"Midnight," I said sourly when we left Warburton to his memories. "Someone has a serious lack of imagination."

Shizuru glanced at me. I wondered if she was thinking about what I'd said in spite of myself to the Colonel.

"It would be important that the timing had significance," she said. "Most likely, Mrs. Dashiell died during the daytime. In this way, it would be impossible for the 'ghost' to appear at the hour of her death."

"Because it wouldn't stand scrutiny in the sunlight," I agreed. "So midnight is what, the default time for ghosts to walk?"

We descended the staircase back to the ground floor. The corridors in this part of the Grange were eerily bare, and the solid stone walls had a cold, forbidding aspect to them that wood did not. It was a measure of how steeped I was in the atmosphere of the house, no, of the moors generally, that I actually felt a surge of warmth when we turned into another corridor with paneled walls and the occasional hung landscape.

"Yes, I suppose it is. And the 'ghost' would be aware of Colonel Warburton's penchant for late hours, and the likelihood that most servants, perhaps the family, would be in bed. It would be dark enough at, say, eight p.m., but there would be many more people about, particularly while there were still female servants in the house as well."

"Wouldn't one of the family have noticed, though? If the 'ghost' always appears on the stroke of midnight--"

"Except that from their point of view, it doesn't."

"Excuse me?"

"Colonel Warburton told us that when the apparition of Mrs. Dashiell herself appears in the garden it is at midnight. We know, though, that the other manifestations do not occur at that fixed time."

She had a point. I remembered the bellow of rage that had echoed through the house on our arrival; it must have been when Warburton had scented the jasmine perfume on the way to his study.

"I see. Since he hasn't told the family what, precisely, he is reacting to, they can't tell the difference between one thing happening and another, and since the 'ghost' doesn't appear every night, there's no pattern for them to notice."

Shizuru nodded.

"That's right."

"But now we know that it's going to appear tonight."

Again the nod.

"That's what you meant about the apparition providing proof, isn't it? You're planning to catch him or her in the act."

"That's right."

I turned to look at her as something odd occurred to me.

"Shizuru..."

"Yes, Natsuki?"

"How did you know the 'ghost' would walk tonight?"

"We just learned it from the Colonel."

"No, you found out at what time it would appear, so you could set a trap. That's not the same thing. Is it because of what you said earlier? That the 'ghost' couldn't afford to break pattern now that we're here because it would prove that there was a person involved?" The flaw is that idea sprang out at me almost as soon as I'd said it. "But no, that can't be it. You can't tell if there's a break in a pattern until you know what the pattern is, and at that point we didn't. So how did you know?"

"I didn't know, at least not in the sense of absolute knowledge. It's more of an impression that I've gotten from the circumstances."

"That doesn't help," I said dryly.

"I'm explaining it badly," Shizuru said, a little regretfully. "What I mean is, I'm drawing a conclusion from the things we've seen and heard, but emotionally, intuitively. We all make assumptions when we reason logically, but one of my assumptions in this case is based on my emotional impression of the people and circumstances."

"I thought that detectives didn't trust intuition."

"Quite the opposite. Hunches and gut instincts are born of experience and knowledge. Intuition is nothing more than the mind catching such small details and putting them into place. It is only unreliable for an untrained mind or in areas where one has no familiarity. Of course, it's necessary to check what one's intuition is telling one against the facts, but often it points the way to the correct results."

"I see."

She smiled at me.

"I think that what you mean is that space where people rely on intuition but they do not have any real understanding of the situation, so their intuitive conclusions are drawn not from the relevant facts, but from their fears and prejudices or some other entirely unrelated circumstances. This is why you often hear people speak scornfully of intuition."

"When you explain it that way," I admitted, "it makes sense." What it didn't do was to answer my initial question, and I had a feeling that she wasn't going to, not yet.

"So this trap," I continued, "how are we going to arrange it?"

"By concealing ourselves in the garden," she said. "The library and the passage don't offer a suitable hiding place, and it's absolutely necessary to catch our apparition in the act."

"Why not wait in the hidden room over the foyer, then? When he comes in to get changed, we jump him?"

Shizuru shook her head.

"We would be noticed at once. The 'ghost' could argue that--like us!--they had just thought of the passage and sought to check it out on their own. Just because it had gone unused for some time does not mean that it is a 'secret' representing guilty knowledge. It would work if we caught the 'ghost' returning to the room to remove the costume, but the timing to slip in while they were out would be too delicate. The garden offers us the best place of concealment."

"Not to mention the best chance of being shot by the man we're trying to help," I grumbled.

"Natsuki, that is hardly likely."

She was right, of course. Mostly I just didn't want to be standing vigil in the cold and damp of a foggy October night. But of course, that's exactly what ended up happening, the two of us crouching in the shrubbery as threads of mist drifted like silver shadows through the garden. We were concealed by the wall next to us that buried our hiding place in darkness as well as by the bushes; the only way someone would know where we were was if they had watched us take up our position from a window. I huddled into my coat, as the moorland air was biting and indeed carried all the dampness of the bogs that I knew lurked beyond the wall.

Maybe it was just that Dartmoor was unfamiliar territory, but the mist seemed somehow different than London's. Of course, it didn't have that yellow tint the city's gaslight and coal-smoke lent the London fog. Perhaps that was the difference: the city was humanity's domain. On the moor, other forces held sway, older forces. I had to remind myself sharply that I was being fanciful. Besides which, whatever I was about to face at midnight wasn't born from out there, but spawned from the human interactions within these four walls.

"I really have some scruples about asking you to join me," Shizuru had said while we were getting ready in my room.

"Why? You think if I actually see the person it might give me too big a hint as to who's responsible?" I'd groused.

"I'm not teasing, Natsuki. There may very well be danger. I can only speculate as to the person's motive, and without solid information I can't predict in what way our 'ghost' will react to being caught. There may be violence."

"And you think...what? That I'm afraid?"

"I think that you're risking being hurt or even killed while trying to help me! This is not your job at all; you're only here as a favor to me, and--"

"Shizuru, do you seriously think that if it's so damn dangerous for the two of us together that I'd let you go face it alone? We're in this together, and that's that."

"Natsuki..."

Me and my big mouth, I was now thinking. If I'd taken Shizuru's offer, I could be tucked up in a warm bed instead of a cold azalea or whatever it was. But I was just grousing for its own sake, I knew, not out of any serious desire to be anywhere else, and at least some part of me was eager, even excited at the chance to settle this matter.

Since I could well be facing a possibly armed and dangerous criminal, I'd taken the precaution of bringing my revolvers. My willingness to stand by Shizuru and face potential danger wasn't solely based on courage and friendship, after all.

"Warburton should have done this himself," I murmured in a low voice. It was another thief's trick that I'd picked up from my underworld connections; a whisper actually carried farther and was more easily overheard than a normal voice at low volume.

"It is my job to investigate these matters on behalf of the client," Shizuru replied, apparently knowing the same trick.

"Not tonight. I mean, before now. He was willing enough to fire a shot at the apparition, and he can predict when she'll appear. Why didn't he set a trap for the 'ghost' like we are?"

"Fear, perhaps. Whatever compels him to keep silent to his family about the ghost's identity might also render him hesitant and frightened, mentally unable to take decisive action. Or it might be a flaw of the imagination."

"You mean, he doesn't have enough to realize that he can do something other than wait and suffer?"

"Or perhaps he has too much imagination. Unlike Natsuki, who refuses to believe in ghosts and simply lays in wait for a human adversary, the Colonel may be able to accept the possibility and so is held back by the belief that it is a genuine supernatural manifestation."

"By which you're saying I'm not bright enough to be fooled?" I managed to put sarcasm into my tone without raising my voice.

"Ara, I am sure that can't be the proper interpretation."

"Yeah, right."

"In any case, it is also possible that Colonel Warburton did in fact attempt to trap the spectre, only to have her not appear. Were I to play ghost, I should take care that my audience was properly seated for the performance."

"In other words, check to see that the Colonel actually was in the study at the time before dressing up." I nodded, though I didn't know if she could see the gesture. "If he was out here laying in wait, the 'ghost' would just put it off for another night."

"Yes, exactly. To you or I that might suggest a human adversary, but to a mind already troubled by fear, I think it would only serve to increase the atmosphere of tension."

Even as we prepared to find out, I couldn't help but wonder who it was that we were laying in wait for. Shizuru claimed to know, and from my experience with her I was sure that she did, but for my part I couldn't see how.

Was it Dr. Brayle? He'd been present for all the known appearances even though he didn't live at the Grange. I doubted that was coincidence, but it might be that someone was trying to frame him. Or, another idea suddenly came to me, he might be wanted as a witness, medical authority to see the Colonel's breakdown. His reluctance to accept that there might be hope for Warburton seemed suspicious, and yet he didn't seem to have a motive, be it personal, financial, or romantic.

Motive, on the other hand, seemed the strongest point against Dashiell, who'd been a family member the longest and had actually been married to the woman whose identity the "ghost" assumed. That gave him by far the best chance to have some grudge against the Colonel and the knowledge to act on it. Still, I had no hint of any actual malice, and the russet-bearded, square-framed Dashiell made an even less likely woman than the tall figure of Dr. Brayle.

Shizuru's client, on the other hand, actually was a woman and would be far more believable in the role even given the presence of distance and darkness. As a family member, she'd be more likely than her fiance to have knowledge of guilty secrets. Yet, Catherine Dashiell had died before she'd even been born; would she know her well enough, perhaps from her uncle-in-law's stories, to convincingly play the part, to know what to use to pull at her father's will? Plus, she'd been the one to hire Shizuru. Could she be so overconfident that she expected to keep up her act under outside scrutiny?

Then there was Ashworth. His service with the Colonel in India meant that that he knew things—including potential motives—that none of the family would know. But in that case, why appear as the sister? Wouldn't his purpose be to carry out that past vengeance?

It was all too confusing. At least I thought I could rule out the other servants, such as the sour-faced driver or the footmen who'd served the meal. Shizuru hadn't so much as spoken a word to or about them, which implied that she didn't consider them as potential suspects. Was she missing a bet there? A long-time retainer might have a grudge as well as knowledge of family matters and the secrets of the house. Or some enemy might have come to work at the Grange to infiltrate it—or a servant might be a confederate or paid lackey of someone else. But then, maybe Shizuru had a good reason to believe that guilt lay elsewhere.

Dinner, she'd said, was where she'd first had a suspicion of who was responsible. But what had happened at dinner? Was it something she'd seen in the room, or about one of the people, or something somebody had said? Maybe it was a combination of different things. I just didn't know; no matter how many times I turned it over in my head I couldn't see anything that pointed the finger of guilt at any particular individual.

I had gotten so caught up in my thoughts that I stopped noticing the discomfort of the weather or the passage of time, which lent me a ghost of an idea as to why Shizuru was always able to stay so calm. I was only jolted out of it by the chiming of a clock echoing from across the moor. No doubt it was from Aldington, perhaps the village church, but it made for an eerie recall to my surroundings as the twelve chimes drifted in as if from the outer darkness.

Then, as the last chime died away, the door opened. It was slow and stealthy, and no light showed from behind it. The hall lamp had no doubt been put out so that no gleam from within the house would spoil the effect; only the fact that our eyes were adjusted to the dark from our vigil let us see it so clearly.

Then she emerged. The long hair, the flowing dress, their bright colors were muted by the darkness but my mind filled them in easily enough from having seen them upstairs, as no doubt Colonel Warburton's mind filled them in from his memory of Catherine's life. The apparition's movements were slow, with an unearthly languidness about them that added to the unreality of the effect, and also helped to disguise anything about the impersonator's walk, particularly if male, that might have given the game away.

I came bolt upright, my right hand smoothly drawing its revolver as I moved.

"Halt or I'll fire!" I snapped loudly, cutting through the mist and moonlight with stark reality. The feel of the gun butt in my hand chased away any lingering feelings of unearthliness, driving home to me that here was a human being playing cruel tricks, not a spirit.

Reflexively, the "ghost" looked towards me, and I saw fear and rage flicker across its features, distorting them. Recognizing the situation, though, it turned and bolted back inside, realizing that I wouldn't really shoot unless attacked. I sprang after it, clawing through the bushes and setting off at a dead run. The apparition was just turning the corner as I got through the door; I was gaining on it quickly for the same reason Shizuru was falling behind me in the pursuit: my male costume was far better suited for running than skirts.

I followed my quarry into the library, where it was no doubt trying to vanish into the secret passage, even lock it behind itself, but I was too quick for it. As it pulled on the carving to open the door, I dove at it. My shoulder crashed into its back, driving it up against the bookcase and pushing the secret door shut again; I heard the latch click to. He grunted in pain, confirming what I'd already realized from his build when I'd hit him, but spun, lashing out with a heavy fist swung in a backhanded roundhouse at my head. I ducked, but his other hand drove a short jab at my belly which connected. He hadn't been able to put his full strength into the blow, and I countered at once with a jab to his face that bloodied his nose.

He came back at me with a couple more quick punches that showed he had at least an amateur's knowledge of boxing, but his dress hampered his footwork and I was able to slip both blows, then drive the heel of my hand into his chin, knocking him back a step into the bookcase.

Sensing his weakness, I slashed my boot out into a short, whipping arc that ended with a hard strike on his knee. It buckled, and he fought for balance, but before he could regain it I stepped in and cracked my gun against the side of his head. He toppled over, crashing to the floor where he lay, stunned.

"That was very impressive, Natsuki," Shizuru said, genuine admiration in her voice.

I brushed my hair out of my eyes; one down side to wearing it long and loose was that it flew around and got in the way when I did anything active.

"I've been in my share of bar brawls and back-alley fights," I said. What I'd done wasn't exactly by Marquis of Queensberry rules, but when you're used to fighting people who outweigh you by fifty to a hundred pounds, you don't put a high value on sportsmanship.

"Well, you learned very well. I am a little surprised that he tried to run, but shock and panic will do that to a person sometimes."

I nodded, though I was only agreeing with the second part of her statement. The impostor Catherine running made complete sense to me, so I wondered why Shizuru thought otherwise.

"You can put that away, Natsuki," she advised. "I don't think our 'ghost' will give us any more trouble."

"No, no I won't," the man said in a dull groan. I holstered my revolver as he pushed himself to his hands and knees, then yanked the wig, which had been knocked half-askew, off his head. A trickle of blood was flowing from a cut in his temple where I'd struck him with the pistol, and Shizuru drew a handkerchief from her sleeve and offered it. He shook his head and dabbed at the wound with his own as he got to his feet.

"Good," Shizuru said. "It's time we got this all sorted out."

Only when he was standing upright again, though, with the wig off and looking right at us, did I fully recognize the face that went with the voice, as I placed the unexpectedly clean-shaven features of Gregory Dashiell.