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"See him and persuade him to let you stay in the castle for a week."

Spike shook his head emphatically.

"You don't know him. If I made such a suggestion he'd throw me out. I'll see his secretary—a fellow named Savini; he's a Eurasian or something. Maybe he can fix me. The Green Archer doesn't seem to have done anything more than leave Abe's door open."

"Try Bellamy—invent some reason for getting into the castle. By the way, he bought it for one hundred thousand pounds seven or eight years ago. And in the meantime get the story. We haven't had a good ghost story for years. There's nothing to stop you lunching with Wood. I want that story too. Where are you lunching?"

"At the Carlton. Wood is only in London for a couple of days. He is going back home to Belgium tonight."

The editor nodded.

"That makes it easy. Bellamy is staying at the Carlton. You can cover both engagements."

Spike strolled to the door.

"Ghost stories and children's institutions!" he said bitterly. "And I'm just aching for a murder with complications. This journal doesn't want a crime reporter; it's a writer of fairy tales you need."