It was raining and the chopper was jumping all over the sky. Gregson grabbed his barf bag and hurled. “Turbulence,” he muttered.

Suddenly an island came into view. A castle rose out of the north where the ocean crashed into the rocks. There was a dark forest there and a lighthouse at the heart of the island.

A butler in a black and white suit waited to greet them with an inside-out umbrella threatening to be stolen by the wind.

“Can I take your luggage, sir?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Gregson said. He never parted with his revolver or his underwear; he couldn’t afford to lose either one.

“The owner will see you shortly,” the butler said. “In the meantime, you can rest and ring me if you need anything.”

It was getting into the evening and the lighthouse turned on, but rather than pointing out to sea, it shined on the dark forest, searching for something.