an amused yet authoritative voice who seemed to be trying to persuade
somebody to make a speech。 For a period of thirty seconds to a minute she would
hear this； long enough to grow faint with terror； and then it would be gone
again and she would only hear Jack； talking in that manding yet slightly
slurred way she remembered as his drunk…speak voice。 But there was nothing in
the hotel to drink except cooking sherry。 Wasn't that right？ Yes； but if she
could imagine that the hotel was full of voices and music； couldn't Jack imagine
that he was drunk？
She didn't like that thought。 Not at all。
Wendy reached the lobby and looked around。 The velvet rope that had cordoned
off the ballroom had been taken down； the steel post it had been clipped to had
been knocked over； as if someone had carelessly bumped it going by。 Mellow white
light fell through the open door onto the lobby rug from the ballroom's high；
narrow windows。 Heart thumping； she went to the open ballroom doors and looked
in。 It was empty and silent； the only sound that curious subaural echo that
seems to linger in all large rooms； from the largest cathedral to the smallest
hometown bingo parlor。
She went back to the registration desk and stood undecided for a moment；
listening to the wind howl outside。 It was the worst storm so far； and it was
still building up force。 Somewhere on the west side a shutter latch had broken
and the shutter banged back and forth with a steady flat cracking sound； like a
shooting gallery with only one customer。
（Jack； you really should take care of that。 Before something gets in。）
What would she do if he came at her right now；