"Thank you sir, but—"
"Say no more about it!" The professor pressed the letter into my hands. "Seal it again, and this time I will ensure it is mailed. Until later, my boy!"
He whirled around and was gone the next instant, leaving me with ringing ears and the somewhat crumpled letter. At that moment I decided to post any future letters by my own hand, for it was apparent I would have no secrecy while under the professor's roof. I was also struck by his complete lack of shame in reading my letter, and his willingness to reveal that he had done so.
I thought of my room at the top of the stairs, and the belongings of mine stored within. Had the professor searched those too? Why, just the previous day I'd been absent throughout the afternoon, giving him plenty of time to inspect every nook and cranny. And never mind yesterday… what if it turned into a regular occurrence, him poking through my things? I'd planned on hiding purloined drawings or equipment beneath my bed, or perhaps atop the wardrobe, but I would have to be far more cunning than that if I meant to avoid discovery.
The intercepted letter had served as a timely warning, and I resolved to take every precaution in future. From now on it would be a game of wits, and I was not entirely confident I could hold my own against the professor.
Chapter 19
At one minute to three, just a fraction earlier than ordered, I was ready and waiting near the front door. The others had yet to appear, but I could hear metallic noises from the first floor, and I assumed Roberta was still packing detectors and traps and other devices into the haversacks. I could also hear the professor tinkering in his office nearby, which shared a common wall with the sitting room.
At three past the hour there was still no sign of the professor nor Roberta, and if anything the noises they were making were even more pronounced. I could hear muttered exclamations from the professor, sometimes delight and sometimes displeasure, while Roberta appeared to be chasing around her bedroom in heavy boots, pausing now and then to hurl a tea tray at the wall.
I'm sure I exaggerate, but that is what it sounded like to me as I stood there waiting for them both. There was little to occupy my mind, and I did not want to leave my post in case I was then accused of tardiness. Vacate the hall for but an instant, and the professor and Roberta would inevitably choose that very moment to put in an appearance.
At ten past the hour I began to suspect that both of them might have forgotten our plans entirely, and I decided to approach the professor's study in the hope that my sudden appearance would provoke a response.
That, it most certainly did.
I looked into the professor's office to see him dressed from head to toe in white, with a metal grill covering the lower half of his face. He was holding a weapon which looked like a fencing sword, except it had a forked tip and the guard was square rather than the more usual rounded shape. He also bore the spectacles with the ruby and black eyeglasses.
The professor stood in a crouch, with his legs apart and his weapon raised as though he were preparing to defend himself from an assailant. The forked tip of the weapon crackled and sparked with power, and I looked around in vain for the professor's opponent. There was none to be seen, and the professor appeared to be facing an empty room. Empty, that is, aside from the workbench pushed against the far wall. This held a small brass cylinder nestled in a wooden stand, and I recognised the device as one of those used to contain spirits. As I studied the cylinder I saw the top had been shattered, and even as the significance dawned on me, the professor gave a great cry and sprang forward, sweeping his weapon wildly from side to side. He jabbed, he cut, he thrust upwards, and all the time he grew ever closer to the cylinder standing on the workbench.
I realised that he was duelling with a spirit that only he could see, and I held my breath as the professor fought valiantly. Now attacking, now retreating, and all the while conserving his energy for the final flurry that would drive the spirit into captivity once more. It was an impressive display, and I'm sure it would have ended well had the professor not seen me standing in the doorway. "Ah, Mr Jones!" he cried. "Do you see this newly-fashioned weapon of mine? With this to hand, those wayward spirits will stand no chance!"
He was distracted for no more than a second or two, but that was time enough for the spirit. I saw a baleful red glow attach itself to the professor's arm, and he shook himself wildly, trying to dislodge the creeping red stain. "Back, you foul fiend!" he cried. "Unhand me this instant, or it will go badly for you!"
Unfortunately, the spirit ignored the professor's threats and physical efforts alike, and the stain continued to move towards his shoulder.
At this point the professor employed a tactic which was both brave and foolhardy. With barely a moment's hesitation, he took the weapon in his left hand and applied the forked tip to his right arm, directly above the gleaming red stain. There was a flash of light as the sparking tip made contact, followed by a tremendous bang. I saw the professor hurled backwards across the room, the weapon flying this way, the mismatched eyeglasses the other. As for the professor, he was thrown against the glass-fronted shelving, shattering the panes, collapsing the shelves and scattering brass cylinders,
