In a book-lined study hidden away in the backstreets of Cambridge, a solitary figure pores over a graduate thesis. He is a wiry man of indeterminate age, somewhere between forty and sixty, with dark hair falling over his brow, a close-cropped salt and pepper beard and a prominent nose. Alex Hafau is the pre-eminent authority on Celtic philology, a Knight of the Realm, a chess master, and the writer of a dozen detective novels in the style of the Italian Giallo genre. 

His desk phone warbled, and Alex momentarily wondered where he left it. He lifted the pile of papers he was putting off marking under which he hoped the phone hid, swept his eyes around the room for a clean surface on which to place them, and finding none, deposited them on the floor under his desk, next to his satchel and box of sandwiches.

“Alex,” he said, picking up the receiver.

“Alex Hafau?”

“The same,” Alex responded, “who’s calling?”

“Ah, that’s good,” responded his caller, “I am Tony Grachist, Professor of Theology at Corpus Christi. We may need your help. We’ve found something remarkable, and we think it may interest you.”

“What do you think you’ve found?” Alex asked.

“Oh, we’ve found it,” said Grachist mistaking the purpose of the question, “I’m looking at it now and it’s decidedly anomalous.”

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