"At least," remarked Wilbur, "we recognized the China -- were it not so, we would have cohabited." And donned his mullet-proof vest-pocket.

Castle Perilous gripped the edge of the crag just inside the +1,777-populationed Crooked Corners and was supervised by a black-haired dowager and her butler, Pharsee -- nearsighted as a turnip. Wilbur, the tall pipestem detective, was called to find out what happened to a flask of OLD PROWE whiskey -- was it purloined, or, merely, stolen? -- a very intellectual question.

"Why are you both staggering?" Wilbur asked. And noticed a hump in the dowager's dress-pocket.

"Say, you're an OLD PROWE, yet!" smiled Wilbur, as the tall Sherlock, and gladly took his concrete coins of the real world, in an imaginary story.