“Wrong’un?” said Icarus, recalling the expression from the cassette recording. “Just what exactly is a wrong’un?”

“You wouldn’t want to know and you’d better get out of that room real quick if you know what’s good for you.”

“Are you threatening me?” Icarus Smith approached the tiny man.

“No, I’m just giving you some sound advice. If you want to hang on to your sanity, I’d advise you to get out of the room before the four o’clock furore starts.”

“The four o’clock furore?” Icarus glanced down at his watch; it was almost four o’clock.

“Starts at the front door there. Goes up the stairs. Then all of that room goes all over the place.”

“What are you talking about?” Icarus peered over the small man’s head along the hallway towards the front door and then looked back into the ruined dining room. “What do you mean, it goes all over the place?”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to know. Just go out the way you came in and we’ll say no more about it.”

“I have some questions to ask,” said Icarus.

“And I have no answers to give.”

“Were you a friend of the professor?”

“Oh,” said Johnny Boy. “That’s how it is, then, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

Johnny Boy looked up at Icarus. Tiny tears were forming in the small man’s eyes. “You said were. The professor’s dead, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Icarus. “The men from the Ministry tortured him and he—”

“I don’t want to know.” Johnny Boy pinched at the tears in his eyes. “Just go away, will you? You’ll find nothing here.”

Icarus placed a gentle hand upon the small man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m truly sorry.”

Johnny Boy shrugged away the hand of Icarus Smith. “Go, before it’s too late for you.”

“What do you mean? I …” Icarus paused. “There’s a child,” said he. “Standing behind you, beside the front door.”

“It’s staring. Close your eyes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just do what I tell you. Close your eyes.”

“No, I won’t. I …” Icarus stared. The child was moving towards them now. A little girl with a sweet and smiling face. She had a head of golden ringlets and wore an old-fashioned yellow taffeta dress and a pair of pink ballet shoes.

She skipped along the hallway, seeming oblivious of the rubble and the mess.

“Hello,” said Icarus. “And what’s your name, little girl?”

“You can’t talk to them.” Johnny Boy had his eyes tight shut, but he shook his cane about. “Go out of the back door, quickly.”

Icarus dodged the shaking cane. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “It’s just a little girl. Oh, she’s gone. Where did she go?”

A flicker of movement caught his eye and Icarus looked once more into the devastated dining room. A tall man paced up and down before the vandalized fireplace. His face was slim and gaunt with a long hooked nose and a twisted lip and he wore upon his head a periwig. His costume was that of a Regency dandy, all frocked coat and lacy trims. He too appeared oblivious of the rubble and the rubbish, and just paced up and down.

“Who is he?” whispered Icarus. “How did he get past us?”

“Close your eyes, you stupid fool. Do what I tell you now.”

The woman came as a bit of a shock. She seemed suddenly to be there, sitting in a fireside chair. She wore a lavender dress and appeared to be knitting something of an indeterminate shape.

“There’s a woman now,” whispered Icarus. “Where did she come from?”

Icarus sensed, rather than saw, the next arrival. He became aware of a hulking presence, of something oversized, passing him and entering the dining room. It was a giant of a man, with long wild hair, back from the hunt, by the cut of his clothes.

He stormed about the room, ignoring its other occupants and viciously cleaving the air with his riding crop.

The gaunt man continued to pace. The lavender woman, to knit.

Two schoolboys were suddenly playing with an old-fashioned clockwork train set. A crazy-eyed woman, naked but for a speckled band about her neck, danced a lunatic jig. A one-legged soldier with a yellow face hobbled in on a crutch. And then there were more and more and more. And the more and more moved into and through one another. Merging and reforming and blurring and coming and going. And …

It was all too much for Icarus, who suddenly found himself falling into that deep dark whirling pit of oblivion normally reserved for genre detectives who are beginning their cases.

He awoke in horror and confusion to find himself in a garden shed. Lacking Woodbine’s professionalism, the best Icarus could manage was “Where am I?” followed by quite a loud “Aaaaaagh!”

“Calm yourself, lad, calm yourself.” Johnny Boy looked down upon Icarus Smith. “You fainted, lad. I dragged you out here.”

Images swam before the eyes of Icarus. “Aaaagh!” he went once more. “It was ghosts. I saw ghosts.”

“One hundred and six ghosts altogether. I told you not to look.”

Icarus struggled to his knees and glanced fearfully about.

“There’s no ghosts here,” said Johnny Boy, doing his best to help the lad up, but not faring altogether well. “You’re quite safe here in my shed.”

“Your shed?”

“Well, the professor’s shed. But he lets me live here. Let me live here, that is.”

Icarus climbed shakily to his feet. The shed at least looked normal enough. It had the usual broken tools, the usual wealth of old flowerpots, the usual sheddy smell and the traditional half a bag of solid cement that all sheds seem to have.

Upon one wall, however, there was a world map, which looked slightly out of place, but other than that it was all safe shed.

“Bottom of the professor’s garden,” said Johnny Boy. “Beyond the hedge; you have to crawl through. I dragged you through. You’re all safe here.”

“But the ghosts.” Icarus sat down upon the half bag of solid cement. “They were real ghosts. I really saw them. I never believed in ghosts. But they were true. I did see them.”

“True as true, all hundred and six of the beggars.”

Icarus took calming breaths. “Too much,” he said. “That has to be the most badly haunted house in all the world.”

Johnny Boy shrugged. “Probably the same as any other. You just can’t see them, is all.”

Icarus shook a befuddled head. “I’m in a right state here,” he said.

“I told you not to look. But did you listen to old Johnny Boy?”

“No I didn’t,” said Icarus.

“No you didn’t. You’ve got a white face on you. White as Lady Gloria Scott. You saw her dancing nude, didn’t you?”

“You know their names?” said Icarus.

“Researched every one of them for the professor. They were all his fault, after all.”

“I don’t understand a bit of this.”

“No, of course you don’t. But I’ll tell you what. I can see that you’re not a wrong’un, so why don’t we do a deal? You tell me everything you know and I’ll tell you all about the ghosts. Oh, and by the by, I took the liberty of going through your pockets, so I saw the wallet you nicked.”

“I relocated it,” said Icarus.

“So did I,” said Johnny Boy. “But you can have it back later.”

Icarus sighed and shook his head. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I know.” And so he did. He told Johnny Boy everything. About relocating the briefcase and listening to the tape and about what was on the tape and about how he, Icarus Smith, sought to find the Red Head drug and take it and change the world.

Johnny Boy now sighed and shook his head. “Those filthy monsters,” he said. “I knew they’d do for the professor. They came here two days ago and carted him away. Then they came back and smashed the place up, looking for his formula. I hid in here. They didn’t find me.”

“So they never searched this shed?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, sonny, there’s nothing hidden in here.”

“And you don’t know where he hid the formula?”