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It must have been this that Ray would recollect months afterwards in the pub with William, thinking of the doctor’s fatal calamity. Struck off the register…
    “Mm, it rather falls to pieces from there on. Kindly old man gives him a second chance to make good, as agent for trading company, tropical jungle, island somewhere in Dutch Insulinde. Natives think him a hell of a chap, upright you know, justice, truth. Arrives a melodrama, the details I spare you – can’t remember them myself – involves his word given, to which he must be faithful. Local chieftain convinced of treachery – shoots him. Dies knowing he has kept his word when he could have saved himself Mourned by all – greatly respected. Much good did it do him. I haven’t in the least given you a sympathetic picture” putting the book back in its place lovingly. “I used to collect for fine examples of the binder’s art, for illustrations by a good painter. Decorative, often really beautiful. Tendency to neglect or forget the text inside. A real book you keep in your pocket, not wrapped up in cotton wool. Look, I’ve three editions here of Shakespeare. Upstairs is the one I read – lower deck for the use of.” There were more moments of this kind, for books, Dr Valdez thought, were the royal road to this complicated old man. With a book he was no longer devious, would not be crooked. If only I’d got here earlier, thought Ray, sadly.

    He was thinking now of that scrumptious house up on the hillside where William lived. Had he seen any books? He’d only been in the one room …
    “What d’you like to read?”
    “Never read any books at all.” That is one answer. Another, more to be despised, comes from people ashamed of being thought illiterate.“Never seem to get the time for reading now.” But really it had been an idle question. That was not the road to William.
    “Don’t tell me you look at the television.”
    “Christ no.”
    “So what d’you do? Toy trains? Model ships? Or just sharpen your knives?”
    “Pretty good question. I used to – professional skills, gym, judo, box a bit. Tell the truth – faggoty it sounds – I used to do uh, modern dance group. Too tall though, too heavy. Still, liked that. Hell of a discipline, everything else leaves your mind. I’d like now… teach myself wood carving.” (Teach myself, notice, as against go-and-learn; does the choice of words point to anything?). “No – plain carpentry. Make – make – desk with drawers. That’s very difficult. Make table, to stand even on four legs, that’s already a tall order.”
    “It’s just you and no one else?”
    “That I agree is the weak point.” Is it possible that the thought of Janine stopped Raymond from asking further?
    “Books have been my faithful friends.”
    “Too damn rarefied for me. Or too goddam stupid. Who’s going to waste time asking who killed Roger Ackroyd?”
    “Millions have.”
    “Can’t any of them be policemen.”
    “People like to be mystified. Look at the last page myself, first. There are other sorts of book,” mildly.
    “I’ve seen them, too. Want to make my flesh creep,” with a massive contempt. “Psycho fellow, knife, lies in wait for little children. I’ve spent too many years with the real thing.”
    “The world is very evil,” thinking of the Marquis.
    “Yes it is. I’ve seen some things, Ray. Before I got tapped to rub along with the Great – a few psycho types there, I could tell you some stories – I was PJ. On the street, on the beat. Police reporter comes, get his story for the paper. Wants a bit of blood to tickle up the readership. Know what he always leaves out, what he wouldn’t thank us to give him? The smell, mate, the stink. You won’t find that, in any of the books.”
    “William please do forgive me, I hate to say this, I have in fact worked the night shift on the casualty station in the Hotel Dieu – the well-named – I know what the police brings in and what the cat