When it was time to publish his suspense novel Oxford Days last year, History Professor James Crowley turned to The Record first. When we told him we publish a thirty-five page magazine, not a 2,075 page (handwritten!) thriller, he noted what a coincidence it was that we all had taken his Japanese History class Credit/D, and how easy it would be in this case to modify our grades. So we met him halfway: as you remember, pages 1 through 2 from his novel were printed in last semester's magazine, and we continue now on the website with page three, which heightens the suspense of the first two with a letter discovered by young Brant Smith while on spring holiday:

March 7, 1966

Tom,

Presumably you're at the Renaissance room of the Tate, and the piece that's caught your eye is this note, tacked beneath a thirty-two pound prism of cannabis solid. In the Renaissance, Tom, it was the test of brilliance whether a sculptor could cultivate purity from a slab of tainted material; in the drug trade it's just bad business. So, yes, this is laced with LSD, ethanol, Windex etc., but don't tell the customers that! Here's a list of the innocents:

THE DAVE CLARK FIVE AT TOTTENHAM
Miscommunication between drummer Dave Clark and the Yardbirds had his group smoking heroin to record the single Where Are We?, the follow up to last April's Catch Us If You Can. It's unknown whether singer Mike Smith will pull through detox, or bassist Eric Ford will return from Yorkshire penitentiary, but the remaining group members' wish to top Revolver and Jimmy Page's malicious suggestions have us delivering seven pounds of the prism to the group at Tottenham studios. Be warned: you might have to sit in for a session, since I've told them you're excellent at the shawm, a type of medieval flute. If not, improvise!

STEPHANIE PEEL AT THE PEEL ESTATE
Lord Martin Peel's the bastard who campaigned last year against speed on Regent Street. Fortunately his wife's a horticulturalist, so I trust she'll hear our case. Go in with a sprig of leaf on your hat, maybe one on your ear, dance a little, etc. Keep in mind, Tom, that the last man to try this ploy, the hungry Irish ambassador who visited Peel's grandfather Sir Robert in 1844, was thrown out into the streets. Don't let the same happen to us! (one pound will do.)

THE SS STRAUSS AT VICTORIA PIER
This was an unexpected order. No one knows who's on the Strauss anymore; last spring it was a group of Irish separatists, who were then rammed and boarded by a rowdy Brazilian World Cup team after a game with Leeds United...but now all you hear at the pier is mad howling and bays at the moon from the leisurely bobbing vessel. Have wolves finally eviscerated Pelé? What will Brazil's gauchos think? The ship awaits, Tom: board with twenty-three pounds of the shit.

YOU, TOM
Yes, you, Tom! There is one pound left, and this note will do fine as rolling paper. If you haven't done so already, Tom, light up! You've earned it!

In next semester's issue: Brant leaves the Tate.