Sentence The Fivehundredandsixtysecond

Now, as it happens, The Intruder was certainly not temerarious, his actions were planned and left nothing to chance, he was no paper candidate fluttering in the breeze, but rather a coldly calculating and determinedly ruthless operator who had lasted so long in the internecine struggles of the Nazi Party by a mixture of cruel cunning, blustering bonhomie and well-placed punches; now, in the, rather cosy xerophilic chamber which he had occupied in the McCorquindale Family Tomb, he made his plans to take over the identity of Hamish MacDonald, first by facial resemblance, then by impersonation in order to obtain copies of necessary documents; and finally by doing something which while being perfectly within his capabilities, he would normally delegate to an underling, just

as he had with the Burning if the Reichstag but, alas, he had no van der Lubbe here to take the fall so, infra dig or no, he would need to murder the real Hamish MacDonald all by himself!