25

Whatever it was that Lockwood had scribbled in his note to InspectorBarnes, it certainly had the desired effect. The taxi driver had delivered
themessage to Scotland Yard late the previous evening; by midnight Barneshad gathered two van-loads of DEPRAC officers and agency
personnel, andwas on his way to Berkshire. They reached the village of Combe Careyshortly after three, and the estate itself by four. Only their
difficulty inopening the park gates (Bert Starkins, thinking they were phantoms risenfrom his cabbage patch, had shot at them from his window
with ablunderbuss-load of iron filings) prevented them from arriving at the hallprior to five a.m. Even so, they were two full hours earlier than
Lockwoodhad requested, and just in time to block Percy Grebe’s escape.They didn’t turn up a moment too soon for me.It wasn’t ghost-touch or
anything, but my close exposure to AnnieWard’s final manifestation had left me badly dazed. The chill had cut to mybones, and my right hand –
where I’d held the locket – was frost-burned on the palm. Coming on top of everything else we’d experienced in the housethrough the long
hours of the night, it was all I could do to stay upright.Those first chaotic minutes after DEPRAC’s arrival I remember only as ablur.Things soon
started getting better, though. A Fittes medic gave me anadrenalin shot to pep me up. Another bandaged my injured hand. A kindlyDEPRAC
officer did the best thing of all and made me a decent cup of tea.Even Barnes, passing by my sofa in the midst of barking orders all
around,patted me on the shoulder and asked if I was well. I was fine, thanks forasking, but quite content to let someone else take charge.Of
course, events didn’t stop just because I was side-lined. There wasstill plenty going on. The first thing that happened was that the
chauffeur,Percy Grebe, was taken into custody. He’d not seen the gruesome details ofFairfax’s fate, but he’dsensed enough to be left in a state of
abject terror.That terror made him talkative. Almost before he was hustled to his feet,he’d begun to spill the beans.The next thing was that a
crowd of agents, armed to the teeth withrapiers, flares and salt bombs, and swivelling supersized torches zealouslyall around, advanced slowly
out across the Hall. The key word here isslowly. They were mostly Fittes operatives, with some from Tendy and afew from Grimble, and all went
with extreme caution, taking psychicreadings every step of the way. The dark reputation of Combe Carey hungheavy over them, as it did their
adult supervisors dawdling at the door.Lockwood and George stood cheerily by as they began to secure the area,painstakingly passing orders
back and forth, and jumping at every scrapeand shadow.Their first stop, naturally, was the library, and here, by whirlingtorchlight, Fairfax’s body
was located. He lay face-down on the rug in thecentre of the room, with his eyes wide open and his arms outstretched as ifin supplication. The
medics had the adrenalin needles ready, but they didn’ttry to use them. It was already much too late. Fairfax had suffered first-degree ghost-
touch, and it had left him swollen, blue and dead. Immediatereadings were carried out in the vicinity of the locket and all around theroom, but
everything came up negative. The spirit of Annie Ward – havingbeen reunited with her killer – was nowhere to be found.After this, at Barnes’s
command, the operatives spread out across theHall, routing out Fairfax’s servants in the East Wing, and checking thesubstance of our story in
the West. Lockwood and George oversaw theirprogress to the door of the Red Room, which was discovered to be locked.The key, at Lockwood’s
suggestion, was found in Fairfax’s pocket; theroom itself, when a crack team tiptoed in, was empty, quiet and cold.Much to George’s delight,
among the Fittes agents commandeered byBarnes that night was none other than our old friend Quill Kipps, togetherwith his sidekicks, the
blonde-flick girl and the boy with the tousled thatch.George took great pleasure in standing close as Barnes issued them withorders,
occasionally chipping in with suggestions of his own.‘Just through that secret passage you’ll find the famous staircase,’ he said. ‘Ithink we
cleared it of screaming shadows, but perhaps Kipps shouldgo ahead and check. At the bottom is the well room where the massacre of the
monks took place. Maybe his team should take a peek there too. No?They seem reluctant. Well, if that’s too scary, there’s a Grey Haze in
thedownstairs toilet they might be able to cope with.’In fact, any remaining danger was soon past. The first dawn rays brokethrough the
windows of the Long Gallery and stretched warm and goldenacross the floor.In keeping with tradition, Inspector Barnes managed to remain
deeplyannoyed with us even while grudgingly congratulating us on a job welldone. His moustache hung at an aggrieved angle as he stood in the
libraryhalf-light, lambasting Lockwood for keeping the locket secret for so long.‘By rights I should charge you for withholding information,’ he
growled.‘Or stealing evidence from a crime scene. Or recklessly endangeringyourself and these two idiots who follow you around. By coming
here aloneyou knowingly put yourselves at the mercy of a murderer!’‘A suspected murderer,’ Lockwood said. ‘I didn’t fully understand thelocket
inscription at the time.’Barnes rolled his eyes. The fringes of his moustache shot out horizontallywith the power of his snort. ‘Asuspected
murderer, then! That’s hardly anymore sensible! And I notice you didn’t see fit to include Cubbins or MissCarlyle in making that decision!’This, it
had to be said, was a decent point, which was also on my mind.Lockwood took a deep breath; perhaps he realized he had to explainhimself to
George and me, as well as to Barnes. ‘I had no choice,’ he said.‘Ihad to accept Fairfax’s invitation. That was the only way I could get themoney to
pay my debts. And as to the danger we were in, I had full Confidence in the ability of my team. Lucy and George are the bestoperatives in
London, as you can see from our results. We’ve neutralized amajor cluster of Visitorsand overcome a determined and ruthless foe. Andall
without a single adult supervisor in sight, Mr Barnes.’ He switched onhis fullest, most radiant smile.Barnes winced. ‘Put those teeth away. It’s
too early in the morning and Ihaven’t had my breakfast . . . Oi, Kipps!’ Quill Kipps was struggling by,labouring under the weight of three giant
see-through plastic crates. Twowere filled with Fairfax’s theatrical scrapbooks, being removed as evidence;the third contained a chain-mail
tunic, neatly folded, and the two strangeiron helmets. ‘Where’s the second tunic?’ Barnes asked.‘Still on the corpse,’ Kipps said.‘Well, we need to
prise it off him, before he gets too swollen. See to itnow, will you?’‘No dawdling,’ George called. ‘Chop-chop!’‘That reminds me,’ Barnes went
on, as Kipps departed, scowling. ‘Thosehelmets. They were Fairfax’s, I assume?’‘Yes, Mr Barnes,’ Lockwood said innocently. ‘We wondered what
theywere.’‘Well, you can go on wondering, because I’m impounding them. They’reDEPRAC business now.’ The inspector hesitated, twisting a
corner of hismoustache. ‘Fairfax didn’t . . . talk to you about any of this weird get-up,did he?’ he said suddenly. ‘About what he likeddoing in this
place?’Lockwood shook his head. ‘I think he was too busy trying to kill us, MrBarnes.’‘And who can blame him.’ Barnes appraised us sourly. ‘By
the way, one of the helmets seems to lack its eye-piece. Any idea where it might be?’‘No, sir. Perhaps it didn’t have one.’‘Perhaps not . . .’
Rewarding us with a final searching glare, Barnes wentto organize our departure from the Hall. We stayed where we were, slumpedtogether on
the library chairs. We didn’t talk. Someone brought us anothercup of tea. We watched the daylight spread across the fields.When clear-up
specialists re-entered Combe Carey some weeks later, theyfound its supernatural activity much diminished in strength. Their first job,acting on
our report, was to dredge the well. There, at a considerable depth,They found the ancient bones of seven adult males, previously
boundtogether, but now much mangled and mixed with fragments of silver andiron. The remains were retrieved and destroyed, and after that,
asLockwood had predicted, the rest of the house soon fell in line. A numberof secondary Sources were discovered beneath the flagstones of the
lobbyand in old chests in one of the bedrooms, but with the monks’ bones gone,most of the peripheral Type Ones also faded clean
away.Lockwood had lobbied hard for us to be involved in the final cleansing of the Hall, but our bid was turned down flat by the estate’s new
owners – anephew and a niece of Fairfax, who had taken control of his company. Theydisliked the house, and sold it soon after it had been
made safe. Thefollowing year it became a prep school.Fairfax himself had no direct heirs. It turned out that he had nevermarried, and had no
children of his own. So perhaps Annabel Wardhadbeen the love of his life, after all.The remains of the locket were swept up and removed by
Barnes’s menin a special silver-glass canister. Whether the ghost-girl’s spirit remainedtied to it, or whether (as I myself believe) she had
permanently departed, Idon’t know, because I never saw it again.The body of the missing Fittes agent was recovered from the well roomthat
same night and taken away by his modern equivalents. Some time later,Lockwood received a letter from Penelope Fittes herself, head of the
agencyand a direct descendant of its founder, the legendary Marissa Fittes. Shecongratulated us on our success, and thanked us for locating the
body of herchildhood friend and colleague. His name was Sam McCarthy. For therecord, he’d been twelve years old.