This whole awful business began innocently enough. I, Algernon Hogshead, arrived home early one afternoon to surprise my wife. I had just concluded a most propitious deal for my import/export company, one that would keep the British Isles well-stocked with exquisite foreign-made musical dentures for years to come, all at a tremendous profit to myself. I imagined I might celebrate the occasion with my beloved Bess.
Imagine my surprise when Bess was nowhere to be found. Our London home was empty as a beggar's bowl--children in school, Bess absent, even the servants gone from the premises. The female servants, that is.
Eternal optimist that I am, I expected not the worst, but the best. Surely, Bess had gone to the market. After all, she was known for joining the household staff in th
