That sunday I took my dinner at the club, as was my sunday custom: as a bachelor I lacked regular company in my home, and as my estate was widespread and demanded much travel, I often spent much of my week in the country looking forward to an enlightened conversation of the kind only available when gentlemen meet with other gentlemen. That particular sunday I arrived rather late, having gotten the late train from Tweedle-on-the-plunkett, and found my old comrades already deep in rather heated conversation. I took a seat beside them and endeavored to discern the source of the fuss.

"It's trash, Absolute trash! Pure nonsense!" Professor Tritely was saying. "All that rubbish about monkeys- blatant and lazy literary device, if you ask me- the whole thing is typical of the so-called 'Avant-garde' these days. 'I refer to mathematics, and thus I am clearly profound!' It seems to be saying- not to mention that the mathematics were only treated in the most superfluous manner, and even then somewhat inaccurately!"
Tritely was a professor of mathematics, and was becoming quite red.

"On the contrary, professor, I believe that it is essential to the work that mathematics and animals were devices- if the title's claim is to be at all legitimate, the work itself must be seen as a device." Sir Fanby was rather more cool than his counterpart, and rested in his chair while he spoke. "Why, even the film to which it refers is may be perhaps no film at all, but a device in itself. And even if it is a film, it is a film about a device."

At this point I could hold my curiosity no longer, and asked what exactly they were talking about.

"Howard, dear boy, Fanby has run across the most extraordinary piece of literature. Its a collection of randomness concerning an old film, or a least that's what it claims to concern."

"Oh, quite wrong, dear fellow!" Old Fanby was patronizing at times, but a good fellow altogether, as was the Professor. "For one thing, it's not even literature- Its a game. A puzzle, or a labyrinth in words. Its only failing is that it's so simple, and does not deliver its promised reward upon reaching it's solution. All in all it is by far inferior to the film itself- A beautiful piece of self-reference, that. Have you seen it? If you haven't, I'm afraid the work in question itself will do you no good- it's really only an imperfect attempt at a permutation of its subject."

"Perhaps I have seen it." This was likely, being the fan that I am of cinema. "What is it called?"

Fanby mumbled something that may have been 'Hell Raider' or 'Hair Raider' and looked uncomfortable. As I said before, Fanby is a good sort of fellow, but often lets on he knows more than he does.

It was Tritely's turn to be the authority (a position he truly enjoys): "I for one have seen the film several times, and It's smashing. Excellent special effects, truly frightening (I do love a good horror film, you know). Spawned a horde of sequels too, all smashingly gory and altogether fabulous. That fellow with the nails in his head, he's the star. As far as this self reference business, though, I've no idea what he's talking about."

"No, no, dear fellow, again I must differ with you on almost every point! I'll give you that the first film is indeed a true work of art, but the star is the little box, the gold and black puzzle- those chaps in leather are just there for effect. As for the sequels, the lot of them are studio pot-boilers of the worst type. But that first film, its not even a film! Better to call it 'The Barker Configuration'. It's an example of-"

"Frank Cotton is the star. He deserves the entirety of our attention" I shut my mouth, realizing I had just spoken (interrupting a good friend, no less!) but not understanding at all the words that I said nor their origin. Thankfully, my rudeness was lost on Fanby, who was so enraptured with his own analysis that he didn't hear me. I got a queer look from Tritely, who fortunately was enough of a gentleman to let it pass without comment.

Meanwhile, Fanby continued "-Its just like this game, you see, the 'Ray's Configuration' game. Only I've solved it and haven't been transported to another world. Still, fantasy is fantasy-"

He stopped short as a tall, bluish fellow who truly belies description entered and sat down beside us. All three of us were silent. Fanby gulped, hard.

"Well, I guess that goes to show we're both right fools, eh?" Tritely chuckled painfully, a forced smile on his face. "Howard, this is that fellow I mentioned earlier, the star of the films. Smashing films. I suppose you've come to take old Fanby away with you, then? Prove me wrong about this Ray nonsense and all."

Fanby gulped again. "Don't suppose I might have a cigar before we're off?"

"Are you going somewhere?" The blue fellow asked. His voice was odd, with an accent that made it difficult to tell if we could expect gentlemanly conduct from him.

"I solved the puzzle. All in good fun, but I don't suppose that matters much, does it?" A bit of hope crept into Fanby's voice. Just a bit, though.

"Not at all." Said the blue man. "But you haven't solved the puzzle. There's no way you could have- you only have one piece. I'm here simply to pass the time."

"Are you a member of this club, then?" Fanby asked. Such a question is unbecoming of a gentleman, true, but given the strain the old boy seemed to be under it seemed justified.

"Of course. I've been a member of this club since the beginning." He produced a box of cigars and passed it around. Having never seen him there before, however, the possibility exists that he was lying, and it was both Tritely and Fanby's opinion later that he was present merely as a literary device.