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I arrived back at the house with only twenty minutes to get ready for dinner -- and to slip into Laura's room to say that the letters were safely in Fanny's hands.

Earlier in the day I had heard Sir Percival make the same request, and this was the second time the Count had postponed the talk. Why, I wondered? And what was it that Sir Percival wanted to discuss so urgently?

"At least that means he hasn't found her yet," I said.

Laura looked pale. "I'm not coming down to dinner," she said. "Sir Percival came to my door, shouting at me to tell him where Anne Catherick is."

At dinner the Count looked hot and red in the face, and his clothes were a little untidy. Had he been out too, I wondered? He seemed troubled by some secret annoyance or anxiety, and was almost as silent as Sir Percival. At the end of the meal, when Madame Fosco and I left the table, the Count stood up too.

"Where are you going, Fosco?" Sir Percival said. "Sit down and have another glass of wine. I want a quiet talk with you."

"Not now, Percival. Later," he answered.

I said goodnight to everybody, and as I left the room, I heard Sir Percival say impatiently to the Count, "Come outside and have a smoke, Fosco."

We went into the living room and Madame Fosco, usually so slow and deliberate in her movements, drank her tea at great speed and then slipped quietly out of the room. I began to leave too, but the Count stopped me, first by a request for more tea, then by asking my opinion on some music, and then by playing several noisy Italian songs on the piano. Eventually, I escaped from him and went up to Laura's room. Had she seen or heard anything of Madame Fosco, I asked? No, she had not. We talked together till ten o'clock, and then I went downstairs again to say goodnight. Sir Percival, the Count and his wife were sitting together in the living room. I noticed that Madame Fosco's face was now hot and red. Where had she been, and what had she been doing? As I looked at her, she gave a little smile, as though at some private joke.

"With pleasure, Percival, when all the ladies have gone to bed," replied the Count.

"Wait till we see that light go out," replied the Count. "When I know she's in bed, and I have checked the rooms on each side of the library, then we will talk."

Suddenly I saw two red points of light advancing in the dark and stopping below my bedroom window, inside which a candle was burning. One red point was small, the other was big. The Count smoking a cigarette, and Sir Percival smoking a cigar, I think. They could not see me in the darkness of my sitting room, so I waited to hear what they said.

Up in my room, I could not stop myself thinking about this private discussion between Sir Percival and the Count, postponed all day and now, it seemed, about to take place in the silence and loneliness of the night. After a while, I went from my bedroom into my sitting room, and closed the door between the rooms. It was dark, as no candles were lit, and I looked out of the open window for some time, down into the blackness of the garden. There was a smell like rain in the still, heavy air.

"Why don't you come in and sit down?" Sir Percival said.

I went back to my bedroom, put on a long dark cloak with a hood, and put out the candle. Then, after a while, I returned to my sitting room and climbed out of the window on to the verandah roof. My heart began to beat very fast. I had to pass five windows -- four were dark, but the fifth window was the Countess's room, and it looked out over the exact place above the library where I planned to sit. And there was still a light in it. I crept along the roof, then went down on my hands and knees to pass her window. As I passed, I looked up -- and saw her shadow against the thin curtains at the window…

Such secrecy! I decided I must listen to this conversation, in spite of the Count's efforts to keep it private. The idea terrified me, but Laura's happiness -- perhaps even her life -- might depend on what I heard. How could I do it? I realized I could get out on to the flat verandah roof which ran past the bedrooms, about three feet below the windows. It was narrow, but there was room to move along it till I was above the library window. The Count and Sir Percival usually sat near the open window, smoking, and if they did, I would be able to hear them from above.

"Listen, Percival. This is our situation. We both came to this house in need of money and the only way of getting it was with the help of your wife. Now what did I tell you? I told you never to lose your temper with her, and especially never with her sister, Miss Halcombe. And have you remembered this? Not once. Your mad temper lost your wife's signature, lost the ready money, made Miss Halcombe write to the lawyer for the first time --"

"Miss Halcombe's light is out, the rooms next door are empty, the only window with a light in is my wife's -- so now we may talk. We are at a serious crisis in our affairs, Percival, and we must decide about the future tonight."

I stop breathing. Has she heard me? Will she look out? No, the shadow moves away, she's gone. Now I move to my position at the edge of the roof and begin to listen. Are they there, or have they gone elsewhere for their talk? Ah, I can hear the Count's voice.

"First time! Has she written again?"

"It's a worse crisis than you think," growls Sir Percival.

What! How does he know that? Did he follow me to the hotel? But even if he did, he couldn't have seen the letters -- they went straight from my hand to Fanny's dress. So how does he know?

"What money do you actually get from your wife at present?"

"Yes, she has written again today."

"None."

"Only the income from her twenty thousand pounds."

"You're lucky," the Count continues, "that you have me in the house to undo the harm that you do. Lucky that I said no when you were mad enough to make your wife a prisoner and keep her from Miss Halcombe. Can't you see that Miss Halcombe has the courage and understanding of a man? How I admire that woman! But she stands like a rock between us and that pretty little wife of yours. Now, the money. We have obtained a loan -- a horribly expensive loan -- by signing a document promising to repay it in three months. When the time comes, is there really no way to repay the money except by the help of your wife?"

"Absolutely nothing -- except in the case of her death."

"Do you expect any more from your wife?"

"Speak for yourself as well as for me, Fosco. You would also gain -- my wife's death would be ten thousand pounds in your wife's pocket."

Sir Percival again. "If she leaves no children, I get her twenty thousand pounds."

"Percival, you must now leave this matter in my hands. I have more than two months to find the solution, so let's not talk about it any more. Let me help you with your other difficulty -- the difficulty that seems to have the name of Anne Catherick."

"Percival, here is the position. If your wife lives, you pay that debt with her signature on the document. If your wife dies, you pay the debt with her death."

A pause. It has begun to rain, and already I feel wet and cold.

"You would gain twenty thousand pounds."

"Aha! In the case of her death."

"Fosco! That's a very direct question."

"Percival! Do you care about your wife?"

"Let's say your wife dies before the end of the summer --"

The light in Madame Fosco's room goes out, and the verandah roof is now sunk in darkness. The rain continues. I Listen with every nerve in my body, memorizing word after word.

"Forget it, Fosco!"

"Look, Fosco, we may be friends, but we still have our secrets. This does not concern you. Please don't ask me about it."

"My friend, I can respect a secret. So I won't ask you to tell me. But can I help you all the same?"

"Out of the country. He sailed for America."

"If I don't find Anne Catherick, I'm a lost man. Both she and her mother know this -- this secret. It could ruin me, Fosco. Anne Catherick has spoken to my wife and I'm sure she's told her."

"But as your wife, surely it's in her interest to keep it a secret?"

"Yes, yes, I see. Where is Mr Hartright?"

"If she loved me, that would be true. But she's in love with someone she met before we married, a drawing teacher called Walter Hartright. And who helped Anne Catherick escape from the asylum? Hartright. Who saw her again in Cumberland? Hartright. He knows the secret, and my wife knows the secret. If they get together, they will use it against me."

"Don't worry, then. I will deal with him if he ever comes back. Depend on it. But first we must find Anne Catherick. What about her mother? Can she be trusted?"

"Good. Now, how will I recognize Anne Catherick?"

"It's in her interest not to tell anyone the secret."

"Easily. She's the pale, sickly likeness of my wife."

"What!!! Are she and your wife related to each other?"

"And yet so alike? Well, I will know her when I see her."

A noise as a chair is pushed back. The Count has jumped to his feet and is walking about. He seems amazed.

"What the devil are you laughing about, Fosco?"

"Not at all."

"Just a thought, my good friend, just a thought. But enough for tonight. You will pay the debt and find Anne Catherick. I promise you. You can put your mind at rest, Percival."

Not another word is spoken. I hear the library door close. I am wet to the skin, stiff and aching with the cold. At first I can't move, but slowly, painfully, I creep back to my window and climb in. As I fall on the floor, I hear the clock strike a quarter past one. Time passes. Somehow I manage to get up and put on dry clothes. I am burning hot -- and shivering with cold. I know I must write down what I have heard, so I find paper and pen and write without stopping. The fever rises in me, burning, burning. I open the window for cool air…

Eight o'clock. Bright sunshine, which hammers at my eyes. My head aches, my bones ache, my skin burns, yet I cannot stop shivering. I lie down to sleep, my writing finished, and in my fever I see Count Fosco come into my room and read the pages I have written. He smiles. I am helpless -- unable to move, speak, breathe… and I sink into the long, black night of illness…