Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency

CHAPTER 30

From the window overlooking Second Court Dirk watched the moon. “We shall not,” he said, “have long to wait.”

“To wait for what?” said Richard.

Dirk turned.

“For the ghost,” he said, “to return to us. Professor —” he added to Reg, who was sitting anxiously by the fire, “do you have any brandy, French cigarettes or worry beads in your rooms?”

“No,” said Reg.

“Then I shall have to fret unaided,” said Dirk and returned to staring out of the window.

“I have yet to be convinced,” said Richard, “that there is not some other explanation than that of… ghosts to —”

“Just as you required actually to see a time machine in operation before you could accept it,” returned Dirk. “Richard, I commend you on your scepticism, but even the sceptical mind must be prepared to accept the unacceptable when there is no alternative. If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, we have at least to consider the possibility that we have a small aquatic bird of the family Anatidæ on our hands.”

“Then what is a ghost?”

“I think that a ghost…” said Dirk, “is someone who died either violently or unexpectedly with unfinished business on his, her — or its — hands. Who cannot rest until it has been finished, or put right.”

He turned to face them again.

“Which is why,” he said, “a time machine would have such a fascination for a ghost once it knew of its existence. A time machine provides the means to put right what, in the ghost's opinion, went wrong in the past. To free it.

“Which is why it will be back. It tried first to take possession of Reg himself, but he resisted. Then came the incident with the conjuring trick, the face powder and the horse in the bathroom which I —” he paused — “which even I do not understand, though I intend to if it kills me. And then you, Richard, appear on the scene. The ghost deserts Reg and concentrates instead on you. Almost immediately there occurs an odd but significant incident. You do something that you then wish you hadn't done.

“I refer, of course, to the phone call you made to Susan and left on her answering machine.

“The ghost seizes its chance and tries to induce you to undo it. To, as it were, go back into the past and erase that message — to change the mistake you had made. Just to see if you would do it. Just to see if it was in your character.

“If it had been, you would now be totally under its control. But at the very last second your nature rebelled and you would not do it. And so the ghost gives you up as a bad job and deserts you in turn. It must find someone else.

“How long has it been doing this? I do not know. Does this now make sense to you? Do you recognise the truth of what I am saying?”

Richard turned cold.

“Yes,” he said, “I think you must be absolutely right.”

“And at what moment, then,” said Dirk, “did the ghost leave you?”

Richard swallowed.

“When Michael Wenton-Weakes walked out of the room,” he said.

“So I wonder,” said Dirk quietly, “what possibilities the ghost saw in him. I wonder whether this time it found what it wanted. I believe we shall not have long to wait.”

There was a knock on the door.

When it opened, there stood Michael Wenton-Weakes.

He said simply, “Please, I need your help.”

Reg and Richard stared at Dirk, and then at Michael.

“Do you mind if I put this down somewhere?” said Michael. “It's rather heavy. Full of scuba-diving equipment.”

“Oh, I see,” said Susan, “oh well, thanks, Nicola, I'll try that fingering. I'm sure he only put the E flat in there just to annoy people. Yes, I've been at it solidly all afternoon. Some of those semiquaver runs in the second movement are absolute bastards. Well, yes, it helped take my mind off it all. No, no news. It's all just mystifying and absolutely horrible. I don't want even to — look, maybe I'll give you a call again later and see how you're feeling. I know, yes, you never know which is worse, do you, the illness, the antibiotics, or the doctor's bedside manner. Look after yourself, or at least, make sure Simon does. Tell him to bring you gallons of hot lemon. OK. Well, I'll talk to you later. Keep warm. Bye now.”

She put the phone down and returned to her cello. She had hardly started to reconsider the problem of the irritating E flat when the phone went again. She had simply left it off the hook for the afternoon, but had forgotten to do so again after making her own call.

With a sigh she propped up the cello, put down the bow, and went to the phone again.

“Hello?” she demanded.

Again, there was nothing, just a distant cry of wind. Irritably, she slammed the receiver back down once more.

She waited a few seconds for the line to clear, and then was about to take the phone off the hook once more when she realised that perhaps Richard might need her.

She hesitated.

She admitted to herself that she hadn't been using the answering machine, because she usually just put it on for Gordon's convenience, and that was something of which she did not currently wish to be reminded.

Still, she put the answering machine on, turned the volume right down, and returned again to the E flat that Mozart had put in only to annoy cellists.

In the darkness of the offices of Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, Gordon Way clumsily fumbled the telephone receiver back on to its rest and sat slumped in the deepest dejection. He didn't even stop himself slumping all the way through the seat until he rested lightly on the floor.

Miss Pearce had fled the office the first time the telephone had started actually using itself, her patience with all this sort of thing finally exhausted again, since which time Gordon had had the office to himself. However, his attempts to contact anybody had failed completely.

Or rather, his attempts to contact Susan, which was all he cared about. It was Susan he had been speaking to when he died and he knew he had somehow to speak to her again. But she had left her phone off the hook most of the afternoon and even when she had answered she could not hear him.

He gave up. He roused himself from the floor, stood up, and slipped out and down into the darkening streets. He drifted aimlessly for a while, went for a walk on the canal, which was a trick that palled very quickly, and then wandered back up to the street again.

The houses with light and life streaming from them upset him most particularly since the welcome they seemed to extend would not be extended to him. He wondered if anyone would mind if he simply slipped into their house and watched television for the evening. He wouldn't be any trouble.

Or a cinema.

That would be better, he could go to the cinema.

He turned with more positive, if still insubstantial, footsteps into Noel Road and started to walk up it.

Noel Road, he thought. It rang a vague bell. He had a feeling that he had recently had some dealings with someone in Noel Road. Who was it?

His thoughts were interrupted by a terrible scream of horror that rang through the street. He stood stock still. A few seconds later a door flew open a few yards from him and a woman ran out of it, wild-eyed and howling.