Sentence The Fivehundredandsixth

There was no-one less venal that Peter Boo WS - the upright and, yes, rather staid Edinburgh solicitor - whose marriage to a Muslim was the only outrageous incident of his life - until he had accompanied his unexpected client, Ranulph Ochan'toshan to the Palace of the Duke of Albany, where somthing rather untoward had happened to Mr Boo, during which he had been shackled in a damp and stinking cellar, silent as the grave and, forby suchlike idiosyncratic crickets, as cold as death itself, by dint of corybantic acrobatic dexterity - of which he had never previously been suspected of possessing, he had now escaped not only the dungeon, but the Palace itself and was scurrying over the hills towatds

Edinburgh, his city and his home, and the warm embrace of Mrs Balgees Boo and their three little Boos; but, and isn't there always a but? he tripped on a surfaced tree-root, tumbled down an embankment, cracked his skull on a boulder rolled from a fallen dyke, was knocked out cold and lay unconscious until, opening his eyes, he found himself staring up at the face of Peter Lorre, the actor!