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I located
the ship, and the ship seems to provoke a pretty severe reaction. But where can
we go from here?
    I’ve told you –
I’m only a quack when it comes to the real occult. I don’t see what else I can
do.”
    Dr. Hughes
looked thoughtful. “Supposing you do what I’m doing, Mr.
Erskine. Supposing you seek expert assistance.”
    “What do you
mean?”
    “Well, surely
all clairvoyants aren’t – quacks, like you. Some of them must have genuine
talent for investigating things like this.”
    I put down my
glass. “Dr. Hughes, you’re really serious, aren’t you? You really believe
there’s something occult going on here.”
    Dr. Hughes
shook his head. “I didn’t say that, Mr. Erskine. All I’m doing is exploring
every possibility. I learned a long time ago that, in medicine, it can be fatal
to leave any avenue unexplored. You can’t be narrow-minded, not when a human
being’s life is at risk.”
    “So what do you
suggest?” I asked him.
    “Simply this, Mr. Erskine. If you’re interested in trying to
save Karen Tandy from whatever it is that’s making her ill, go out and find a
real clairvoyant who can tell us just what this goddam ship thing is all
about.”
    I thought for a
while, and then I nodded. After all, I had nothing to lose. At least, I didn’t
think I had anything to lose. And who knows, I might end up with some real
occult knowledge.
    “Okay,” I said,
swallowing the last of my whiskey. “I’m on my way.” Back at my flat, I went
straight into the kitchen and made myself four slices of cheese on toast. I
hadn’t eaten a thing all day, and I was feeling sick. I opened a can of
Schlitz, and carried my meal into the living room. I couldn’t help sniffing
around the place, just to see whether the evil spirit that had possessed Mrs.
    Herz was still
lurking in her shadows, but there was no evidence that anyone had been there.
    Mind you, I
don’t suppose that spirits leave footprints.
    Munching my toast,
I telephoned my friend Amelia Crusoe. Amelia ran a small knick-knackery store
in the Village, and I knew she was well into spiritualism and all that kind of
stuff. She was a tall dark lady with long brown hair and soulful eyes, and she
lived with a bearded guy called MacArthur, who made a living selling customized
social security plates.
    It was
MacArthur who answered the phone. “Who is this?” he said grumpily.
    “Harry Erskine.
I need to talk to Amelia. It’s pretty urgent”
    “The Incredible
Erskine!” said MacArthur. “How’s business in the up-and-up field of ripping off
old ladies?”
    “Pretty good,”
I told him. “How’s the Engravaplate industry?”
    “Not so bad,”
he replied. “It’s not what you’d call a fulfilling career but it brings home
the bacon. Hold on, Amelia’s right here.”
    Amelia sounded
her usual soft, husky self.
    “Harry? This is
a surprise.”
    “ It’s business, I’m afraid, Amelia. I was wondering if you
could help me.”
    “Business? Since when have you been into business?”
    “Cut the
sarcasm, Amelia, this is really important. I have a client who is very ill, I
mean really, urgently ill. She’s been having these terrible nightmares. I’ve
talked to the doctors and they think it might be something to do with
spiritualism.”
    She whistled. “The doctors? I didn’t know doctors believed in spirits.”
    “I don’t think
they do,” I told her. “It’s just that they’re totally baffled, and they’re
willing to try anything to save her. Listen, Amelia, I need to get in touch
with someone who really knows his stuff. I need a clairvoyant who’s really
together, and good. Do you know who could do that?”
    “Harry, that’s
a pretty tall order. I mean, there are hundreds of clairvoyants, but most of
them are about as good as you are. And, no offense meant, that means they’re
lousy.”
    “No offense
taken. I know my limitations.”
    Amelia ummed
and ahhed for a moment, and went through her address book, but after