The Second Peter Troy

Peter means two things. You can be sure you'll run into trouble and you can never be sure you get out of it. Well, there's not much you can do about it, I guess. Except, like Julie always says, Walk softly, Peter Troy.

And now Peter Troy investigates the second Peter Troy. There's a story that's somewhere in the world. Everybody has a double. Doppelganger, it's called by people who like to brood over things like that. And the story goes that when you're having to meet this double face-to-face, if ever, then you're about to die.

Now, this is not a story over which I've spent many sleepless nights. Although there was a time when the question of having a double did cause me quite a headache, a 24-hour headache. At the time, Julie said it was impossible for me to have a double in the true sense, because nobody in this wide world could mess up an office desk the way I do.

Or a mark I didn't even consider worth answering. Anyway, it all began one evening in a crummy little pub in Soho, where a sleazy hoodlum by the name of Jinx Hayward was entertaining a lady of dubious virtue called Wilma Trickett.

Go and get another beer, we'll better as you could go. I'm out with a gentleman, friend, it's usually in what gets the drinks not, honey. Go on, what do you think of that, eh? I've done a while, came out with you at first place, bringing me to this olive ball joint.

Eh, I used to go to the Ritz-auchpauch, you and your jettle-bibbed fridge. Hey, jiffle, what next is your fetties? I'll let you know! Yeah, I should all have you know, I'll get you tired of arguing with you, duxley, if you don't hurry up with that bee, I'll get a duck you right here!