For it must be remembered that at the time I knew quite nothing, naturally, concerning Milo Payne, the mysterious Cockney-talking Englishman with the checkered long-beaked Sherlockholmsian cap; nor of the latter's "Barr-Bag" which was as like my own bag as one Milwaukee wienerwurst is like another; nor of Legga, the Human Spider, with her four legs and her six arms; nor of Ichabod Chang, ex-convict, and son of Dong Chang; nor of the elusive poetess, Abigail Sprigge; nor of the Great Simon, with his 2163 pearl buttons; nor of--in short, I then knew quite nothing about anything or anybody involved in the affair of which I had now become a part, unless perchance it were my Nemesis, Sophie Kratzenschneiderwümpel--or Suing Sophie! Harry Stephen Keeler, The Riddle of the Traveling Skull

A note to the curious reader: This ferociously ugly site, utiliziing the most mercenary-minded of templates, features a deceptively short and fiendishly interconnected tour through the cultural subterrene of the 20th century . . . not to mention the tail end of the 19th, and the wee bit of the 21st that we find ourselves in now . . . all links guaranteed nontoxic and safe for '30s mystery aficionados, juvenile literature champions, lost-continent theorists, and reclusive psionic masters.