‘Sign, please.’
‘But you don’t seem very susceptible. Poor Uncle Peter!’
‘It will be poor Uncle Peter by the time you’ve finished.’
‘That’s what I mean. Fifty-three, nineteen, four—it’s shocking the way other people smoke one’s fags, and I’m sure my scout bags half of them. Twenty-six, twelve, eight. Nineteen, seven, two. A hundred quid gone before you’ve time to look at it. Thirty-one, fourteen. Twelve, nine, six. Five, fifteen, three. What’s all this tale about ghosts playing merry hell in Shrewsbury?’
Harriet jumped. ‘Damn! which of our little beasts told you about that?’
‘None of ’em told me. I don’t encourage women students. Nice girls, no doubt, but too grubby. There’s a chap on my staircase who came up today with a story.... I forgot, he told me not to mention it. What’s it al
