No one is sure exactly who Al Cavlacade really is. Rumor has it that he charged up San Juan Hill with Teddy Roosevelt, a strapping image of a man pointing a sabre and bellowing. A woman in Hong Kong swore she saw him, flexible as a rubber band, slipping into a barrel of monkeys and loaded onto a smuggler's ship. Yet another time, an ice researcher in the Yukon happened upon a tall, thin man driving a team of sled dogs at breakneck pace after a thief who had stolen blubber from a local village.

Could all of these sighting truly have been the same person? And could that person be Al Calvacade?

We can't be sure. The only thing we know for certain is that wherever there has been done a dastardly deed, wherever the truth has needed out, wherever the cold, slimy hand of evil has squeezed its foul fingers, there has followed a sighting of Al Calvacade, writing the wrongs with the pen of truth.

For if Al didn't care, who else would dare?