Iona crossed the room and saw with amusement that he was still fully dressed save that he had pulled his nightshirt over his coat and breeches and his nightcap was perched precariously on the side of his wig. She touched his shoulder.
“Hector,” she whispered, not daring to raise her voice. “Hector!”
He grunted and tried to turn over on his side, but Iona shook him again, this time roughly so that he opened his eyes. He looked at her in a glazed way.
“Wake up, Hector! For Heaven’s sake wake up!”
The alertness, which comes instinctively to a man who has once been hunted cleared his brain and almost immediately he sat up.
“What is it?” he asked, and though his voice was thick the words were clear.
“The miniature! My letter!” Iona said urgently. “You forgot to give them to me and I have
