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it was too late! Pressing his package of cigarettes, Peter could see that the little man would find him here. Sighing, he ordered a beer and began telling Annie about the fauna of that exotic planet, Earth.
    ‘Then there’s the animal
ghosts
. Like the Bansheep. You’re walking alone in Ionia at night, see? Suddenly you hear this awful wail:
Gaaaaa
. You see something big and white moving out there in the darkness –’
    ‘You told me that one,’ she said. The short, weasel-faced man came in and sat at the next table. He removed his sunglasses, and Peter saw that his eyes never strayed from the satchel in Peter’s hand.
    ‘Then how about the Grisly Bear? That’s the blood-dripping spirit of a bear that prowls the forests of Iowa. He can’t get back to his body, see, because someone killed it while he was sleeping. Hibernating. He prowls in Ireland –’
    ‘You said Iowa.’
    ‘I meant Ireland, of course. Where all bears’ souls go when they are hibernating. That’s why they call it Hibernia.’
    The little man drew a laser gun, just as Peter knew he would. ‘What have you got in that satchel?’ he asked, right on cue.
    ‘Only an old phonograph record.’ It was a desperate move, but the wrong one.
    ‘Is it the Andrews Sisters, singing “Apple Blossom Time?” If so, then I arrest you in the name of –’
    Taking a tighter grip on the satchel, Peter passed out.
    He came to his senses in an opulent apartment, where an equally opulent blonde was arguing with the weasel-like man. Waving a saw, the girl exclaimed, ‘It’s the only way! The satchel is made of some impenetrable material, and he refuses to let go of it.’
    ‘Mmf. You may be right, my dear. But can’t we just search him and get the key to the satchel?’
    ‘Search him? Ugh! I refuse to touch that filthy creature,’ she replied, giving a ladylike shudder.
    ‘I’m awake!’ Peter announced. ‘Here, I’ll open the case for you.’
    ‘Do not try any tricks, my filthy friend,’ the man snarled. ‘Roberta, keep him covered with the saw.’
    While he pretended to ply the lock, Peter stalled for time. ‘Have I ever told you about the Were-hen? In eastern Iceland, when the hen-bane blooms and the Moon looks like a big devilled egg, the peasants all lock their doors … ’
    In a blur of motion Peter was up, leaping out of the window.
    To his astonishment, he found himself back in the same room. ‘What happened?’ he asked, as Roberta once more aimed the saw at him.
    ‘You cannot escape,’ the ferret-faced man chuckled, ‘for the simple reason that there is nowhere to escape to. Mmmf. You see, we are in a re-oriented universe, bounded by the walls of this room. There is no outside.’
    The blonde moved closer, exuding an odour of musk. ‘For that matter, darling, why try to escape?’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t you rather stay here with me – always?’
    ‘If this is a closed universe, what would we have to eat and drink?’ asked Peter warily.
    ‘We could live on love. Now put down your satchel and kiss me.’
    ‘Nope. There’s something phoney about you, woman. For one thing, your teeth look too real. And that musk. You seem to be exuding it through a single pore on your lovely alabaster neck.’
    At that moment, Roberta’s whole body began throwing off a deadly, high-voltage corona.
    ‘A robot!’ he exclaimed, leaping back. ‘I should have known. Only robots call everybody darling.’
    Her arms outstretched, she stumbled about the room after him. ‘… darling … ’ she murmured. With all escape cut off, with her fire-crackling, million-volt arms reaching for him, Peter stumbled over a curiously-carved buddha, and the room disappeared!
    He found himself seated under a blinding white light, while shadowy figures moved about him.
    ‘Who are you? What are you doing here? What is in the – mmmf – the satchel?’ asked the ferret’s voice, full of scary echoes. Peter did not reply.
    ‘A lovely girl you have. It would be a