He lay quietly in his own bed. The time for fighting was long since past and the enemy that foiled him was the only one he had never considered. Unseen, stealthily, it had struck from within, spreading its insidious attack so swiftly that by the time he was aware of its presence it was far too late.

Cowley's travesty of a smile was directed at himself. Men such as he were not meant to die in bed. If they had given him half a chance he'd have made sure he'd died in the field, like--say, Bodie. Or more accurately, Doyle.

His thoughts were distracted by the rumbling purr of the black cat that padded about on the bed. His hand lifted and she settled under his fingers, her wide green eyes flickering to the small clutch of people that hovered around them.

It was Betty, his secretary, who answered the soft knock on the door to let Murphy in. The tall agent questioned her with his eyes and Betty shook her head.

"It's happened so fast," he mumbled and came to the bedside. When he saw Cowley's eyes on him he asked, "Is there anything I can do, Sir?"

"Speak up, man," Cowley answered promptly. "Just because I'm dying doesn't mean everyone has to go about whispering."

Murphy repeated his question.

About to say 'no', Cowley remembered Shadow, who was still purring under his hand. She had been Bodie's cat first, then Doyle's. He had followed Ray's instructions and passed her on to his man's family, but two days after the funeral she had appeared on his doorstep, cold, wet, and voluble; telling him off in no uncertain terms for deserting her. And somehow she had stayed. Odd, he thought, she's outlasted us all. He focused his gaze with some difficulty on Murphy. "Shadow," he told the man. "You take Shadow."

Murphy nodded, his attention far more concerned on the wasted man lying in the bed than on the fate of the small cat.

Cowley relaxed, satisfied that the last and most important bit of business had been attended to. The room fell silent, the only noise the rasping breaths that grew farther apart as dusk approached.

Suddenly Shadow's ears pricked up and she slid from under Cowley's limp hand and bounded off the bed to scratch frantically at the door. Murphy went to let her out. "Well? Isn't that what you wanted? Go ahead."

But Shadow instead turned her eyes back to the room and seemed to be waiting. Murphy glanced at Cowley then straightened. But Cowley's gaze, unclouded by pain and smiling, had gone past him to the open doorway.

"Bodie! Doyle! Come for me at last have you? It's about time!"

Instinctively they all turned. But the doorway was empty. Betty swallowed and took Cowley's cold hand between hers. "Sir...."

He didn't hear, was beyond hearing now and her cool composure cracked as she realised he was gone.

Unnoticed, Shadow's tail waved and she meowed softly as if encouraging someone to accompany her. The door closed of its own accord behind the small cat while the living gathered around the bed, doing what they considered necessary for the dead.

It was some time before Murphy remembered Shadow, but she had disappeared into the night and no amount of calling brought her back.

This time and at long last she had accompanied her ghosts.

-- THE END --