him restless; he was tired, he wished above all things to sleep, but
sleep would not come. He turned from one side to the other, he punched
his pillows, he tried to sleep with his head low, and when that failed
with his head high.

He resigned himself in the end to a sleepless night, and lying in his
bed drew some comfort from the sound of voices and the tread of feet in
the passages and the rooms about him. These, at all events, were
companionable, and they assured him of safety. But in a while they
ceased, and he was left in a silence as absolute as the darkness. He
endured this silence for perhaps half an hour, and then all manner of
infinitesimal sounds began to stir about him. The lightest of footsteps
moved about his bed, faint sighs breathed from very close at hand, even
his name was softly whispered. He sat suddenly up in his bed, and at
once all these sounds became explained to him. They came from the street
and the square outside the window. So long as he sat up they were
remote, but the moment he lay down again they peopled the room.

"Sure," said Wogan, "here is a lesson for architects. Build no shutters
to a house when the man that has to live in it has a spark of
imagination, else will he go stark raving mad before the mortar's dry.
Window shutters are window shutters, but they are the doors of Bedlam as
well. Now Gaydon should have slept in this room. Gaydon's a great man.
Gaydon has a great deal of observation and common sense, and was never
plagued with a flim-flam of fancies. To be sure, I need Gaydon, but
since I have not Gaydon, I'll light a candle."

With that Wogan got out of bed. He had made himself so secure with his
key and his tilted chair and his shutters that he had not thought of
placing his candle by his bedside. It stood by his looking-glass on the