The man in the calico trousers

He had made a lot of money early in life by inventing a luxury handbag for carrying dogs. With unseemly alacrity he had bought a yacht and departed for the Dodecanese; fifteen years had passed and now he was back in London.

Polite society, if it remembered at all, recollected a pale and spotty youth. This tanned, golden-haired man was a stranger, and – most vexingly – nobody could deduce why he was there. The only people who knew were the geneticists he had hired to work on prototypes for his next product: a range of dogs to perfectly fit ladies’ handbags.

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