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on, wondering if he was about to learn something.
    But no. After a few more moments a soft click at the other end of the line told him that the interchange, such as it was, was over.
    It was unsettling. It could, of course, be some sort of a fault at the Exchange, but inevitably, at this hour of the night and in his situation of total solitude, more sinister interpretations floated unstoppably into his mind. Thieves, checking on whether anyone was on duty before descending on the place? Or – worse – checking that there was only one of him and therefore an easy target for gagging , kidnapping, murdering? Would they threaten him with torture if he refused to hand over the keys? Torture would assuredly be no novelty within these ancient walls – how would he stand up to it? Worse, he felt sure, than even the veriest scullion of those ancient times. Such stamina they had! The weights they could carry, the distances they could walk, the toothaches they endured without dentists, the amputations without anaesthetics! Arnold felt himself to belong to an enfeebled, altogether inferior generation.
    Gradually, it became clear that he wasn’t, after all, to be put to the test. The racing of his heart slowed down and he realised how silly he was being. Nothing was happening. No one was threatening to torture him. The keys were safe in their proper place, hanging on their hook at the head of his bed. It was the best part of half an hour now since that telephone call. If they had decided to break into the place, they’d be here by now.
    All the same, he felt too tensed-up, too wary, simply to go back to bed again. Soon it would be five o’clock, and soon after that the first glimmer of dawn would appear over the dark tops of the trees beyond the park. He decided to bring on the day just a mite early by getting dressed and making a pot of tea. Once you’ve done that, as everyone knows, tomorrow is as good as there.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Saturday dawned cloudless and sunny, as predicted in the forecast, but somewhat cooler than hitherto. Already there was a hint of autumn in the air and when Arnold set off, very early, along the gravel walk towards the Tea Room, a thin white mist shot through with golden lights still hovered above the dew-drenched lawns. Today, he was determined that the Tea Room should be open, come what may. He couldn’t possibly risk the flood of complaints that would certainly reach the ears of Them, if the place was closed yet again, and on Saturday of all days.
    Besides, the auspices were on the whole favourable. He himself was going to be relatively free this afternoon, two of the Tourist guides from the Museum of Magic and Witchcraft at Danehurst having agreed to help him out this afternoon. Thus, if the worst came to the worst, he could give a hand with serving the teas himself, though he didn’t at all like doing so. It was beneath his dignity, and also he wasn’t much good at it; couldn’t skim along balancing the laden trays on the flat on one hand the way the girls could, bless them.
    Bless them provisionally, anyway. They had promised , absolutely promised, that they would turn up this afternoon – though how much difference there was between promising and absolutely promising had yet to be ascertained.
    Still, at the moment it looked hopeful; and reachingthe entrance to the Tea Room, Arnold took out his knife and carefully un-pinned the “CLOSED” notice that had been up all yesterday afternoon. He was anxious to complete this operation before Norris came on duty, and stood about watching the furtive deed and making snide remarks about some people having it easy and not knowing they’re born: that sort of thing. Arnold didn’t think that Norris would actually report him for his defection over the Tea Room, because if he did, then what was to stop Arnold from reporting the mysterious disappearance of all the best fruit from the kitchen garden as fast as it became ripe?
    Not that Arnold would report