I was kept fairly busy at the George, but every free moment my brain was worrying at the problem of how to effect Etienne’s release and I seemed to be getting no nearer a solution. It was the gun I came up against each time, but I was not completely convinced of its veracity. To someone with Etienne’s background, it would no doubt seem quite natural that an actor in a small provincial theatre should possess firearms. For my own part, I doubted it. It was much more likely to be a stage prop. The point was whether I was convinced enough of my theory to risk putting it to the test. Marcus and I had slipped easily enough into our nightly switch of flats and the knowledge of being able to count on an undisturbed sleep was incredibly comforting. He had reported another telephone call in the night watches but no more imminent dangers. Yet time was passing relentlessly. It was three days now since I’d held my whispered consultation with Etienne. He would be wondering whether after all I was to be any help to him.
