The Boggart and the Monster by Susan Cooper Page B

biscuit for afters.”
She was a large, billowy, smiling lady with a high pile of blonde hair, and a soft spot for regular customers.
    â€œAye,”
said Angus.
“And a nice juicy murder, please. Or even a scandal in City Hall.
Anything,
for a bit of news in this town.”
    Marge poured him his tea. She said cheerfully,
“I’ll hit my husband over the head with a bottlewhen I go home tonight. You’ll be the first to know.”
    Angus grinned, and took his cup.
    Beside him, a precise, accented voice said clearly,
“A cup of your delicious coffee, please. Black.”
    Angus turned, to see who could be lunatic enough to describe British railway coffee as delicious, and saw the immaculate white head of Axel Kalling.
“Mr. Kalling!”
he said.
“I thought you’d gone back to Sweden.”
    Axel Kalling blinked up at him. He smiled, courteous but vague.
    â€œAngus Cameron,”
said Angus helpfully, holding out his hand.
“I interviewed you for the Glasgow Herald.”
    â€œOf course!”
said Mr. Kalling, and shook the hand heartily.
“Ah well yes, I went home, but here I am again. We flew in yesterday, my assistant Nils and I. But really I do not like to fly, so now we take train to Newcastle and ferry to Göteborg. The sea, the wonderful sea, Mr. Cameron!”
    â€œBlack coffee,”
said Marge, cautiously handing him a cup.
    â€œAllow me,”
said Angus. He put down some money and took both tea and coffee to his table. Axel Kalling followed him, with the ease of a man accustomed to being looked after, and sat down.
“Most kind,”
he said.
“I shall wait for Nils — he gets tickets.”
Then he leaned forward to Angus conspiratorially, with a glint in his bright old eyes.
    â€œWe have found Worm!”
he whispered.
    â€œWhat?”
Angus said.
    â€œWorm! He has found him, my friend Professor Pindle! He has found your Loch Ness Monster!”
    Angus eyed him carefully, and stirred his tea. It had taken him only the first two minutes of his interview with Axel Kalling to classify him as a charming but hopeless nut case. In his career as a journalist he had met several lunatics, and at least half of them had claimed to have seen the Loch Ness Monster. He said cautiously,
“Did you see him?”
    â€œOf course! He is very happy, he calls me instantly on telephone!”
    â€œNo, Mr. Kalling, not Professor Pindle — the Monster.”
    Axel Kalling gave his high-pitched cackle of laughter.
“Ah —
he
has not called me yet. But soon perhaps!”
He sipped his coffee, and looked mischievously at Angus over the top of the cup.
“No, I did not see Worm. But Professor Pindle saw him very clear, with his laser instruments. The great Worm, with the long neck. Just as we were hoping for, Mr. Cameron!”
    â€œSo the professor showed you pictures?”
Angus said.
    â€œPictures did not come out,”
said Mr. Kalling.
    Angus tried valiantly not to smile.
“No. It’s a funny thing — they never do.”
    Axel Kalling wagged a finger at him.
“You journalists! You have no faith! Worm appeared to many people, not just to my Harold. To his assistants, two of them. To a lawyer. And to some children. All these people swore solemnly they saw Worm!”
    â€œChildren?”
said Angus skeptically.
    Axel Kalling nodded his white head vigorously.
“One of these children is named after my sister!”
    â€œIndeed,”
Angus said. He took a gloomy swig of tea, and longed again for news of a murder. Perhaps he could write a story about unbalanced foreign monster-hunters? No, no, it had been done too often before. . . .
    A straight-backed young man in a dark suit came and stood respectfully in front of Axel Kalling and addressed him in Swedish. Mr. Kalling got up, and wagged his finger again at Angus.
“We go,”
he said.
“
Tak for coffee
. But I am shocked you do not believe word of