Awake he was certainly, and panic-stricken, aware that something had happened and that action was demanded of him. Hand groped for light switch over bed. There was none. For a moment place eluded him. Then he remembered, got out of bed, turned on the light, looked round the room. Nothing seemed changed. His watch said that the time was half past eleven. Annoyed with his own stupidity he put on a dressing gown, opened the balcony door and stared out into the night. An owl hooted. It was cold. He shut this door again, walked across the room, opened the door that led into the passage. Silence and darkness except for a line of light beneath the door opposite him. He remembered that Montague occupied this room. No doubt he was reading late, or writing a letter about Johnny’s business. Yet something had woken Applegate up, and he wanted to find out what it was. He took three steps across the passage and, feeling slightly foolish, tapped gently at Montague’s door. There was no reply. As he waited Applegate felt more and more foolish.
