for all she could.
He pushed the crossbar on the exit door. Its sound was too loud; he closed it carefully, quietly, relieved to see there was a knob on the inside of the door.
He ran up the concrete stairs on the balls of his feet, minimizing the sound of his footsteps. The steel panel had the Roman numeral III stencilled in black over the beige paint. He twisted the knob slowly and opened the door on to the third-floor corridor.
It was empty. The nocturnal games had begun below; the players would remain in the competitive arenas until the prizes had been won or lost or forgotten in alcoholic oblivion. He had only to be alert for stragglers, or the overanxious, like the pigeon on the second floor who was being manoeuvred with such precision by the child-woman mulatto. He tried to recall at which door the man in the yellow shirt had stood. He had been quite far down the hallway, but not at the end. Not by the staircase; two-thirds of the way, perhaps. On the right; he had pulled back his jacket with his right hand, revealing the yellow shirt. That means he was now inside a door on Alex's left. Reversing