CHAPTER IBlue Enamel Clock
Something was keeping Peter Owen awake. Either the coastal thunderstorm outside his bedroom window was distracting him, or his choice of reading material had been unwise. The book which Owen, propped up in bed, was reading, bore the revolting title of New Uncoiled Gastropods From the Middle Devonian, and had promised to be a relaxing change from last night’s rather thrilling account of the Simpler Acyclic and Monocyclic Terpenes.
Peter Owen sighed and turned a page. Then he uncoiled nervously, like a gastropod, as a knock sounded on the door.
He called, “Come in,” and looked up with some anxiety, relieved to see the short, plump, white-haired old gentleman who came stumping into the bedroom in response to his invitation.
“To myself, I say beer,” announced the
