Smith gets out of the car and runs hopelessly. He’s not wearing the right shoes and he’s fatter than she realised when she met him. Leather soles skid on the road surface and he slips. He looks back over his shoulder, and starts to run again. The Inspector wonders whether he’s telling himself that it must be a nightmare, and if so whether he’s running through some variant of those same three tests she performs herself. There’s text on the walls of the tunnel, some sort of notice, if he dared to stop and read it. Perhaps that’s how he got caught. But no: he runs, with a single-minded certainty and desperation that almost makes her care about him.