“Come in!”  A distinctive accent: transatlantic, possibly Canadian, maybe American.  Poppy opened the door. […] Her eyes focused through the dim light filtering through a filthy windowpane and she saw a shock of red hair above a moon-shaped face. “Sorry for the mess.  Here, take a seat.” The red hair moved from behind what Poppy assumed was a desk and lifted a pile of files off a chair.  Attached to the head was a very short, squat body.  Poppy, who was five foot five, towered above him.  Rollo Rolandson – if that’s who it was – couldn’t have been more