‘'S true enough.' The landlord straightened glasses above his head. ‘Things were a bit slow in the run-up to the Millennium. Another one in there for you, John?’

‘Go on; make it a round number before closing. Seems busy now.’

‘ Can’t complain. I put it down to an old bloke that used to sit at the end of the bar. Margaret said not to encourage him; he didn’t fit in after the refurb. Something about him I liked, though. Real character.’ The landlord smiled, leaning back to pull the pint. 'Called himself a magus; reckoned he was some kind of wizard.’

Placing the glass on the bar, the landlord leaned closer.‘Always rambling on about leylines and portals; said Greenwich is a centre for spiritual power. That really tickled the New Agers we get in on folk nights.’

He turn to swing the cord of a brass bell. As the noise died away, he continued: ‘Energy concentration, according to him, accounts for all the ghosts hereabouts: hooded monk at the Queen’s House; Christopher Marlowe down in Deptford. ‘

‘Funny you should say that. He mentioned them to me as well.’

‘Eh?’

‘Earlier, while I was reading the paper - geezer at the end of the bar. He’s gone now. That the one you mean?’

‘Sorry, mate, he dropped off the perch last year – dead before he hit the ground, according to the paramedics.’

The bell clamoured more loudly.

'Come on now, ladies and gents. Let’s be having you’