The Forgotten Room Read Online Free PDF

expression of theatrical surprise.
    “Well, well,” he said. “I was wondering if you might be showing up about now.”
    “Hello, Roger,” said Logan.
    “Hullo, yourself.” Roger Carbon had a honeyed English accent that somehow made everything he said sound slightly disdainful. He turned to the others. “Jonathan, you remember Jeremy Logan, no doubt. Zoe, you wouldn’t. Although you might have seen him on television. I happened to catch you on CNN just the other night. ‘There ain’t no Nessie.’ How droll.”
    Logan merely nodded. Roger Carbon, specialist in evolutionary psychology, had been Logan’s nemesis during his time at Lux, considering his work on enigmas and the qualification of supernatural phenomena to be sensationalist, beneath the institution. Carbon had been one of a small group that had been instrumental in seeing that Logan was asked to leave.
    A waiter appeared at Logan’s side with a small printed menu;Logan glanced at it, checked off his choices, and passed it back to the waiter, who quickly vanished.
    “I must say, the modus operandi you described sounded remarkably scientific,” Carbon went on airily. “And you have a name for your, ah, discipline now—don’t you?”
    “Enigmalogy,” Logan said.
    “That’s it. Enigmalogy. As I recall, you had not yet gotten as far as a name during your time here at Lux.”
    “Remarkable what can happen in a decade,” Logan replied, tolerating the man’s snide tone.
    “It is indeed. Can I assume, then, that you’ve codified this new field of yours? Systematized it, established its principles? Can we expect a textbook any time soon?
Ghostbreaking 101
, perhaps? Or, no
—Spooks for Dummies
?”
    “Roger,” Jonathan King warned.
    “I’ve gotten very good at ancient curses, too,” Logan said, careful to keep his tone light. “In fact, I’m offering a special today: I’ll hex two people of your choice for the price of one.”
    Zoe Dempster chortled, covered her mouth with one hand. King smiled. Carbon took a sip of coffee, ignoring the remark.
    “But you are here about Strachey, right?” he asked, changing the subject.
    “More or less,” Logan said.
    “Well, let’s have some details, then!”
    “Another time. Suffice to say the board has asked me to make some inquiries into the nature of his death.”
    “The nature of his death. Nobody’s talking much about that, but the word is it was pretty ghastly.” Carbon gave him a penetrating gaze. “Is it true Strachey’s head was found in a rosebush?”
    “I couldn’t say,” Logan replied, with a double meaning.
    “Well, at least tell us how you’re going to get started.”
    “I’ve started already.”
    Carbon digested this for a moment. Clearly, he did not like the insinuation.
    Logan’s first course appeared: frisée salad with lardons and a poached egg. “Actually, I thought I’d drop in on Perry Maynard.”
    “Ah. Well, when you do, be sure to ask him about the others.”
    Logan stopped in the act of raising his fork. “Others?”
    “Others.” And Carbon finished his coffee, dabbed primly at his mouth with a linen napkin, smiled at King, winked at Zoe Dempster, then rose and left the table without another word.

7
    The office of vice director Perry Maynard was twice as large as the director’s was. And although it naturally had the same Edwardian feel, it nevertheless managed to look quite different from Olafson’s office, as well. It was located on the fourth floor of the mansion, in one of the gables beneath the massive, beetling roof; and it faced north, looking over the expansive grounds rather than toward the rocky, angry coastline. The power desk almost devoid of paper, the set of Ping clubs placed with deliberate casualness in one corner, and the sporting prints on the walls all gave the space the appearance of a CEO’s lair. This was not really a surprise: Maynard’s specialty had been macroeconomics before he was promoted to vice director. There were, Logan