TWENTY-ONE
It was early morning, a watery, lukewarm orange sun, colour-washed over London like a Turner painting, wisps of mist chilling the air as Archie Pointe-Lace stepped out to take a stroll. He had sat in his Bumblin’tons wing-back chair all night. He never needed much sleep and knew if he had gone home to his Kensington apartment he would be restless. He was comfortable in his Club environment. It was his territory, as were the London Parks, St James’s and especially Green Park, where he walked this morning and contemplated POGROM. The idea for the name came from a clue in, of all places, the Guardian newspaper crossword.
Archie did the crosswords of all the broadsheet newspapers and even contributed the odd puzzle himself. Interestingly, this crossword, that was particularly diff
