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DR. WHITE’S CONSULTING ROOM looked like any other doctor’s. And when he put a white coat on over his suit and washed his hands thoroughly for a long time, Dr. White looked like any other doctor I’d ever seen. Only the little fair-haired ghost boy beside him was rather unusual.
“Jacket off, sleeves up,” said Dr. White.
Mr. George translated for him. “Would you please be kind enough to take your jacket off and roll your sleeves up?”
The little ghost was watching, interested. When I smiled at him, he hastily hid behind Dr. White, only to peer out again a second later. “Can you by any chance see me?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Don’t look,” grunted Dr. White, tying a bandage around one arm.
“I don’t mind the sight of blood,” I said. “Even when it’s my own.”
“The others can’t see me,” said the little ghost.
“I know,” I said. “My name’s Gwyneth. What’s yours?”
“Dr. White to you,” said Dr. White.
“I’m Robert,” said the ghost.
“That’s a very nice name,” I said.
“Thank you,” said Dr. White. “I’ll return the compliment by saying you have very nice veins.” I’d hardly felt the needle prick me. Dr. White carefully filled a little tube with my blood. Then he exchanged the full tube for an empty one and filled that too.
“She isn’t talking to you, Jake,” said Mr. George.
“She isn’t? Who is she talking to, then?”
“Robert,” I said.
Dr. White’s head jerked up. He looked straight at me for the first time. “What did you say?”
“Oh, never mind,” I said.
Dr. White muttered something to himself that I couldn’t make out. Mr. George gave me a conspiratorial smile.
There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Jenkins, the secretary with the big glasses, came in.
“Ah, there you are at last,” said Dr. White. “You can clear out now, Thomas, and Mrs. Jenkins will see to the proprieties. You can sit over there,” he told her. “But keep your mouth shut.”
“Charming as ever,” said Mrs. Jenkins, but she obediently sat down on the chair he pointed out.
“See you soon,” said Mr. George to me. He held up one of the little tubes with my blood in it. “I’ll just go and put this in the tank,” he added with a grin.
“Where’s the chronograph kept? And what does it look like?” I asked as the door closed behind Mr. George. “Can you sit in it?”
“The last person to question me about the chronograph stole it nearly two years later.” Dr. White took the needle out of my arm and pressed a piece of gauze on my skin to stop the bleeding. “So I’m sure you’ll understand that I’m reluctant to answer such questions.”
“The chronograph was stolen?”
Robert, the little ghost boy, nodded vigorously.
“By your delightful cousin Lucy herself,” said Dr. White. “I remember the first time she sat here. Apparently just as innocent and naive as you seem now.”
“Lucy’s nice,” said Robert. “I like her.” Being a ghost, he probably felt as if he’d last seen Lucy only yesterday.
