CHAPTER 4

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“Well,” he said quietly, “if it’s your reputation. . . ”

With a sudden flash of speed he opened his satchel and slapped down on the bar top his copy of the Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and the official card which said that he was a field researcher for the Guide and absolutely not allowed to do what he was now doing.

“Want a write-up?”

The barman’s face stopped in mid-wobble. The bird’s talons stopped in mid-furrow. The hand slowly released its grip.

“That,” said the barman in a barely audible whisper, from between dry lips, “will do nicely, sir.”

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