“I’ve got to be behind something, Mr. Poons. That’s what being a bogeyman is all about.”
“Librarian?” said Windle, hammering some more.
“Oook.”
“Why won’t you let me in?”
“Oook.”
“But I need to look something up.”
“Oook oook!”
“Well, yes. I am. What’s that got to do with it?”
“Oook!”
“That’s—that’s unfair!”
“What’s he saying, Mr. Poons?”
“He won’t let me in because I’m dead!”
“That’s typical. That’s the sort of thing Reg Shoe is always going on about, you know.”
“Is there anyone else that knows about life force?”
“There’s always Mrs. Cake, I suppose. But she’s a bit weird.”
“Who’s Mrs. Cake?” Then Windle realized what Schleppel had just said. “Anyway, you’re a bogeyman.”
“You never heard of Mrs. Cake?”
“No.”
“I don’t suppose she’s interested in magic…Anyway, Mr. Shoe says we shouldn’t talk to her. She exploits dead people, he says.”
“How?”
“She’s a medium. Well, more a small.”
“Really? All right, let’s go and see her. And…Schleppel?”
“Yes?”
“It’s creepy, feeling you standing behind me the whole time.”
“I get very upset if I’m not behind something, Mr. Poons.”
“Can’t you lurk behind something else?”
“What do you suggest, Mr. Poons?”
Windle thought about it. “Yes, it might work,” he said quietly, “if I can find a screwdriver.”
Modo the gardener was on his knees mulching the dahlias when he heard a rhythmic scraping and thumping behind him, such as might be made by someone trying to move a heavy object.
He turned his head.