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explained that they were disguised as an ordinary human family. ‘I am a retired university professor, Gurkintrude is my niece who works for the Ministry of Agriculture and Odge is her god-daughter on the way to boarding school.’ As for the ogre, he told them, he would stay invisible, closing his eye when necessary but not, it was hoped, bumping into things.
    ‘And the dear boy?’ Gurkintrude now asked eagerly . ‘ Dear little Raymond? He is well?’
    There was a pause while Ernie and Mrs Partridge looked at each other and the ghost of the apologizing lady stared at the ground.
    ‘He’s very well,’ said Ernie.
    ‘In the pink,’ put in Mrs Partridge.
    ‘And knows nothing?’
    ‘Nothing,’ agreed Ernie.
    It now struck the rescuers that there was very little bustle round the gentlemen’s cloakroom and that this was unusual. Last time the gump had opened there’d been a stream of people going down: tree spirits whose trees had got Dutch Elm Disease, water nymphs whose ponds had dried up, and just ordinary people who were fed up with the pollution and the noise. But when they pointed this out to Ernie, he said: ‘Maybe they’ll come later. There’s nine days to go.’
    Actually , he didn’t think they’d come later. He didn’t think they’d come at all and he knew why .
    ‘Let us plunge into the bowels of the earth,’ said Cornelius who wanted to be on his way.
    But the Underground had stopped running and so had the buses. ‘And I wouldn’t advise waking Raymond Trottle in the middle of the night,’ said Ernie. ‘I wouldn’t advise that at all!’
    So it was decided they would walk to Trottle Towers and rest in the park till morning. There was a little summer house hidden in the bushes, and close to Raymond’s back door where nobody would find them. The only problem was the wizard who was too tottery to go far and the giant solved that by saying: ‘I pig him on back.’
    This seemed a good idea. Of course they’d have to watch out for people who’d be surprised to see an old gentleman having a piggy back in mid-air, but as the ghosts were coming along to show them the way, that wouldn’t be difficult.
    Odge had gone back into the cloakroom to do something to her suitcase. They could hear a tap running and her voice talking to someone. Now, as she stomped after the others down the platform, Ernie took a closer look at her. At the unequal eyes, the fierce black eyebrows which met in the middle . . . at a glimmer of blue as she yawned.
    Not just a little girl, then. A hag. Well, they could do with one of those with what was coming to them, thought Ernie Hobbs.
    ‘Goodness, isn’t it grand!’ said Gurkintrude, looking at the house which was as famous on the Island as Buckingham Palace or the castle where King Arthur had lived with his knights.
    Gurkie was right. Trottle Towers was very grand. It had three storeys and bristled with curly bits of plasterwork and bow windows and turrets in the roof. The front of the house was separated from the street by a stony garden with gravel paths and a high spiked gate. On the railings were notices saying TRADESMEN NOT ADMITTED and IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN TO PARK – and on the brickwork of the house were three burglar alarms like yellow boils.
    The back of the house faced the park and it was from here that the rescuers had come. The ghosts had returned to the gump. Dawn was just breaking but inside the house everything was silent and dark.
    Then as they stood and looked, a light came on downstairs, deep in the basement. The room had barred windows and almost no furniture so that they could see who was inside as clearly as on a stage.
    A boy.
    A boy with light hair and a friendly , intelligent face. He was dressed in jeans and a sweater – and he was working. On a low table stood a row of shoes – shoes of all shapes and sizes: boots and ladies’ high-heeled sandals and gentlemen’s laceups – and the boy was cleaning them. Not just rubbing a cloth over