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The house was a ramshackle collection of threadbare furniture, faded curtains, peeling wallpaper and bookshelves crammed full of old papers, some of them so brown with age that they were in imminent danger of crumbling into dust. Penwright took Richard and his dad straight into his study. This room sagged with the weight of so much paperwork, and Penwright had an effort in finding them both somewhere to sit. Picking up filing boxes and piles of old newspapers, he, at last, uncovered an ancient sofa. Richard and his dad sat down, exchanging looks. Richard felt like his skin was crawling with a legion of scurrying creatures, and he instinctively scratched and rubbed at his arms and hair. Penwright, too busy to notice, piled up armfuls of papers into the corner then went to his desk, sift
