"Y'know what really bothers me about that ghost?" Velma asked absently.

"The fact that he was a big, creepy, colorless ghost?" Shaggy replied.

"No, no. If he was really a Pawnee chieftain, why was he wearing a trench coat?"

"And sunglasses," Fred added. "I read a lot of books for history class, but none of them ever mentioned anything about sunglasses on Indians."

"Maybe he's just fashion-conscious," Daphne offered helpfully.

They turned a corner into another hallway that looked much like the previous one, and the one before that. Fred's watch was showing a little over twenty minutes to two o'clock, and they were no closer to anything resembling a storeroom, an office, or a kitchen. He was just about to suggest that there was more to these back rooms than Mr. Wilson had admitted when a pair of large double doors at the end of the hall flew open and a man and woman in nearly-matching black overcoats and sunglasses burst in. Without warning, they pulled nasty-looking pistols from inside pockets and levelled them at the gang. Shaggy dived behind Velma, Scooby dived behind him, and everyone came to a complete stop.

"Hold it!" the woman said harshly.

"Like, it's more ghosts! Run for it!"

"Ghosts?" The man in the sunglasses sounded genuinely confused.

"That's why we're back here!" Fred exclaimed. "Mr. Wilson told us we could investigate. If you don't mind my asking, why are you here?"

The pair of them exchanged a quick glance before replying. "We're investigating too," the woman said.

"Oh, that's great!" Velma said. "Maybe we can investigate together!"

They glanced at each other quickly again. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea . . ."

"Wait!" The man in the sunglasses put his gun back in his pocket, placed a hand on his companion's shoulder, and turned her around into a huddle. Most of what they said was inaudible, but Fred caught something like "Not safe back here." At length they turned back again.

"I suppose it couldn't do any harm. You kids shouldn't be wandering around back here by yourselves, anyway."

"Great!" said Daphne. "It's nice to meet a random stranger who actually wants to help us."

Fred introduced the other members of the gang. "My name," said the man in sunglasses, "is – Tom. Tom Anderson."

His companion added, "And I'm Carrie Moss."

"Are you, like," Shaggy asked, "detectives too?"

"Detectives?" Trinity raised an eyebrow. "Something like that. Yes."

"Now that that's out of the way," Fred continued, "I think we'd better split up and look for clues. I suggest Tom comes with me and Daphne, and we'll look down that hall," and he pointed to the left at the double doors, "and the rest of you can check out that branch."

"Sounds good," said Neo. He brushed past his companion, whispering too quietly for anyone else to hear: "Carrie Moss?"

"Not now, Neo," she hissed. "Shaggy, Velma – stay close." And they marched away down the hall, Trinity's boots clicking briskly on the floor.

Fred, Daphne, and Neo turned left and walked slowly down the hall. The decorations were even more ornate and exotic this way, the walls veritably dripping with tapestries and European heraldry.

"I like your coat," Daphne said suddenly.

"Hm?" Neo had stopped to read from a plaque on the wall, and peeked at her sidelong from behind his sunglasses.

"I said, I like your coat," she repeated. "Where did you get it?"

"Er . . ." He stood up straight and brushed at one of his lapels. "Actually, someone made it for me. My, er, brother – he's a tailor."

"Oh." Daphne sounded moderately disappointed, but asked after only a moment, "What did that plaque say?"

"Chevalier Mal Fet. It's been years since French class . . ."

"'The Ill-Made Knight,'" Fred translated. "I think. If Velma were here she'd know for sure."

"It's not a medieval thing, though," Daphne pointed out. "Actually, it kind of looks like a street map."

"You know, you're right!" Fred exclaimed. "There's Club Hel, colored in red! And Mary Sue's club."

"Yeah," Neo added. "And that's Le Vrai, Mr. Wilson's restaurant, and the old Mercury Theater is marked too." He paused, with an odd expression on his face. "The writing is on the wall."

"What?" Daphne asked.

"I think that's from a song by Simon and Garfunkel," said Fred.

Neo replied, "Just something someone told me once."

"About the song?"

"Not exactly – wait. Did you hear that?" He spun around and stared down the hall.

"It's coming from that door at the end of the hallway!" exclaimed Fred. "Let's check it out!"

They hurried to the end of the hall and opened the door. The room beyond was silent and still by the time they got there – which was secondary to the fact that they were somehow back in the coat check room.

"This is impossible!" Fred gasped.

"I'm sure we weren't going this way!" Daphne wailed.

"Club Hel's back rooms are a maze," Neo said grimly. "We could very easily have been going this way."

The door they had burst through was in the side, almost halfway between the elevator and the counter. They walked cautiously into the middle of the room, peering uneasily between the pillars. Daphne glanced back over her shoulder and was rather surprised to see that the door they had just emerged from was labelled "Janitor."

"At least there's no-one else in here," Neo said.

"Don't be so sure!" Daphne pointed at the men with shotguns walking towards them on the . . . ceiling?

Her companions looked up slowly, eventually meeting the bouncers' guarded, sunglass-veiled gazes.

"Golly," said Fred.