‘What is happening is all wrong!’ the bursar confided, and clapped his hand over his mouth at the enormity of what he had said.
‘Oook?’
It was the faintest of noises, like the eructation of cockroaches.
Suddenly emboldened, Spelter pressed his lips closer to the crack.
‘Have you got the, um, Patrician in there?’
‘Oook.’
‘What about the little doggie?’
‘Oook.’
‘Oh. Good.’
Spelter lay full length in the comfort of the night, and drummed his fingers on the chilly floor.
‘You wouldn’t care to, um, let me in too?’ he ventured.
‘Oook!’
Spelter made a face in the gloom.
‘Well, would you, um, let me come in for a few minutes? We need to discuss something urgently, man to man.’
‘Eeek.’
‘I meant ape.’
‘Oook.’
‘Look, won’t you come out, then?’
‘Oook.’
Spelter sighed. ‘This show of loyalty is all very well, but you’ll starve in there.’
‘Oook oook.’
‘What other way in?’
‘Oook.’
‘Oh, have it your way,’ Spelter sighed. But, somehow, he felt better for the conversation. Everyone else in the University seemed to be living in a dream, whereas the Librarian wanted nothing more in the whole world than soft fruit, a regular supply of index cards and the opportunity, every month or so, to hop over the wall of the Patrician’s private menagerie.[13] It was strangely reassuring.
‘So you’re all right for bananas and so forth?’ he inquired, after another pause.
‘Oook.’
‘Don’t let anyone in, will you? Um. I think that’s frightfully important.’
‘Oook.’
‘Good.’ Spelter stood up and dusted off his knees. Then he put his mouth to the keyhole and added, ‘Don’t trust anyone.’
‘Oook.’