Lockwood & Co.: The Screaming Staircase

and ill at ease. He stalked around the room, glaring at the artefacts, sipping at his tea.
    ‘Put the letter on the sideboard, please,’ Lockwood said. ‘I’ll look at it later.’
    ‘No good being miffed, Mr Lockwood,’ Barnes said. ‘This is what happens when an agency isn’t properly run. No supervisors! Agencies with adults ensure everything’s done with maximum care for property and minimum loss of life. But you’ – he waved a hand disgustedly – ‘you’re nothing but three kids playing at grown-up games. Everything in this house is testament to that, even this rubbish on the wall.’ He peered at a small label. ‘“An Indonesian ghost-catcher”? Fiddle-faddle! Belongs in a museum!’
    ‘That collection was my mother’s,’ Lockwood said quietly.
    The inspector didn’t hear; he tossed the envelope onto the sideboard and, in the same moment, noticed the object concealed beneath the spotty handkerchief. Frowning, he flicked the cloth aside, revealing the jar of yellow smog. His frown deepened. He bent close, peered into its depths. ‘And this? What’s this monstrosity? Some other appalling specimen that should have been incinerated long ago . . .’ He tapped dismissively on the glass.
    ‘Er, I wouldn’t do that,’ Lockwood said.
    ‘Why not?’
    A rush of yellow plasm; the ghost’s face congealed into existence directly opposite Barnes’s own. Its eyes bulged out as if on stalks; its mouth gurned wide, revealing an Alpine range of jagged teeth. It was doing something improbable with its tongue.
    It was hard to guess exactly how much of the apparition the inspector saw. Certainly he sensed something . Emitting a whoop like a howler monkey, he sprang back in terror. His hand jerked high; hot, strong tea rained down over his face and shirt-front. The cup clattered to the floor.
    ‘George,’ Lockwood said mildly, ‘I told you to keep that jar downstairs.’
    ‘I know. I’m so forgetful.’
    Barnes was blinking, gasping, wiping at his face. ‘You irresponsible idiots! That hellish thing – what is it?’
    ‘Not sure,’ George said. ‘Possibly a Spectre of some kind. Sorry about that, Mr Barnes, but really you shouldn’t have looked so close. It’s easily startled by grotesque shapes.’
    The inspector had snatched up a napkin from the tea tray and was dabbing at his shirt; now he scowled round at us all. ‘This is exactly what I’m talking about,’ he said. ‘Jars like that shouldn’t be kept in private homes. They need to be in secure locations, under the control of responsible institutions – or, better still, destroyed. What if that ghost got free? What if some kid came in and found it? I could barely see the outline and it frightened me half to death, and you go leaving itcasually on a sideboard.’ He shook his head sourly. ‘Like I say, you’re just playing games. Well, I’ve said what I came for. Read those documents, Mr Lockwood, and think about what you want to do. Remember – four weeks is all you’ve got. Four weeks and sixty thousand pounds. No, don’t bother seeing me out; I can manage, assuming some ghoul doesn’t devour me in the hall.’
    He slapped his hat on his head and stomped from the room. We waited until we heard the front door slam.
    ‘Rather a tiresome meeting in so many ways,’ Lockwood said, ‘but it perked up a little towards the end.’
    ‘Didn’t it?’ George chuckled. ‘That was priceless. Did you see the look on his face!’
    I grinned. ‘I’ve never seen anyone move so fast.’
    ‘He was absolutely petrified, wasn’t he?’
    ‘Yeah. That was great.’
    ‘ Really funny.’
    ‘Yes.’
    Our laughter drained away. There was a long silence. We all stared out at nothing.
    ‘ Can you pay the Hopes off?’ I said.
    Lockwood took a deep breath; the effort seemed to pain him – he rubbed the side of his ribs irritably. ‘In a word: no. I’ve got this house, but not much in the bank. Nothing like enough to fix the Hopes’ place, anyway. The only way I could do it is sell up here, and that’s effectively the end of theagency, as Barnes well knows . . .’ For an instant he seemed to shrink back into his chair; then a switch was flicked and energy returned. He flashed us both a bruised, resplendent smile. ‘But it’s not going to come to that, is it? We’ve got four weeks! That’s plenty of time to earn some real cash! What we need is a really high-profile case that gives us a bit of significant publicity, gets the ball