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‘That really is incredible,’ said Roshan. ‘Perhaps Bankim put something in the lemonade.’

‘Is nobody going to take me seriously?’ said Ben. ‘You’ve seen the handprint.’

No one replied. Ben focused on his small asthmatic comrade, the most gullible when it came to spooky stories.

‘Siraj?’

The boy looked up and gazed at the rest of the group, assessing the situation.

‘It wouldn’t be the first time something like this has been seen in Calcutta … There’s the story of Hastings House, for example.’

‘I don’t see what one thing has to do with the other,’ Isobel objected.

The story of Hastings House – formerly the governor’s residence in the province south of Calcutta – was one of Siraj’s favourite tales and probably the most emblematic of all the ghost stories that packed the annals of the city. According to local legend, on nights when there was a full moon the phantom of Warren Hastings, the first governor of Bengal, drove a ghostly carriage up to the porch of his old mansion in Alipore, where he would then search frantically for some documents that had disappeared during his chaotic rule of the city.

‘The people of Calcutta have been seeing him for decades,’ Siraj protested. ‘It’s as much a fact as the monsoon flooding the streets.’

The members of the Chowbar Society became embroiled in a heated discussion about what Ben had seen, during which only the person concerned did not intervene. A few minutes later, when all reason seemed to have flown out of the window, those taking part in the argument turned their heads to look at the figure in white that was standing in the doorway to the roofless hall, watching them in silence. One by one, they stopped talking.

‘I don’t want to interrupt …’ said Sheere shyly.

‘An interruption is most welcome,’ said Ben. ‘We were only arguing. For a change.’

‘I heard the last bit,’ Sheere admitted. ‘Did you see something last night, Ben?’

‘I don’t know any more,’ he admitted. ‘How about you? Have you managed to escape from your grandmother? I think we got you into trouble last night.’

Sheere smiled and shook her head.

‘My grandmother is a good woman, but sometimes she gets obsessed and thinks there’s danger lurking round every corner,’ Sheere explained. ‘She doesn’t know I’m here, so I can’t stay long.’

‘Why not? We were thinking of going down to the docks; you could come with us,’ said Ben, much to the surprise of the others, as this was the first they’d heard of the plan.

‘I can’t go with you, Ben. I came to say goodbye.’

‘What!’ cried various voices at once.

‘We’re leaving for Bombay tomorrow. My grandmother says this city isn’t safe and we must leave. She forbade me from seeing you again, but I didn’t want to go without saying goodbye. You’re the only friends I’ve had in ten years, even if that was just for a night.’

Ben looked at her in astonishment.

‘You’re going to Bombay?’ he exploded. ‘Why? Does your grandmother want to be a film star? This is absurd!’

‘I’m afraid it isn’t,’ Sheere said sadly. ‘I’ll only be in Calcutta for a few more hours. I hope you don’t mind if I spend some of that time with you.’

‘We’d love you to stay, Sheere,’ said Ian, speaking for all of them.

‘Just a minute,’ Ben protested. ‘What’s all this business about saying goodbye? A few more hours in Calcutta? That’s nonsense. You could spend a hundred years in this city and not understand half of what goes on here. You can’t just leave like that. Even less now that you’re a full member of the Chowbar Society.’

‘You’ll have to talk to my grandmother,’ Sheere sighed.

‘That’s exactly what I plan to do.’

‘Great idea,’ Roshan said. ‘You made a wonderful impression on her yesterday.’

‘Oh ye of little faith!’ Ben retorted. ‘What happened to our vow? As members of the society, we have to help Sheere find her father’s house. Nobody leaves this city until we’ve found it and unravelled its mysteries. And that’s that.’

‘Count me in,’ said Siraj. ‘But how are you going to do it? Are you going to threaten Sheere’s grandmother?’