they're in Leadenhall Street; not nearly so fine, they are."
  I leaned closer to the doll seller, to better separate his words from the surrounding street noise. "I take it, then, that if shown a particular doll's head, you could identify the premises of its origin?"
  He preened himself a bit, smoothing his shirt-front with one hand. "As I said, in all things pertaining to dolls, Dick's your man."
  From the velvet bag I drew forth the ugly doll given me by my last night's host. "If you'd be so kind, then," I said, holding it forth. "Which of the shops you mentioned sold this?"
  I saw his eyes widen, startled, as he gazed at the thing; an ashen pallor drained into his face. Then he recovered a measure of his composure, and looked up at me.
  "Never seen the like," said the doll-seller, shaking his head. His voice held only a fraction of its former bravado. "Never in my days. Right 'bominable-looking, it is." He tucked his own wares back into his basket, and moved away from me.
  I clutched his coat sleeve to restrain him, "You say you have never seen one like this before?" An evident falsehood; the look in his eyes had been one of fearful recognition.
  He jerked his arm out of my grasp. "No, never," he said grimly. "It's not a fit plaything for a child â best throw it away, sir, or on the fire." He began a quick walk, pushing into the shifting wall of the massed crowd.
  "But surelyâ" I called after him.
  A stern glance came over his hunched shoulder. "You've had a shilling's worth of information, sir. Believe me â you don't want to know any more." Then he was gone from my sight.
  I stared after the vanished figure, long after the intervening crowd had swallowed him up. Thus far, my inquiries had yielded only meagre fruit: blows in one case, and a hasty evasion in another. I knew little more than when I had started. Indeed; the mysteries had been compounded by the fright that had been visible in the doll seller's face. Was this Saint Monkfish a figure of sinister import unknown to me? I had only one other possible informant in mind, and thus turned my steps in that direction.
  At previous times in the course of my business, I had had some brief acquaintance with various of the city's numismatists. When dealing with rare and treasured articles â be they watches or whatever â an informal weave often arises, linking the various trades that service the wealthy enthusiast's desires. A few of my clients, being country gentlemen unfamiliar with London's commercial intricacies, asked me for references to the most knowledgeable dealers in various arcana, rare coins among them. I soon acquired the knowledge necessary to steer them aright.
  Some time after my discussion with the costermonger on the Tottenham Court Road â my financial condition precluded any faster mode of transportation than my own limbs â I entered the shop of the numismatist I considered likely to be most helpful. In the dark, museum-like atmosphere the coin dealer looked up from a tray of ancient Roman denarii ; long hours of huddling over such small objects had given him the appearance of a mole with paws together, examining beetles for particular delicacy. He soon recognised my name, if not my face, and I put my query for his consideration.
  I laid the coin that the Brown Leather Man had paid me on the counter for the dealer's inspection. "I'd like to know about this minting," I said. "What can you tell me about a Saint Monkfish crown?"
  "Saint who?" He picked up the coin in his spatulate fingertips and held it to the light. With his other hand he brought his eyeglasses down from his high forehead. "Very curious," he pronounced after a moment. "Very curious, indeed."
  "What is that?"
  "There's never been such a coin minted, English or otherwise, that I know of. Not with a portrait of any such Saint Monkfish."
  I leaned closer to the doll seller, to better separate his words from the surrounding street noise. "I take it, then, that if shown a particular doll's head, you could identify the premises of its origin?"
  He preened himself a bit, smoothing his shirt-front with one hand. "As I said, in all things pertaining to dolls, Dick's your man."
  From the velvet bag I drew forth the ugly doll given me by my last night's host. "If you'd be so kind, then," I said, holding it forth. "Which of the shops you mentioned sold this?"
  I saw his eyes widen, startled, as he gazed at the thing; an ashen pallor drained into his face. Then he recovered a measure of his composure, and looked up at me.
  "Never seen the like," said the doll-seller, shaking his head. His voice held only a fraction of its former bravado. "Never in my days. Right 'bominable-looking, it is." He tucked his own wares back into his basket, and moved away from me.
  I clutched his coat sleeve to restrain him, "You say you have never seen one like this before?" An evident falsehood; the look in his eyes had been one of fearful recognition.
  He jerked his arm out of my grasp. "No, never," he said grimly. "It's not a fit plaything for a child â best throw it away, sir, or on the fire." He began a quick walk, pushing into the shifting wall of the massed crowd.
  "But surelyâ" I called after him.
  A stern glance came over his hunched shoulder. "You've had a shilling's worth of information, sir. Believe me â you don't want to know any more." Then he was gone from my sight.
  I stared after the vanished figure, long after the intervening crowd had swallowed him up. Thus far, my inquiries had yielded only meagre fruit: blows in one case, and a hasty evasion in another. I knew little more than when I had started. Indeed; the mysteries had been compounded by the fright that had been visible in the doll seller's face. Was this Saint Monkfish a figure of sinister import unknown to me? I had only one other possible informant in mind, and thus turned my steps in that direction.
  At previous times in the course of my business, I had had some brief acquaintance with various of the city's numismatists. When dealing with rare and treasured articles â be they watches or whatever â an informal weave often arises, linking the various trades that service the wealthy enthusiast's desires. A few of my clients, being country gentlemen unfamiliar with London's commercial intricacies, asked me for references to the most knowledgeable dealers in various arcana, rare coins among them. I soon acquired the knowledge necessary to steer them aright.
  Some time after my discussion with the costermonger on the Tottenham Court Road â my financial condition precluded any faster mode of transportation than my own limbs â I entered the shop of the numismatist I considered likely to be most helpful. In the dark, museum-like atmosphere the coin dealer looked up from a tray of ancient Roman denarii ; long hours of huddling over such small objects had given him the appearance of a mole with paws together, examining beetles for particular delicacy. He soon recognised my name, if not my face, and I put my query for his consideration.
  I laid the coin that the Brown Leather Man had paid me on the counter for the dealer's inspection. "I'd like to know about this minting," I said. "What can you tell me about a Saint Monkfish crown?"
  "Saint who?" He picked up the coin in his spatulate fingertips and held it to the light. With his other hand he brought his eyeglasses down from his high forehead. "Very curious," he pronounced after a moment. "Very curious, indeed."
  "What is that?"
  "There's never been such a coin minted, English or otherwise, that I know of. Not with a portrait of any such Saint Monkfish."
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