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Water； I thought； I had water in my veins。
He reached down suddenly and clamped his hand round my right wrist； pulling fiercely upwards。
I jerked my wrist out of his grasp and without warning he bashed the wrench across my knuckles。 In the moment of utter numbness that resulted he slid the open jaws of the wrench onto my wrist and tightened the screw。 Tightened it further； until the jaws grasped immovably； until they squeezed the upper and lower sides of my wrist together； pressing blood vessels； nerves and ligaments； bearing down on the bones inside。
The wrench was heavy。 He balanced its handle on the arm of the chair I was sitting in and held it steady so that my wrist was up at the same level。 He had two strong hands。 He persevered with the screw。
I said； 'Ellis；' in protest； not from anger or even fear； but in disbelief that he could do what he was doing： in a lament for the old Ellis； in a sort of passionate sorrow。
For the few seconds that he looked into my face； his expression was flooded with awareness 。。。 and shame。 Then the feelings passed； and he returned in deep concentration to an atrocious pleasure。
It was extraordinary。 He seemed to go into a kind of trance； as if the office and Yorkshire and Tilepit didn't exist； as if there were only one reality； which was the clench of forged steel jaws on a wrist and the extent to which he could intensify it。
I thought： if the wrench had been lopping shears； if its jaws had been knives instead of flat steel； the whole devastating nightmare would have e true。 I shut my mind to it： made it 。 cold。 Sweated； all the same。
I thought： what I see in his face is the full…blown addiction； not the cruel satisfaction he could get from unscrewing a false hand； but the sinful fulfilment of cutting off a live hoof。
I glanced very briefly at Yorkshire and Tilepit and saw their frozen bottomless astonishment； and I realised that until that moment of revelation they hadn't wholly believed in Ellis's guilt。
My wrist hurt。 Somewhere up my arm the ulna grumbled。
I said； 'Ellis' sharply； to wake him up。
He got the screw to tighten another notch。
I yelled at him； 'Ellis；' and again； 'Ellis'。
He straightened； looking vaguely down at fifteen inches of heavy stainless steel wrench incongruously sticking out sideways from its task。 He tied it to the arm of the chair with another strap from the desk and went over to the window； not speaking； but not rational either。
I tried to dislodge myself from the wrench but my hand was too numb and the grip too tight。 I found it difficult to think。 My hand was pale blue and grey。 Thought was a crushed wrist and an abysmal shattering fear that if the damage went on too long； it would be permanent。 Hands could be lost。
Both hands 。。。 Oh God。 Oh God。
'Ellis；' I said yet again； but in a lower voice this time： a plea for him to return to the old self； that was there all the time； somewhere。
I waited。 Acute disfort and the terrible anxiety continued。 Ellis's thoughts seemed far out in space。 Tilepit cleared his throat in embarrassment and Yorkshire； as if in unconscious humour； crunched a gherkin。
Minutes passed。
I said； 'Ellis 。。。'
I closed my eyes。 Opened them again。 More or less prayed。
Time and nightmare fused。 One became the other。 The future was a void。
Ellis left the window and crossed with bouncing steps to the chair where I sat。 He looked into my face and enjoyed what he could undoubtedly see there。 Then he unscrewed and untied the wrench with violent jerks and dropped the abominable ratchet from a height onto the desk。
No one said anything。 Ellis seemed euphoric； high； full of good spirits； striding round the room as if unable to contain his exhilaration。
I got stabbing pins and needles in my fingers； and thanked the fates for it。 My hand felt dreadful but turned slowly yellowish pink。
Thought came back from outer space and lodged again earthily in my brain。
Ellis； ing down very slightly； looked at his watch。 He plucked from the desk the cosmetic glove from my false arm； came to my right side； shoved the glove inside my shirt against my chest and； with a theatrical flourish； zipped up the front of my blue tracksuit to keep his gift from falling out。
He looked at his watch again。 Then he went across the room； picked up the unscrewed hand； returned to my side； and slapped the dead mechanism into my living palm。 There was a powerful impression all round that he was busy making sure no trace of Sid Halley remained in the room。
He went round behind me and undid the strap fastening me into the chair。 Then he undid the second strap that held my upper arms against my body。
'Screw the hand back on；' he instructed。
Perhaps because they had bent from being kicked around； or perhaps because my real hand was eighty per cent useless； the screw threads wouldn't mesh smoothly； and after three half turns they stuck。 The hand looked re…attached； but wouldn't work。
'Stand up；' Ellis said。
I stood； swaying； my ankles still tied together。
'You're letting him go；' Tilepit exclaimed； with grateful relief。
'Of course；'Ellis said。
Yorkshire was smiling。
'Put your hands behind your back；' Ellis told me。
I did so； and he strapped my wrists tight together。
Last； he undid my ankles。
'This way。' He pulled me by the arm over to the door and through into the passage。 My feet walked like automatons。
Looking back； I saw Yorkshire put his hand on the telephone。 Beyond him； Tilepit was happy with foolish faith。
Ellis pressed the call button for the lift； and the door opened immediately。
'Get in；' he said。
I looked briefly at his now unsmiling face。 Expressionless。 That made two of us； I thought； two of us thinking the same thing and not saying it。
I stepped into the lift and he leaned in quickly and pressed the button for the ground floor； then jumped back。 The door closed between us。 The lift began its short journey down。
To tie together the wrists of a man who could unscrew one of them was an exercise in futility。 All the same； the crossed threads and my fumbling fingers gave me trouble and some severe moments of panic before the hand slipped free。 The lift had already reached its destination by the time I'd shed the tying strap； leaving no chance to emerge from the opening door with everything anywhere near normal。
I put the mechanical hand deep into my right…hand tracksuit trousers pocket。 Surreal； I grimly thought。 The long sleeve of brown overall covered the void where it belonged。
Ellis had given me a chance。 Not much of one； probably； but at least I did have the answer to my question； which was no； he wouldn't personally kill me。 Yorkshire definitely would。
The two blue…clad bodyguards were missing from the lobby。
The telephone on the desk was ringing； but the bodyguards were outside； busily positioning a Topline Foods van。 One guard was descending from the driver's seat。 The other was opening the rear doors。
A van； I understood； for abduction。 For a journey to an unmarked grave。 A bog job； the Irish called it。 How much； I wondered； were they being paid。
Ellis's timing had given me t