The Ghoul of Christmas Past

Museum is open. I think we should pop in. I’ve been curious about this place for ages and never once thought to visit even though it is right on our doorstep.’ He was laying it on extra thick. ‘So much history around us, but we blunder through it barely noticing …’
He became aware of a spot of heat on his left ear and turned his head to find Mary boring a hole in the side of his head with her eyes. ‘I’m going for a sherry, Michael,’ she hissed. ‘So you stop all the nonsense about history and go do your silly investigation thing. I’ll get you a sherry too, but if you are not quick about it, you may find nothing but an empty glass when you return.’ Then she pulled her arm from his and flounced into the nearest public house.
Michael puffed out his lips, almost went after her to apologise but knew well enough that no good would come of it. She would just continue to guilt trip him into doing things her way if he gave in so easily. The museum wasn’t going to be open for much longer – everywhere was closing early for Christmas. In fact, checking his watch he had little more than twenty minutes, and that was going to have to be enough.
At the ticket booth, he got a surprised look from the chap behind the glass. ‘We close in a few minutes,’ the man said. He looked to be in his eighties, though still full of life and energy. So much so that Michael hoped he looked half as good in a few years’ time. The man didn’t have a lot of hair left but what there was, the man, who had a name plate labelling him as George, had left to grow long and styled it over his head from front to back.
Michael held out a twenty. ‘I just need to see a couple of things. You can keep the change if you can give me directions to find them quickly.’
The man stared down at the note for a second or so, licked his lips nervously and then pulled down the blind on his booth. Thinking he might have somehow insulted the old man and missed his chance to see the museum at all, Michael was about to put the twenty pound note away when a side door opened and the man came out.
‘For twenty, I’ll show you myself,’ George said gleefully. Leading Michael through the museum, which was poorly lit for effect, he said it had been years since anyone gave him a tip and even longer since the company gave him a bonus. He made it sound like getting the change from a twenty had made his year. As they went, Michael pulled off his gloves, hat, and scarf. He was too hot in them now he was inside and would feel all the better for being able to put them on when he went back out.
‘What is it you want to see, sir?’
‘Michael, please,’ Michael insisted. He’d never liked being called sir even when he wore a uniform and it was a requirement of the rank. ‘There were some items stolen from here a few days ago. I was hoping you might show me where they were taken from and tell me what they were.’
If the question surprised George, he showed no sign, amiably chattering away with a plethora of Dickens facts as he led them through a series of passageways.
‘Here we are, just up here on the right.’ They stopped in front of a display which had a curtain erected in front of it. A free-standing sign on a steel pole declared the exhibition to be under repair. George moved the curtain to one side so Michael could see, but there was, of course, nothing to see at all because it had been stolen.
Studying the empty cabinet, Michael asked, ‘What was in here?’
‘One of Mr Dickens finest outfits. It was a long green coat with real silver buttons. Ever so fancy it was. It had a walking cane with it as well, plus a top hat.’
‘Did it have any value?’ Michael asked, curious as to why anyone would want to steal it.
George sucked on his teeth. ‘I couldn’t rightly say. I mean, I’m sure to the right collector it would be priceless.’
Michael nodded. ‘But otherwise, apart from its historic value, it is essentially worthless. Why steal a set of Charles Dickens clothes?’
‘That was what Robert asked,’ replied George. ‘That’s Robert Whittaker, I should say, the man who discovered the items were missing. He used to be a guard here,’ he explained.
Michael had been about to reveal that he knew the man in question when he caught what the old man had said. ‘Used to work here? As in past tense and he no longer does?’
George had wide open eyes as if he just been caught selling state secrets. ‘Why, yes. He was fired yesterday. Fired by Professor Loughborough, the museum’s curator.’
The news came as a shock. Fired two days before Christmas when the man thought he was in for a commendation. ‘What on Earth was he fired for?’ asked Michael, then seeing George’s face, he paused to explain, ‘Sorry, I should tell you that Robert and I are old friends from the Navy. I spoke to him just a couple of nights ago and he thought he was getting a reward for discovering the theft.’
‘Oh, goodness, no,’ gasped George, now looking about nervously to see if someone might be within earshot. ‘Robert told the police it had to be an inside job. Told them he checked every way into or out of the museum when he discovered the theft, and that there was no sign that anyone had been in. He even checked the cameras and they had been switched off. Professor Loughborough was furious with