“Can this guy,” muttered Ford quietly to Zaphod, “actually in fact help us?”
“Nobody else can,” whispered Zaphod.
Ford nodded despondently.
“Zaphod!” the ghost was saying, “you became President of the Galaxy for a reason. Have you forgotten?”
“Could we go into this later?”
“Have you forgotten!” insisted the ghost.
“Yeah! Of course I forgot! I had to forget. They screen your brain when you get the job you know. If they’d found my head full of tricksy ideas I’d have been right out on the streets again with nothing but a fat pension, secretarial staff, a fleet of ships and a couple of slit throats.”
“Ah,” nodded the ghost in satisfaction, “then you do remember!”
He paused for a moment.
“Good,” he said and the noise stopped.
“Forty-eight seconds,” said Ford. He looked again at his watch and tapped it. He looked up.
“Hey, the noise has stopped,” he said.
A mischievous twinkle gleamed in the ghost’s hard little eyes.
“I’ve slowed down time for a moment,” he said, “just for a moment you understand. I would hate you to miss all I have to say.”