Wildly, Tom prepared himself for contact as the apparition strode towards him. Putting his arms up, he closed his eyes, and a cold force slid all round him. He gathered together as much energy as he could within him, and sent it out in a huge burst.

When he opened his eyes, the apparition had gone and there was not even a newspaper on the bed.

Sadness welled up within him, but he pushed it aside. He had to stay alert and clear-headed. It was the only way.

Tom shut his eyes and focused all his attention on the objects in the room. There was the bed, there the walls, behind him the door. All he wanted now was to run out of that door and away.

But he could not.

He sent his mind out. Nothing in the room emanated any energy at all, apart from a box on the bed, which seemed to be where the apparition had come from; and that bore the mark of Jack.

When Tom opened his eyes, the apparition was back where it had been, reading its newspaper. It looked up.

‘Hello, old thing,’ it said, folding the newspaper and putting it aside.

Tom backed away, slammed the door shut and, panting, stood with his back against the door. Leana was on the landing.

‘Any sign of him?’

The dog, as if she understood what he was asking, did not move.

He was mightily relieved when the doorknob didn’t rattle.

‘Zita?’ he called.

He heard her answer from the room next door, and, half afraid, half nervous, he sidled in.

It was just as bare as the other, with another narrow bed, a bedside table next to it and a wooden chair on bare white boards. Tom wondered when was the last time someone had slept in any of these rooms. Cobwebs hung in the corners, and the glass on the windows was grimy.

Zita was draped across the bed, elbow propped up on a pillow, and Tom was surprised to see that she was wearing what appeared to be a nightgown. The feather boa was also wrapped around her neck, and a headband with three sleek black feathers sat on her carefully coiffed hair.

‘Oh, Tommy dearest,’ she said. ‘You’ve found me a little deshabillée. Won’t you share a cocktail with me? I’ve got some new recipes.’

‘Now? We’ve got to find this thing. Any luck in here?’

‘I found one called a Harvey Wallbanger. Sounds remarkable, doesn’t it?’

‘Zita – not now. Can you see anything in here? Is there anything in the drawer?’ He rattled the handle, but there was nothing in it apart from some old bits of string and a paperclip.

‘Do you think it makes you bang your head against the wall? I can’t think why else they’d call it that.’

Tom was poking around in the cobwebs. Nothing.