Chapter Thirty-Eight
That evening, neither Larry, Mifkin, nor any member of staff slept, obligated as they were to race around to guests’ rooms, master keys at the ready, to free them from their beds.
Perhaps an explanation is in order.
Some incorrigible prankster—suspected by everyone to be Sanns—had broken into rooms and, whilst their occupants slept, tied them to their beds with their sheets. No molestation, it must be stressed, took place; but the indignity of having been spied in one’s nightclothes, and pinioned to what is meant, after all, to be a place of safety for the frolic of one’s subconscious, was felony enough.
So, for example, Mister Glen Stoupes, sinking out of a dream of going fishing with his brother, found his wrists and ankles inexplicably fastened to the bedposts. Warring within his brain were the reluctance to shout for help, with the humiliation he felt sure to have to suffer, and the prospect of dying from thirst in this uncomfortable position. Self-preservation carried the day, and Aloysius was gifted the honour of liberating the American. Glen’s first move was to find his wallet and offer the man some bills, which Aloysius, not wishing to insult the guest, accepted. His second was the toilet.
Frau Gilda Hühnerbeinstein, who, no matter how often she fell asleep with Hypnos embracing her from behind, yet still so choreographed as to allow that pagan deity’s fingers to reach around and fondle her intimate organs—that is to say, lying on her side—invariably woke to find herself on her stomach—her voluminous bosom and expansive belly providing supplemental cushioning, almost to the hyperbolic height of “Princess and the Pea” fame—now, discovering herself strapped down with her mouth pressed against her pillow, trusted in Providence to supply, if not a logical explanation, at least her deliverance from so unchaste a pose. As Providence, she acknowledged, did not always roll up of its own accord, but at times required a little push, she screamed hyperfortissimo till several members of staff arrived.
Likewise Gangakanta, who for almost an hour refused to believe he wasn’t dreaming, until he, like Glen, really had to go to the loo, at which point he tried to solve the problem through logical convolution, then, having failed, called for help.
Miss Deirdre Laoghaire barely bothered to lift an eyebrow at the discovery, but sighed and began to beg Death, whom she strongly suspected to be the culprit, to finish the job. She saw no need to call for help, and it was only when Mifkin, who ultimately had to knock on everyone’s door to ensure their welfare this morning, demanded from without to know whether or not she was tied up, and she, not wishing to lie, admitted her situation, that she accepted her freedom to suffer yet another day.