The Long Dark Tea-Time Of The Soul

"What on earth for?" he said.

"Nobody knows. Nobody ever knows what happens to them. Nobody ever sees them again. Not," she said, leaning even further forward, and dropping her voice still further, "a single feather."

Dirk wondered if he was being hopelessly innocent and nave.

"So what do people think he's doing with them?" he asked.

"Nobody," Kate said, "has the faintest idea. They don't even want to have the faintest idea. They just don't know."

She shrugged and picked the book up again herself.

"The other thing David - that's my brother - says about him is that he has the absolute perfect bestseller's name."

"Really?" said Dirk. "In what way?"

"David says it's the first thing any publisher looks for in a new author. Not, `Is his stuff any good?' or, `Is his stuff any good once you get rid of all the adjectives?' but, `Is his last name nice and short and his first name just a bit longer?' You see? The `Bell' is done in huge silver letters, and the `Howard' fits neatly across the top in slightly narrower ones. Instant trade mark. It's publishing magic. Once you've got a name like that then whether you can actually write or not is a minor matter. Which in Howard Bell's case is now a significant bonus. But it's a very ordinary name if you write it down in the normal way, like it is here you see."

"What?" said Dirk.

"Here on this envelope of yours."

"Where? Let me see."

"That's his name there, isn't it? Crossed out."

"Good heavens, you're right," said Dirk, peering at the envelope. "I suppose I didn't recognise it without its trade mark shape."

"Is this something to do with him, then?" asked Kate, picking it up and looking it over.

"I don't know what it is, exactly," said Dirk. "It's something to do with a contract, and it may be something to do with a record."

"I can see it might be to do with a record."

"How can you see that?" asked Dirk, sharply.

"Well, this name here is Dennis Hutch, isn't it? See?"

"Oh yes. Yes, I do," said Dirk, examining it for himself. "Er, should I know that name?"

"Well," said Kate slowly, "it depends if you're alive or not, I suppose. He's the head of the Aries Rising Record Group. Less famous than the Pope, I grant you, but - you know of the Pope I take it?"

"Yes, yes," said Dirk impatiently, "white-haired chap."

"That's him. He seems to be about the only person of note this envelope hasn't been addressed to at some time. Here's Stan Dubcek, the head of Dubcek, Danton, Heidegger, Draycott. I know they handle the ARRGH! account."

"The...?"

"ARRGH! Aries Rising Record Group Holdings. Getting that account made the agency's fortunes."

She looked at Dirk.

"You have the air," she stated, "of one who knows little of the record business or the advertising business."

"I have that honour," said Dirk, graciously inclining his head.

"So what are you doing with this?"

"When I manage to get it open, I'll know," said Dirk. "Do you have a knife on you?"

Kate shook her head.

"Who's Geoffrey Anstey, then?" she asked. "He's the only name not crossed out. Friend of yours?"

Dirk paled a little and didn't immediately answer. Then he said, "This strange person you mentioned, this `Something Nasty in the Woodshead' creature. Tell me again what he said to you."

"He said, `I, too, have the advantage of you, Miss Schechter.'" Kate tried to shrug.

Dirk weighed his thoughts uncertainly for a moment.

"I think it is just possible," he said at last, "that you may be in some kind of danger."

"You mean it's possible that passing lunatics may crash into me in the road? That kind of danger?"

"Maybe even worse."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

"And what makes you think that?"

"It's not entirely clear to me yet," replied Dirk with a frown. "Most of the ideas I have at the moment have to do with things that are completely impossible, so I am wary about sharing them. They are, however, the only thoughts I have."

"I'd get some different ones, then," said Kate. "What was the Sherlock Holmes principle? `Once you have discounted the impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."'

"I reject that entirely," said Dirk, sharply. "The impossible often has a kind of integrity to it which the merely improbable lacks. How often have you been presented with an apparently rational explanation of something which works in all respects other than one, which is just that it is hopelessly improbable? Your instinct is to say, `Yes, but he or she simply wouldn't do that.'"

"Well, it happened to me today, in fact," replied Kate.