in the lair of the beast

John Fry looked up from a printout as a minion entered his office.
"What does it mean?" he asked.
The minion trembled.
"Our Research And Development boys have been conducting extensive tests," said the minion. "But unfortunately we still have no idea what a clype is."
Fry's naturally baleful look deepened a notch from profoundly baleful to extremely baleful.
A wave of drunken courage swept the minion.
What did he have to lose?
Lately he, and a lot of other minions at the Johnston Press, had become less inclined to look up to the great baleful men who led them.
"The one thing we know sir," ventured the minion, "is that it's nothing good."
Fry's roar sent him scurrying back into the hall.