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nge that such a chamber should exist and that such a collection of books should exist； then it was stranger still that each was the work of one single author： Edgar Allan Poe。
It was certain that if any of the Swan's patrons； who knew only Dave the postman while remaining totally unaware of Dave the mystic； had viewed this outré sanctum； they would have been forced to re…evaluate their views regarding his character。 If they had witnessed the man who even now sat upon the dais； hands locked into the lamaic posture of meditation and legs bent painfully into a one…quarter lotus； they would have overwhelmingly agreed that the term vindictive； grudge…bearing wee bastard hardly applied here。 Here it was more the case of vindictive； grudge…bearing wee lunatic bastard being a bit nearer the mark。
Small Dave began to whistle a wordless mantra of his own invention。 His eyes were tightly closed and he swayed gently back and forth upon his cushion。
He had e to a decision regarding this camel business。 He would ask help from the master himself； from the one man who had all the answers； old EAP。 After all； had he not invented Dupin； the original consulting detective； and hadn't that original consulting detective been a dwarf like himself？ Certainly Poe； who Dave had always noted with satisfaction was a man of less than average height； hadn't actually put it down in black and white； but all the implications were there。 Dupin could never have noticed that body stuffed up the chimney in Murders of the Rue Morgue； if he hadn't been a little short…changed in the leg department。
Small Dave screwed up his eyes and thought 'Sprout'。 It was no easy matter。 Ever since he had first bee a practising member of the Sacred Order of the Golden Sprout he had experienced quite a problem in ing to terms with the full potential power of that wily veg。 His guru； one Reg Fulcanelli； a greengrocer from Chiswick； had spent a great deal of valuable time instructing Dave in the way of the sprout； but the wee lad simply did not seem to be grasping it。 'Know the sprout and know thyself；' Reg had told him； selecting a prime specimen from his window display and holding it up to the light。 'The sprout is all things to all men。 And a law unto itself。 Blessings be upon it。'
Small Dave had peered around the crowded greengrocery； wondering at the mountain of sprout sacks； the caseloads and boxfuls cramming every corner。 'You have an awful lot here；' he observed。
'You can't have too much of a good thing；' the perfect master had snapped。 'Do you want two pound of self…enlightenment or do you not？'
Small Dave hadn't actually reached the point of self…enlightenment as yet； but Reg had assured him that these things take a good deal of time and a great many sprouts。
Dave contorted his face and rocked ever harder。 Ahead of him in the blackness beneath his eyelids the mental image of the sprout became clearer； growing and growing until it appeared the size of the room。 Reg had explained that to ascend to the astral； one had to enter the sprout and bee at one with it。 When one had reached this state of cosmic consciousness all things were possible。
A bead of perspiration rolled down to the end of Dave's upturned nose。 He could almost smell the sprout； it was so real； but he did not seem to be getting anywhere with the astral travelling side of it。 He took a deep breath and prepared himself for one really hard try。
Downstairs in Small Dave's ancient enamel oven the now unfrozen filet mignon amoureuse was beginning to blacken about the edges。 Soon the plastic packets of sauce which he had carelessly neglected to remove from the foil container would ignite causing an explosion； not loud； but of sufficient force to spring the worn lock upon the oven's door and spill the burning contents on to the carpet。 The flames would take hold upon a pile of Psychic News and spread to the length of net curtain which Small Dave had been meaning to put up properly for some weeks。
Small Dave； however； would remain unconscious of this until the conflagration had reached the point which sets schoolboys dancing and causes neighbours from a safe distance to bring out chairs and cheerfully await the arrival of the appliances。
It is interesting to note that； although these things had not as yet actually e to pass； it could be stated with absolute accuracy that they would most certainly occur。 That such could be so accurately predicted might in a way； it is to be supposed； argue greatly in favour of such things as precognition and astral projection。
Small Dave would argue in favour of the latter； because by some strange freak of chance； while his physical self sat in a state of plete ignorance regarding its imminent cremation； his astral body now stood upon a mysterious cloudy plane confronting the slightly transparent figure of a man in a Victorian garb with an oversized head and narrow bow tie。
'Mr Poe？' the foggy postman enquired。 'Mr Edgar Allan Poe？'
'Small Dave？' said that famous author。 'You took your time getting here。' He indicated something the ethereal dwarf clutched in his right hand。 'Why the sprout？' he asked。
11
Norman had returned to his kitchenette； leaving his camel snoring peacefully in the eaves of his lock…up garage； its head in a Fair Isle snood。 He surveyed the wreckage of his precious equipment and wondered what was to be done。 He was going to need a goodly few replacement parts if he ever hoped to restore it。 It was going to be another quid or two's worth of postcard ads in all the local newsagents： 'Enthusiast requires old wireless sets/parts； etc。； for charity work。 Will collect； distance no object。' That had served him pretty well so far。 And if the worst came to the worst then he would have to put in a bit more midnight alleyway skulking about the rear of Murray's Electrical in the High Street。
Norman picked his way amongst the tangled wreckage and pondered his lot； it didn't seem to be much of a lot at the present time。 It was bound to cost him big bucks no matter how it went； but at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that his theory was at least partially correct。 The evil…smelling ship of the desert lodged in his garage testified amply to that。 But there was certainly something amiss about his calculations。 They would need a bit of rechecking； it was all a matter of weight； all very much a matter of weight。
Norman unearthed his chair and slumped into it。 It had been an exhausting day all in all。 As he sat； his chin cupped in his hand； his mind wandered slowly back to the moment which had been the source of inspiration for this great and wonderful project。 Strange to recount； it had all begun one lunchtime in the saloon…bar of the Flying Swan。
Norman had been listening with little interest to a discussion between Jim Pooley and John Omally； regarding a book Jim had but recently borrowed from the Memorial Library upon the Great Mysteries of the Ancient Past。 The conversation had wandered variously about； with Pooley stating that in his opinion Stonehenge was nothing more than scaffolding and that the builders； some megalithic forerunners to Geo。 Wimpey and Co。； had never actually got around to erecting the building。 Doubtless a pub； he considered。
Omally； nodding sagely； added that this was the case with many ancient structures； that their original purposes were sorely misinterpreted by the uninspired scholars of today。 The Colosseum； he said； had very much the look of a multi…storey carpark to him； and the Parthenon a cinema。 'Look at the Odeon in Northfields Avenue；' he said； 'the fa？ade is damn near identical。'
Norman was about to make a very obvious remark when Pooley suddenly said； 'It definitely wasn't built as a tomb。'
'What； the Odeon Northfields？ No； I don't think so。'
'Not the Odeon； the Great Pyramid at Giza。'
'Oh； that body。' Omally nodded his head。 'Surely I have read somewhere that it was the work of them extraterrestrial lads who used to carry a lot of weight back in those times。'
Pooley shook his head。 'That I doubt。'
'What then？' Omally asked； draining his glass and replacing it noisily upon the bar counter。
Pooley； who could recognize a captive audience when he saw one queuing up for a one…pint ticket； ordered two more of whatever it was they were drinking at the time and continued。 'It was the ticking of the old Guinness clock up there which solved the thing for me。'
'Oh； you consider the Great Pyramid to have been a pub also？'
'Hardly that。'
'Then might I make so bold as to inquire how such a humble thing as the Guinness clock leads you to solve a riddle which has baffled students of Egyptology for several thousands of years？'
'It is simplicity itself；' said Jim； but of course it was nothing of the sort。。 'The ticking of the Guinness clock put me in mind； naturally enough； of Big Ben。'
'Naturally enough。'
'Now as you may have noticed； Big Ben is a very large clock with a pendulum so great that it would easily reach from here； right down the passage and into the gents。'
Omally whistled。 'As big as that； eh？'
'As big； and this huge clock is kept accurately ticking away by the piles of pennies placed upon that pendulum by the builders of the thing。 Am I right