When he looked, it wasn’t there.
Very good. Mr (not doctor, never doctor) Bluewell turned back to look at the door again. If this keeps up, he might be able to give a positive report. Then, that stone man, Granforth, would be able to scrounge up some appreciation at last.
3:34 switched to 3:35 and no sign of it. Mr Bluewell picked up the phone and dialled.
“Hello, is Mr Granforth in?”
No, he wasn’t. It was his teenaged aide, armed with a list of questions from Granforth for him to bypass before being allowed the privilege of an interview with Granforth. Who did Granforth think he was, a lord?
“Yes, it’s been invisible for more than five minutes. Yes, I haven’t detected it. No, it hasn’t tried to get out yet but I’m not facing the door so I’ll know when I consult the cameras.”
There was a buzzing in his left ear. Bluewell reached up and, with impeccable timing, grabbed the beak just as it was about to pierce his temple.
“Yes, it still wants blood.”
The aide adopted an undeserved smugness “Dr Granforth told me not to pass you over to him until it succeeds in sneaking up on you. I’m sorry but I can’t help you.”
So, he didn’t expect a call until Bluewell was dead. Good to know. Bluewell took hold of its thin flailing legs and carried it back to his cage. He was about to return to his desk but, then, crossed the room and opened the door. Granforth didn’t believe in lifts. It was a straight corridor winding right up to his office. He turned as slowly as he could to the cage.
When he looked again, it was gone.