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Josh snorted. I don't know do we?'

'Yes, as it happens, we do,' Meg said. 'Especially as the tightfisted shit-shoveller never buys a round.'

'That's not true,' Ralph objected.

Barry finished tightening the last of the tank's joints and checked the hose connections yet again. 'Why did this mysterious Doctor want to talk to me?

Did he say?'

'He was interested in the experiments,' Chloe said.

'Was he indeed?' Barry wasn't sure whether to be flattered or suspicious.

Why would someone who wouldn't give a name be snooping around asking about him and his work?

'Probably another of your supernatural groupies,' Josh said. 'The woods are full of them in case you hadn't noticed.'

'What did he know about the experiments?' Barry asked.

'Nothing,' Chloe said. 'Nothing that he mentioned anyway. He seemed to think they were important though.'

'But he knew they were going on,' Barry persisted. 'How did he know they were going on?'

Chloe hesitated. 'I think I may have mentioned it. They're not secret are they? You didn't tell us we weren't supposed to say anything.'

'Oh yeah, right,' Josh chortled. 'He's going to tell us that isn't he?

Ghostbuster Bazzer: discretion, his middle name: publicity, his worst nightmare.' He threw up his hands in mock horror.

Barry nodded and smiled. 'Yes, you're right, it's not a problem.' He found himself wondering whether this very discreet Doctor who was so interested in his important experiments might be something to do with the Kellerfield Research Fellowship. Might he be the source of the funds? Or had he been sent to check up on him by the source of the funds? Pointless to worry about it he decided, after a moment or two of worrying about it. After all, the man hadn't showed up yet.

'What's the septic tank for?' Chloe asked.

Before Barry could speak Josh said, 'It's a bloody great coffin.'

'It's a sensory-deprivation tank,' Meg said witheringly. 'Josh has developed this boring obsession.' Her voice took on a whining tone. 'I'm not getting into that, no way am I getting into that, it's a bloody great coffin.'

'You'll see,' Josh said. 'It's a bloody great coffin. I have a feel for these things.'

Chloe wasn't listening. She moved round the tank. 'A sensory-deprivation tank? Really? Is that what it is?' She looked pleased. 'I always wanted to try one of these.' She peered through the open access hatch. 'Is it for us? Can I have a go?'

'Told you so,' Josh said to Barry. There was something smugly triumphant about the way he said it Barry thought. 'Do I know how to volunteer them,'

Josh went on, 'or do I know how to volunteer them?'

* * *

Frank called her but the dog was reluctant to come to him. She sat shivering unhappily, the habit of obedience in direct conflict with her fear.

He sighed and went back along the path to clip the lead to her collar.

'Come on, you daft old bitch,' he muttered. 'There's nothing to be afraid of.

How often have we done this?' He tugged the spaniel on to her feet and, as though she was relieved that he had made the difficult decision for her, she walked with him into the old wood.

Frank had grown up in the village, which had become a small town after they built the university in the Sixties, and for as long as he could remember local people had said that Norswood was haunted. As kids they'd dared each other to stay in it after dark and there were one or two who claimed to have done it. Bob Cattermole and Cyril Naylor both said they'd been there when the darkness came and they had seen the ghosts.

Frank himself had never stayed once the dusk had started to gather, and he never really believed that Bob and Cyril had either.

All that was long ago, in the distant, childish past. Bob and Cyril were gone, and he was now a middle-aged accountant who made a point of not believing in ghosts. He was a rational man, and to prove it he often quite deliberately walked his dog through the old wood at dusk; he walked after dark if the night was