General Colt was no fool. He understood that being the head of the Housing Department sounded far more impressive than it actually was. The department basically ran itself. Occasionally an Outreach Worker would need replacing, but it was hardly enough to occupy the hours he was expected to spend in the office. Which was just as well as far as he was concerned as it meant that he could spend all the more time working on his golf swing. General Colt was not one of life’s hard workers, and he saw no reason to alter this in death.
Mrs Pringle, however, had other ideas and was forever trying to make him do things.
‘General Colt, I’d like a word,’ she said, entering his office before he had time to pretend to be asleep.
‘I have a meeting,’ he blurted out.
‘Since it is I who schedules your meetings, I’d be surprised if that were true,’ said the woman.
‘Sharp as ever, Mrs Pringle,’ conceded General Colt through gritted teeth. ‘Sharp like a razor.’
‘It’s about Mr Lapsewood,’ she continued.
‘Who?’
‘The clerk you had carted off to the Vault.’
‘Oh, him. Yes, what of him?’
‘I rather think there may have been something in what he said.’
‘The man was trying to undermine me,’ snapped General Colt. ‘He was trying to bring my name into disrepute by consorting with Rogue ghosts.’
‘I took it upon myself to look up the Black Rot he mentioned. It turns out it does exist.’
‘So?’
‘Have you ever heard of the Parisian Problem?’
‘Garlic breath?’ ventured General Colt.
‘No,’ replied Mrs Pringle, distinctly unamused. ‘Perhaps you should read this.’
She dropped a heavy file onto his empty desk.
‘Ah, well,’ said the general, flicking through the pages. ‘Perhaps I should save this for the morning. It looks pretty hard going.’
‘It is the morning,’ replied Mrs Pringle.
General Colt found his secretary to be a singularly formidable woman, especially when she was in a mood like this. He opened the report and reluctantly began to read.