It is most effective.”

“I should think so,” Alec said, impressed.

“She is called The Ghost. Do you think it is a little too frightening for Americans?”

“Not at all,” Alec said, smiling and feeling more at ease. “Ghosts are popular in America, too.”

“Bon, that is fine, for I did not want to change it. But to return to my music. I told André that I must have an original composition, something entirely different to create the mood I wanted for The Ghost.

“I recall pacing his studio, trying to explain to him what I meant. I began humming to help transfer my thoughts to music. And, as always when I’m perplexed, I began rubbing the little figurine which I have carried since I was a small boy.”

The captain paused, a large hand digging into his pants pocket. He held a small image before Alec’s eyes. “This is she,” he said in a confiding tone. “Without her I would be nothing.”

Alec stared in astonishment at the grotesque object in the captain’s hand. It was yellow and might well have been solid gold. Even so, it was not the value of the figurine that startled him but the large head with the small green eyes and the long, pointed ears. The body was frightening, too, for it was thin and horribly twisted, as if she—if it could be called a female figure—was in agony.

Never in Alec’s life had he seen a more ugly, evil-looking object. He tried to keep the disgust from his face, for the captain was holding the figurine lovingly in his large black hands. Only when his fingers closed over the figurine, shutting it off from Alec’s view, did he resume his story.

“You must understand, Alec,” he went on, his tone still confiding, “that André was a man to whom music was the most important thing in life. He had no use for would-be musicians like myself. Nevertheless, he listened to my humming a long while and then he said, ‘Philippe, you are a most peculiar man in many ways.’

“Then he asked me to continue my humming while he put the notes down on paper. At first, I thought he meant it just as a gesture. But he was serious, and in a moment I had lost my self-consciousness and the melody came effortlessly, almost of its own accord. I recall feeling very strange at the time and yet being very calm about it.

“The only thing that mattered,” the captain went on, “was that I knew the tune was exactly right for the mood I’d hoped to create. André knew it, too. He asked me to repeat it time and time again. I had no trouble obliging him for it was as if I had always known it.”

The captain’s gaze met Alec’s. “This I know now to be true, Alec. The melody itself was deep in my subconscious, some memory of my parents’ or grandparents’ singing when I was a child, its origin more Carib Indian than Haitian or African. All my life I have obeyed the promptings of my inner self and it has accounted for much of what I have accomplished in my work. No one else would have dared attempt to train an haute école horse to obey musical cues!”

Alec wanted to look away from the captain’s unblinking gaze but couldn’t, so he nodded his head in full agreement. He must not make an enemy of this man. Nothing was as simple as it sounded, but he’d better believe the captain if he wanted to remain friends with him.

“André completed the arrangements, writing parts for all the instruments, and we had an original composition of breathtaking beauty so right for my act.”

Alec said nothing, not thinking it wise to bring up the fearful quality of the music as well. He watched the curled fingers of the man’s hand open and once again the gold figurine was exposed to his view.

“Do you believe in the powers of the supernatural, Alec?” the captain asked softly.

Alec tried to shrug off a sudden feeling of dread.