that to the novelists. The fellow is as full of tricks as the monkey-house at the zoo. It’s all bosh.”
“But the American poet?”
“He never existed.”
“I saw his sketchbook.”
“Challenger’s sketchbook.”
“You think he drew that animal?”
“Of course he did. Who else?”
“Well, then, the photographs?”
“There was nothing in the photographs. By your own admission you only saw a bird.”
“A pterodactyl.”
“That’s what he says. He put the pterodactyl into your head.”
“Well, then, the bones?”
“First one out of an Irish stew. Second one vamped up for the occasion. If you are clever and know your business you can fake a bone as easily as you can a photograph.”
I began to feel uneasy. Perhaps, after all, I had been premature in my acquiescence. Then I had a sudden happy thought.
“Will you come to the meeting?” I asked.
Tarp Henry looked thoughtful.