I tried to coerce him into sharing his personal tale, but he found it offensive I wouldn't stop everything I was doing in order to hear it.
All I've been able to glean from him is that he's an associate of Mr. Phibious T. Toadlington (though the idea of referring to the two of them as friends brings pretentious laughter from Maurice and a quick "Certainly not").
But I wonder.
He walks in quick short steps, never revealing his many legs beneath the robe. The confined cadence makes him look as though he's rising up and down on waves billowing below the cloth, bobbing stiffly like a pop bottle on the ocean.
And he has a taste for port.