“I wonder,” says Violet, tipping the contents onto the surfboard, “which of these things you were holding in your hand when the … whatever it was … bit you?”

“Well, do you know, I think it was that nice piece of red.” Mrs Fossil nods towards the fiery pebble we were admiring earlier. “The sea glass. It’s quite a beauty, isn’t it? A rare colour.”

Dr Thalassi finishes binding up Mrs F’s hand and wrist and snaps his doctor’s bag shut.

“Oh, thank you, Doc,” says Mrs Fossil. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you. Why don’t you help yourself to something? For your museum? A little thank-you gift from my beachcombing treasures. I found some lovely coprolites yesterday. I know how much you like your dino poo.”

“Museum?” says Violet.

“I am, in fact, not only a medical doctor,” says Dr Thalassi. “I am also a doctor of natural history. I curate the local museum here in Eerie-on-Sea.”

“Herbie, haven’t you taken your friend to see it yet?” Mrs Fossil says. “The museum is one of the sights!”

As the doctor heads for the door, he stops and turns. “Are you serious about making a contribution to the museum?” he asks her.

“Of course! Without you, I’d be languishing in a hospital bed somewhere, pumped full of goodness-knows-what. Help yourself.”

“Then I select this,” the doctor says. He returns to the surfboard table and picks up the large piece of red sea glass. He holds it up to get a closer look, and ruby light seems to shine out of it, tinting his olive skin with a strange glow.

“Really?” Mrs Fossil looks confused. “Wouldn’t you prefer something ancient? I have an iguanodon thumb spike over there that’s much better than the one you have on display in the museum. Wouldn’t you rather have that?”

“It’s kind of you, but I have set my heart on this trinket,” says Dr Thalassi, slipping the red pebble into his jacket pocket. “And now, I really would urge you to rest, Mrs Fossil. I will return tomorrow, to change your bandages.”

And with that, he opens the door of the shop and leaves.

WHAT A BEACHCOMBER KNOWS

“SO, DO YOU REALLY THINK you’ve been attacked by the malamander, Mrs F?” I say, settling down on an upturned fishing crate beside her.