“Fine. Fine.”
“Not going to throw yourself in the river again?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well. Good night, then.” He hesitated. “Forget my own head next,” he said. “Chap over there asked me to give this to you.” He held out a grubby envelope.
Windle peered into the mists.
“What chap?”
“That ch—oh, he’s gone. Tall chap. Bit odd-looking.”
Windle unfolded the scrap of paper, on which was written: OOoooEeeeOooEeeeOOOeee.
“Ah,” he said.
“Bad news?” said the sergeant.
“That depends,” said Windle, “on your point of view.”
“Oh. Right. Fine. Well…good night, then.”
“Goodbye.”
Sergeant Colon hesitated for a moment, and then shrugged and strolled on.
As
he wandered away, the shadow behind him moved and grinned.
WINDLE POONS?
Windle didn’t look around.
“Yes?”
Out of the corner of his eye Windle saw a pair of bony arms rest themselves on the parapet. There was the faint sound of a figure trying to make itself comfortable, and then a restful silence.
“Ah,” said Windle. “I suppose you’ll want to be getting along?”
NO RUSH.
“I thought you were always so punctual.”
IN THE CIRCUMSTANCES, A FEW MINUTES MORE WILL NOT MAKE A LOT OF DIFFERENCE.
Windle nodded. They stood side by side in silence, while around them was the muted roar of the city.
“You know,” said Windle, “it’s a wonderful afterlife. Where were you?”
I WAS BUSY.
Windle wasn’t really listening. “I’ve met people I never even knew existed. I’ve done all sorts of things. I’ve really got to know who Windle Poons is.”