6:30am

Park Lane Hotel

Having turned in early, the investigators were able to wake refreshed and eager to get at a new day!

Abingdon & Son

The Count arose.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:36, Thu 08 Dec 2011.

The count rose at his usual time of 6:30am. He was finished with his personnel grooming by 7:15 and dressed for the day. He chose a three piece black pinstripe suit, this particular suit has a red pinstripe and the visual effect was quite stunning.

He accessorised with his standard silver pocket watch, black tie and jewel and top hat and gloves. Once satisfied with the look in his full length mirror he moved to retrieve his underarm holster and automatic pistol from the bed post and then he donned his jacket.

From his dresser he opened a small wooden box and retrieved his Colt New Service revolver and suede pocket holster putting it in his right trouser pocket. He declined talking it twin and closed the lid after putting two prideaux speed loaders in his coat pocket. As he went downstairs he pick up his Jade walking stick from the polished artillery shell hall stand. He quickly wrote a note that Perkin's could leave a message for him at his club and left it on the downstairs hall table.

The revolver felt heavy in his pocket and it gave a sense of security, he had seen the effects of the .455 Mk.III “Manstopper” rounds it was loaded with first hand. The custom alterations he had ordered from Colt through their London agency had created a potential small package. The “Fitz” cut was quite the rage at the Kensington Rifle and Pistol Club and he was one of the first to order a matched pair. Given the warning the inspector had given he did not feel under gunned.

As he locked the side door on the shop he gave a quick scan of the road before walking up the street and hailing a cab back to his club.

Again signing in and handing over his hat and gloves he checked his pigeon hole for any messages, he knew the Librarian would not have left anything but there were others who may of.  He had been working on a new contact for the last two months, a curator at the Royal Collection who was also a member. They had met informally at events within the club and had been formally introduced at a lecture the Count had delivered, spending the rest of the evening smoking on the terrace. Alas his pigeon hole was clear, never mind, there were other ways to curry favour or a friendship.

He made his way to the dining room and after scanning the seating area for familiar faces he took a seat by one of the windows overlooking St James Park. He collected a selection of sausages, eggs and bacon before sitting down and reading a copy of the Times.




Once satisfied and having congratulated the attendant on the excellent coffee he made his way to the entrance. Stopping again at the pigeon holes he extracted a fine leather Alfred Dunhill two cigar case and placed it in the curator’s message hole. On the back of his card he wrote a quick note and placed it with the case. The two Cuban cigars in the case had come from a special order he had placed at Dunhill’s of Mayfair, they were uncommon in London so he hoped the gesture would be appreciated.
And with that he was out the door and into the cab the doorman has called for him.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:42, Tue 19 May 2015.

Francis got up, drawing a bath for Lampton, getting his suit ready and ordering breakfast for 7am.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #2):

Holding the cab door open for him, the doorman said, "have a pleasant morning, sir."

"Where to, guvner?" asked the taxi driver from the front seat.

Singh rises and makes his ablutions, then dresses for the day. He orders the usual breakfast to be sent up and admits Miss Holloway's maid.

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #5):

Phil waits eagerly for breakfast.

"To the Park Land Hotel, my good man."

He settles back for the ride watching the pedestrians as they walk by. London was unlike anywhere he had lived before exotic and exciting to him all at once. He yearned for home, it's stone villages and dark forests but he was beginning to find London to be his home.

Once at the hotel he again waited in the lobby for Howards group to descend. He scanned the faces of the people in the lobby looking for anyone out of place.

After bathing, Lampton dresses in slacks and a soft shirt, pulling a smoking jacket over them and wrapping a scarf around his throat. Then he goes in to a light breakfast.

After eating he wishes whoever is at table good fortune in their endeavours and retires to his room to keep working at the book.

Cynthia is in no rush to get up, but with such a quiet evening, it's hard not to wake up with the sun. She decides to dress well ... but not too well. One can never know with these artists, and he doesn't sound like he's especially well off. She briefly considers dressing conservatively, but tosses the idea. If she can't dress how she likes, she won't dress at all!

Once settled, she heads on out to the group and to eat some breakfast. Who knows when she might get a chance for a proper meal again.

Before turning in JM makes a few phone calls to a few places to arrange for munitions.

He wakes early and is one of the first at breakfast, he nods politely to Ms Holloway when she arrives.  "Good morning, it appears you will not be my passenger, unless you plan on changing"  He chuckles slightly and takes a sip of his coffee before continuing.  "I'll await Darlington and his paperwork before leaving, if this business can wait just a little, I'd like to start arming my plane.  Although, I could head down and start work and someone could follow me with the paperwork.  I need a spotter, and if said spotter might be able to use a gun, it could be handy.  I'm pretty familiar, so I can teach basics to the new and fearless."

He flips through the paper a little, scanning for anything of interest, as he drinks coffee and eats jammed toast, finally putting it down if nothing comes out at him.

"I think an aerial reconnaissance of both sites might be in order.  Sometimes things are only apparent from the air."

8:00am

The group convened in the Park Lane's dining room for breakfast. They felt relatively secure here, there was no direct route in off the street and any attackers would have to get past the alert and ever attentive lobby staff.

Amid the scents of bacon and eggs, toast and jams coffee and tea, John-Marc scanned the paper for anything of interest. The headline for The Mirror was "SAUCY SUE WINNING THE OAKS IS STILL UNBEATEN", about a horse race of which held little interest. There was an article about a debate in parliament the previous day regarding the introduction of daylight savings time. Nothing seemed to be of particular note or relevance.

Ralph showed up, dressed in his suit and hat.

"Another day of research for the good Doctor and myself. Anything anyone believes we should delve into? We will pick up the floor plans for the Penhew Foundation building, and try to do some research into the members of the Carlyle expedition. Anything else?"

In reply to John-Marc Falcon (msg #10):

Having mainly finished his breakfast, Major Storm harrumphed at the morning meeting as he sipped his coffee.

"Come now, a woman is no one to send on such a delicate mission such as this! No offense, Miss Holloway, just stands to reason.

"I'm an old hand at reconnaissance, if from horseback perhaps and not up in an aeroplane. I can handle a gun, even fired a machinegun but I'm no expert gunner, by Jove. We shan't go armed today my good boy, I don't we won't need to shoot down any Jerries or strafe the mansion!"

"Today, we shall observe the estate, for one. Other than that, I know of no other site of interest.

"Besides, the good Detective Inspector is not going to arrive until 5pm, so we should depart immediately."
This message was lightly edited by the player at 10:25, Sat 10 Dec 2011.

Having a clear task and no reason to wait further, Storm and Falcon got prepared to leave for Lympne via train.

Before they left John-Marc called his mechanic, Karlheinz, and had him begin preparing the Brisfit for takeoff. He decided against telling Karlheinz right then over the telephone about getting the twin rear Lewis guns and forward Vickers ready to re-install, there would be plenty of time for that after the flight. It would take some work anyways to install the mounts, and getting them back into place could delay takeoff and he was eager to depart.

The Brisfit should be fueled by the time they arrived. John-Marc would have to work out a flight plan when he got to his maps. It would be about a 150 miles round trip. He guessed about 50 minutes flight time there, another 50 back, wind and weather depending. They would have as much as an hour's loiter time over the estate but didn't want to appear too suspicious. It would be cold and he made sure Storm brought his heaviest coat, a scarf and thick gloves.

OOC: I'll wait for any retort from Cynthia before having Storm leave. Anyone going to pick up shotguns? They require no licence. Pistols and rifles require police permission to possess, not difficult with your connections.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:40, Sat 10 Dec 2011.

In reply to Major Charles Storm (msg #14):

"A woman can fire a gun just as well as a man can. If you don't believe me, meet me down at the range. But no, I can only be one place at a time, and I already said I'd take on this artist, whoever he is. I'd better learn his name before I get there, I suppose. I assume everything has been arranged already?"

Cynthia would like to bring her guns, but without a dedicated car to store them in, it's hard to carry them discreetly. Still, it's just a meeting with a bad artist. The worst she's likely to have to fight off is cheap wine.

I do believe the guns are stored in the room, so there's no further fetching required.

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #17):

"Would you like me to go along with you? I'll just be your ehhhh... assistant.  I'll need to clean up a bit."

"I always struggle to tell the difference between starving artists and hobos. Do you suppose he will as well? Well come along. When it comes to 'digging up the dirt', I think you have an edge over me."

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #19):

"Hobos, or bums, always dress better.  As for digging, I suppose you struck gold at some point in your life."

Park Lane Hotel Lobby

9:00am

A short cab ride later, Bathony was ensconced in the hotel lobby. He reviewed what little information he possessed about Shipley. Most of it was from articles in the London Scoop. A gallery in Soho (open at noon) was showing his work, but it seemed he was never there. He was something of a recluse, living elsewhere in Soho and working out of his home studio. Both the gallery and his home possessed a telephone number.

Two of the party he was there to meet were coming out of the dining room. It was Falcon and Storm. Major Storm addressed Bathony, "My good Count! Great to see you. The others are in the dining room. No firm plans have been made as of yet, people were talking about visiting the gun shop you suggested.

"Speaking for myself, John-Marc here is going to fly me up around Gavigan's estate in Essex to have a look-see. Farewell."

”Well have a safe flight... Good-day.”

The Count enters the dinning room and having spotted the group moves towards their table.

”Good morning, I hopped you all slept well ? May I ?”

If no one objects he takes a seat and when the attendant arrives orders a coffee.

”I met Mr Falcon and Major Storm outside and they said they where going to study the compound from the air... what an age we live in.”

”I have found a little about our artist friend. He currently has a small show but is never there so I suggest we go to his home/studio and inquire about purchasing some works. I have telephone numbers for both locations but it maybe advisable to not telephone first, it may arousing suspicions ?”

”Also Major Storm mentioned you still wish to go to The London Armoury, perhaps on the way. I believe we will drive by on our little visit or it is a very small detour.”

He begins to drink his coffee while looking at the collected hotel guests in the dinning room.

"Surely it is best if we go by the London Armory on our return to the hotel, if at all," Singh suggests, "We won't want to carry such cumbersome parcels with us to interview this artist, nor leave them in a hack.

"As to the artist Shipley, I take it you were able to obtain his address. Too bad the gallery doesn't open before noon. It would be better to see some of his work, even get a catalogue, before trying to pass ourselves off as patrons. Still, what cannot be cured..."

[So the party to see the artist comprises Bathory, Cynthia, Phil, and Singh.]

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #23):

"Regarding any firearms, I should imagine they will deliver any purchases straight to the hotel. We read about Shipley in the Scoop. Perhaps Maloney might have some useful information on him beyond the article. Or his delightful niece, what was her name? Molly. Yes, that's it."

"Yes I'm sorry I should have mentioned that service. The shop are quite good at getting their product across London, it was always waiting for me before I got home."

Cynthia bundles herself up in her coat, and makes sure the etching of the mirror is with her. She eats well, anticipating she may not have the opportunity again for a while.

"Ah yes, "Mongo". Perhaps we should give her a call before we go.  Mr. Lampton, she was your friend, was she not? Seemed quite keen on you."

Lampton, alas, has already returned to his room.

"Excellent Major, then we will leave forthwith.  Ms Holloway, I had a feeling you were quite capable.  I will be glad to familiarize you with a machine gun later if possible."  He freshens up his coffee and gestures to the Major  "Eat then, and we shall be going Major.  I will call to have my Brisfit readied."
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:45, Mon 12 Dec 2011.

Cynthia's eyes light up. "Have a wonderful flight, Mr. Falcon. I look forward to seeing your lovely flying machine soon."

Thank you Miss Holloway.  I think you might prefer the adventure of my Brisfit, but you might find interest in my Vimy as well.  My aerodrome is down in Lympne."  (Note:  Lympne is pronounced 'lime')

Park Lane Hotel

After a call to an obviously hung-over Karlheinz, John-Marc and Major Storm left for Lympne Aerodrome. Karlhienz would pick them up at the train station in JM's old Ford Model-T truck.

Fulty and Dr. Weston left for another day of researching records and the library. Lampton would serve as the "message centre" as he was staying at the hotel all day to study. Ralph expressed interest in purchasing a shotgun, to be delivered back to the hotel before they started their research of the day.

Before Cynthia, Phil, Imran and the Count departed, a call was placed to Molly Fuller's home. There was no answer, an oddity on a Saturday. However, they were able to get through to Mickey Maloney (when did that man take time off, they wondered?) at the Scoop's office.

"Ah, I sent Molley over ter Shipley's yesterday to do another interview. Funny, she should 'ave checked in by now. That girl's very punctual. If you see her, 'ave her give me a ring at the office."

The Count listened with great interest to the new information that there may now be a missing person involved.

As they wait for a cab he asks:

"This does make things somewhat more urgent. How should we approach the house three at the door to make the introductions and one watching the rear ?"

Major, do carry at least a sidearm, I'll pack at least a shotgun as well.  I doubt we'll see signs of this missing girl from the air, but just in case we need to put down."  JM definitely ensures they pack a couple pairs of binoculars.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #32):

"That sounds best. I still don't suppose we'll be wanting shotguns, but I trust Mr. Singh at least will be properly equipped should things come to blows. Regardless, no time like the present. Let's be off?"

"I am indeed armed, Miss," Singh replies, patting the bulge in his jacket pocket, "It didn't seem that Mr Maloney was too concerned about Miss Fuller. Surely, he would have contacted the police, if he suspected any foul play.

"Have we any reason to think this Shipley is engaged in any criminal activity?"

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #34):

"Onward into the fog!", Phil stuffs a couple of muffins in his overcoat as he leaves.

"Only that he may be a party to this secret as well. But yes, let's go!" Assuming nothing further detains her, Cynthia will follow Phil out to the taxi.

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #37):

Phil does not trip Cynthia when she is stepping into the cab.  The thought did cross his mind however....

10:30am

Train en route to Lympne

John-Marc and Major Storm were about halfway through the train trip to Lympne. The passenger carriage rocked gently to and fro as the train chuffed southwards from London to Kent along the line to Dover. They were in a private train compartment. The window was steamed up due to the cold outside.

Park Lane Hotel

By this time, Howard was firmly ensconced in his luxury suite at the Park Lane Hotel with the Pnakotic Manuscripts.

London Library

Prof. Fulty and Dr. Weston were off to the Library, then were to have another crack the London City Archives to pick up copies of the floor plans of the Penhew Foundation.

Royal Thames Yacht Club, Knightsbridge

Cynthia, Imran, Phil and the Count first swung by the Royal Thames Yacht Club building in nearby Knightsbridge overlooking Hyde Park. The Club maintained permanent berthing at their pontoon on the River Cowes on the Isle of Wight. Without too much difficulty they ascertained it hadn't been berthed at Cowes for several years, but it was there several months after Penhew disappeared/was murdered in Kenya. The club record keeper was unable to say what happened to the yacht after Gavigan took possession of it.

It seemed likely it had been renamed the Dark Mistress and was now somewhere in the Orient.

Miles Shipley's Home, 6 Holbein Mews, Soho

After, they back-tracked south to Soho and Miles Shipley's home. The cab let them out in front of a 2-story brick house with a garret (attic room), one in a line of dilapidated row houses. The houses to either side looked deserted, threadbare curtains drawn, windows boarded up and doors padlocked. From the street they could see there was a skylight on the sloped room leading to the garret.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:59, Wed 14 Dec 2011.

"Goodness. Maybe we should have brought guns just for travelling through the neighborhood. Well."

Cynthia pulled up the ends of her coat to avoid puddles and other debris, as she walks up to the door. She knocks, quietly enough to not come off as demanding, but loudly enough to wake the artist up from his hangover.

Singh pays the driver the fare. "It appears we might have difficulty getting another cab hereabouts," he remarks to the driver, "We will pay you for all your time and a 25% gratuity, if you will wait here while we are inside."

The count makes a quick scan of the street.

"Yes indeed, would you like to talk to the artist or would you like me to make the introductions ?

"Should he answer, I expect he'll be more disarmed, and more willing to comply, with a woman's touch, unless of course you have more of a personal relationship with him. But I'll happily yield should you have a strong opinion on the matter."

"No I expect you are correct.. lets hope he is home."

The Count intended to play a game that Mrs Evens excelled at and Mr Perkins not so much. That of the disinterested foreign Count, in the past it had enabled them to gain some valuable pieces for less then their worth.

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #41):

"Oi'll be 'ere, guv, daon't worrey."

The cabbie switched the engine off and, picking up a newspaper, started to read.

http://maps.google.ca/maps?q=l...dom&t=h&z=18

Holbein Mews:



This message was last updated by the GM at 00:38, Thu 15 Dec 2011.

Having made arrangements with the driver, Singh joined the others.

After they knocked on the door, an old woman answered. She was easily in her 70's.

Addressing Cynthia she said, "good evening sir, how may I help you?" She seemed to realise that she was off a little in a couple respects, blinked a few times, and started again.

"Oh dear, I meant good morning, Miss. I'm sorry! I'm very absent these days."

"Oh have you? Mrs. Shipley? I don't suppose the young artist is home? I do hope we're not disturbing ..."

"Oh! Yes. No! Yes, my dear son Miles. He is very busy. Working on his paintings, very popular these days. In demand. By people. Very expensive his paintings are, fetching quite a lot of the money, of money. He's worked so hard, sacrificed so much. It's time he got what he needs, what he deserves. Right, yes, yes, yes, you come to buy?"

The little old lady stood in the door, not moving aside to allow access to the inside of the house. They could see that the inside was a little dingy, not the spotlessly scrubbed and dusted home they would normally expect from a fussy old widow or pensioner. They were on the ground floor at the front door, there was a first floor above (in the European tradition the ground floor is not the first floor) with garret under the roof eaves.

"Miss Holloway,ma'am, would like to look. She has heard of Mr. Shipley's work, in part from Count Bathory here," Singh gestures to the Count, "But she must make her mind up herself. To do that, she must see the work before she departs for America. She has only this morning free to view the work."

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #50):

A look of greed flashed in her eyes. "Departing soon for America, ye say? Splendid! My boy's work is like nothing she's ever seen. In this world. But I won't disturb my boy's work just for the likes of idle browsers, no. Heaven's no! She came to buy, then? I should like to be sure. Yes, sure indeed." She waited, as if she wasn't going to move aside until she was shown something, and it didn't take a psychology degree to figure out what.

"If I like what I see, of course. I should warn you, I felt the display in the gallery was far too ... sterile. Context lends a painting personality, don't you find? I was hoping to find the paintings in their proper homes and see, perhaps, if I could make space in mine. But if the artist is indisposed, you needn't bother him. I've been informed that another impressionist painter of similar quality and skill will be visiting New York in May. I'm sure I can sit on my hands and make my purchase then."

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #52):

The old lady became more blunt. She shifted the knitting basket she was carrying with some annoyance.

"Yes, no, no, no, of course, of course. Did you bring money? Let's see it then. Prove to me it's worth my baby Miles' time to disturb him, I will show you in, then you may decide if you wish to buy because only those who are serious, you see, can be let in. Should be let in. Or be on your way."

The Count doffed his hat when Mr Singh introduced him.

"Come, come Mrs Holloway Lets see what this fine English painter has and make our decisions then."

He removes a money clip from his inside jacket pocket and shows the woman the folded white ten pound notes.

"I believe everything should be in order...

He does not let on that what he holds in his hand represent the majority of his wealth and is used for this very purpose.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:34, Fri 16 Dec 2011.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #54):

Her eyes lit up. "Yes, yes, yes. Well, follow me, follow me. Upstairs, he is. My Miles." As an afterthought. "Would you like some tea?"

"Miles! We have visitors! Someone to look at your paintings! Maybe buyers."

A young man came midway down the stairs to meet them, mumbling, "hullo." He was wild-looking, disheveled and in need of a shave, longish dark hair matted, dressed in a dark painter's smock splattered with dark stains that seemed to be paint. His voice changed to a loud piercing screech even though his face remained impassive and expressionless. "Are you friends of Aleister's? No matter, come in, come in!" He seemed to tremble slightly, stilling his shaking limbs with some effort.

They were let inside, Mrs. Shipley locking the front door with a click as she closed it. As a group they were led further into the dingy dark house (Miles and front and his mother following everyone) to a stairwell up to the first floor, then (making sure everyone was present) up a second, narrower set of stairs to the door to the garret, which Miles unlocked with a key.

It was dark inside the garret. Under the oddly dark skylight an easel was set, upon it rested a canvas marked with pencil lines of another barely-started painting. To the left of the easel was a closely cluttered bench table with palettes, jars and mugs with crusted paint, brushes carelessly strewn around, turpentine, etc. The reason for the gloom became clear: the skylight was painted over, the only light came from a half-dozen kerosene lamps hanging from the rafters and several candles on and around the easel. The room smelled strongly of paint, turpentine and canvas.

The walls of the long room were sloping (this being under the roof) and one side had unfinished paintings leaning against it. On the other four tiers of finished canvasses were hung for presentation. (From the bottom: a row of 7 along the bottom, then 6 and 4 in the middle, then another 7 near the roof.) The subjects were somewhat dark and hard to see, but seemed to be horrifying and gruesome in nature.

Holding pride of place in the middle of the finished canvasses was a landscape painting of a temple where some ceremony was taking place, with a large mountain in the background.

Phil remained in the cab, waiting, watching and listening.

It would be hard for the Count to disguise his disinterest in the paintings so he engages the woman who he assumes is Miles mother.

"So my good lady do you have many visitors to see your sons fine work ?"

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #57):

"Of course, my word! Many people."

"Well yes it is a very rare talent and so much press why the public does love him. I very much enjoyed the piece in the Scoop so insightful. But it must keep you busy with so much interest. All those visitors how do you keep up ?

The Count gives a jolly smile as he watches the woman.

Cynthia circles the 'gallery' slowly, taking in both the near-completed work, as well as anything in process. She also watches for sketches, models, or anything else that appears to be a reference.

"Your work is quite fantastic, Miles." She turns and smiles, trying to establish a sense of intimacy. "I've only seen things like this once or twice before. Tell me, what is your inspiration?" She steps closer to the newest painting, breathing it in, searching it for details that might place it, as well as the nature of the ceremony.

Making good use of his time on the train ride to Lympne, JM goes over his map to prepare a flight plan, making good excuse of landmarks to fly close to where he wishes.  Flight plans not being horribly important as a matter of record, but important that he has his navigation planned out to where he is heading.

If he has time left, he will nap!

The Train

The private compartment was stuffy, so Major Storm cracked the window, letting in a cool but smoky breeze. John-Marc checked the maps and double-checked the route. He was planning on following the coast, the el Misr estate was near the ocean on an island in the river. It wouldn't be too hard to find!

He was easily able to let the rail car lull himself to sleep.

Shipley Residence

The paintings were horrifying, unnerving. Murder, sacrifice, sadistic cruelty, in living colour (as it were). Maidens ravished by unholy bestial lizard-man hybrids, screaming men with their innards pulled out. Done in exquisite detail, vivid colours. Cynthia had to fight an urge to vomit or run screaming from the loft. The painting with the mountain in the background appeared to be in Africa due to the negroid character of the head-dress wearing ritual members in the foreground and the dark tangled jungle all around. She was able to remember details, perhaps for future use.

From what little they could see, the Count and Imran were disturbed and unsettled as well.

Mrs. Shipley answered the Count, "the Scoop. Yessss. My son became very popular after that article, as he should. We manage as best we can."

Addressing Cynthia, Miles rambled on. "My work, my inspiration, my muse is in front of me and from beyond time, beyond belief, in my mind, transported through space and dimensions unknown to man...!" He continued on like that for a while, voice screeching, shaking with a kind of palsy.

"Oh dear!" cried his mother. "Now he's going on. Please. Excuse him. Tell me, did you see anything you like?"

"Mrs Holloway is there anything that takes your fancy ? It is so very dark, hard to study the pieces. Do you mind if I open the door..."

The Count moves to open the door they entered by, hoping to cast some light into the room.

Seeing how unsettled she has become (and how disturbed Shipley is), Singh steps closer to Cynthia. He struggles to keep his disgust at the works from showing on his face.

A few gallons of kerosene and a match would improve the world considerably.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #63):

No one moved to stop the Count. The dim glow from the floor below did nothing to illuminate the cramped and gloomy garret. It was probably a real mercy they couldn't see the paintings any clearer.

After inspecting them for any other details that might attach them to a particular location (she dares not search faces for a particular character), she turns away from the paintings and takes a few moments to regain her composure.

"They are intriguing, for certain. Yet I feel they are missing their stories. As I said earlier, so much is lent by context. You must have a name for these people you imagine, or a location you place them? They are so life-like and detailed, I can almost imagine them residing here in London!"

Bathony hadn't really expected the dim light from the hallway to illuminate the paintings. He just thought it odd that a show room would be so shrouded in gloom.

Things did not look good for the missing girl, if indeed that was the case. An obviously insane artist and an odd mother, not a good combination.

"Could we have that tea now Mrs Shipley ? I think Mrs Holloway is getting ready to drain my purse."

He again flashed the woman his smile.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #67):

"Mum! Tea! Mum! Tea for our guests! Some tea for our guests! Yes! Mum."

"No, no, no, nothing happening like that here in London. In my head. In my head. In my head. In my head... in... It all happened, long ago. Sometimes, not here. No, never here. It never happened. It's all gone, gone, gone. Never happened at all. In my mind, it happened, but not here in London. You see? Through time and space. Travelling in my mind. That's how artists work, you know, abstract art, we don't need the, er, subject in front of us to see them, we see it all in our minds. Don't you know how abstract art works? It doesn't need to be real, you know!"

He began scratching his arm furiously, then moved on this his sides before stopping. "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

"So, um, I have to get back to work. Have to work to eat, you know! Are you interested in any painting in particular? Mum will handle the details. Must get back."

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #67):

"Of course, one moment."

While Miles babbled on, she descended the stairs. Within a minute or two she returned.

"The kettle is on. My poor boy, darling boy, he has to return to work now. Must strike while the iron is hot! Let's go downstairs now and let him be. I can handle whatever questions you have, yesss? To the parlour where we can discuss any business. Filthy money. Not something we need to bother an artist with!"

She moved to the top of the stairs, plainly expecting that the group would follow her down.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:34, Sat 17 Dec 2011.

The Count look around the room one last time. No wonder the work is vile how could he produce anything of note in this room, he thought.

"Yes down we go Madam, lead on I am quite parched."

He follows her down the stairs quite unaware of how this would play out. He doubted direct questioning about the missing girl would amount to anything.

Once in the parlour he took a seat closest to the door.

"A moment, please. I was wondering, Miles, before you came down to see us, where were you? I ask because this room was locked."

Cynthia gives him a moment to answer, then presses her second question.

"I saw a piece done by another artist while I was at the gallery, but it wasn't attributed. I was hoping perhaps you might recognize his work. Do you mind if I sketch out what I saw?" She'll take a scrap of paper and some charcoal, and sketch out the etching she got from the mirror, as closely as she can approximate it. "Have you seen it before? Does it have a name?"

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #71):

Immediately, Miles became suspicious at the question.

"My paintings are valuable, they are! Popular. I'm not stupid, you know." He glanced disdainfully at the tracing, brightening when he recognised his own work. "A commission for a friend, Aleister. It was a frame of some kind. Now, out with you. Talk with mother. I've wasted enough time."

Once he is seated in the parlour Bathony asks the old lady:

"It's funny but I was speaking to the editor of the scoop last week and he said that he was going to do another piece. Sending someone over soon. Have they done it already ?"

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #73):

Miles' mum bustled about, fixing tea.

"Hm? Yes, yes, no, no new article yet in the paper. Miles wouldn't come down. Starting a new painting, you see. I said to her to come back during the week when Miles was feeling better."

She poured a steaming cup of tea for the Count. It was mediocre as she let the leaves steep for only 30-45 seconds and the water was too hot. She set out cups and saucers for Cynthia and Imran if they wanted some, too.

The count listen with interest to the woman's account of the journalist's visit.

"Well I am sure she will be back, circulation of the magazine must go up whenever you son appears in its pages."


"Your son has mention a man named Aleister, is that his agent ?"

He makes a motion to slip his tea but does not drink.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:27, Sun 18 Dec 2011.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #75):

"Aleister? I don't... yes, no, he's a wealthy man, a patron, you might say. He and his friends buy paintings off Miles."

Picking up her knitting basket she stepped to the door of the kitchen and craned her head to look up the stairs to the first floor. "Is everything all right up there?"

OOC: to clarify, you're down on the ground floor now, Cynthia and Imran are with Shipley in the Garret, 2 floors above.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:36, Sun 18 Dec 2011.

"Oh I am sure they are fine.. Mrs Holloway does like the back story to any of the pieces she buys. I hope your son has no secrets he may just spill them all."

He gives a little laugh at his own joke and then goes on:

"Books are my thing really, I don't suppose you have any old or interesting books you may wish to part with... for the right price of course ?"
This message was last edited by the player at 10:09, Sun 18 Dec 2011.

While Cynthia engages Miles and Bathory occupies Mrs Shipley, Imran goes down the stairs to the first floor. He doesn't like leaving Cynthia alone with the artist. What the Devil us Phil about, sitting in the cab?

He slips into the first floor corridor, moving quietly. He opens each door he comes to, stepping inside and looking around for Miss Fuller, including looking into any closets, wardrobes or cupboards where she might be concealed. He is also watching for anything that seems out of place.

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #78):

With his mother calling, Miles snapped out of whatever fugue he'd slipped into and addressed Cynthia. "Time, time for you time for you to go. You can talk to mum about the price. In the kitchen, yes, in the kitchen, where mum's belong. Making some tea."

He took her arm, not altogether gently, and started walking her down the stair out of the garret. "Where's your friend, eh? Friend? Where is he?"

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #78):

Moving quickly and thoroughly Imran was unable to find any trace of Miss Fuller upstairs on the first floor. There were four bedrooms up there, bare and neat, unoccupied. She wasn't in any obvious hiding place.

In the ground floor kitchen, the Count noted there was a rear door (with inset window). There was another door there, presumably to a basement. On that floor there was a master bedroom, kitchen, parlour and dining room.


Keeper's note: The floor plan seems to be the house is oriented north-south. Front entrance is in the north wall. On entry there is a central corridor with staircase landing. To the right is the master bedroom, to the left the parlour/dining room. There is a bath and toilet near the right rear, by the kitchen at the southern end of the central corridor. In the kitchen is a door to the rear garden and another door, presumably to the cellar.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #77):

Glancing back at the Count from where she stood at the door to the corridor, Mrs. Shipley replied, "Eh? Books? Yes, we might have some. Passed down from our forefathers, they were. More interested in the pictures, but do leave your card on the table."

She turned back so that she could watch the stairs, knitting basket under her arm twitching in annoyance.

"It would seem that your son has much to tell when it comes to his inspiration for the paintings."

The count watches Mrs Shipley she was very odd, but then compared to her son she was as normal as toast.

"Well I am interested in older books, older the better. Could I take a look, I would be happy to give you an estimate of current market value."

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #82):

"Yes, do leave your card, there's a gentleman. I'll have to find them. Mr. Shipley kept them in a trunk in the basement, he did, and I'd have to fetch them. Not right now. I'll be happy to bring them around later."

Still frowning, she took a step out into the hall.

Keeper's Note: Imran is searching the upstairs and Cynthia is being escorted down the stairs from the garret right now.

"Come sit down Mrs Holloway is probably writing notes about the painting she likes. A sort of small interview, she likes all the juicy secrets to go with the work."

He motions to take another sip but does not.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #84):

Ignoring the Count, she toddled down the hall and began climbing the stairs. "What's going on, then? Miles, where are you?"
This message was last updated by the GM at 07:30, Mon 19 Dec 2011.

Once Mrs Shipley left the room the Count moved to the door. He watched her move up the stairs through the hinge crack in the door. Again he tried to bring her back:

"Nothing to worry about Mrs Shipley, just Mrs Holloway being thorough with her sources and information."

He waited to make a move to the kitchen.

Has Imran found a WC on the first floor? If so, he flushes it and wets his hands at the sink, coming down the stair toward Mrs.

If not, he comes to the landing and asks for the lavatory.

Cynthia replies to Miles, ignoring his protests. "Ah, Mr. Crowley. How has he been doing? It's been so long, and frankly, I've completely forgotten about him. Do you know where he frequents? It would be good to catch up with him. Is he still quite as dreadful as he was back in university?" Cynthia smiles, conveying familiarity and friendly teasing.

"I wasn't aware you made functional tools as well. I thought all of this was just ... fantasy. Are all of your ceremonial tools on commission only, or do you have some of those to display as well?"

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #88):

Miles stopped and looked at Cynthia, face brightening with glee.

"Oh, you're a friend of Aleister's, then! Good! My friend! And his friends are my friends! They don't like to talk about it, no. But they should. It makes me mad that they seem to like what I do but they don't want to talk to me, to... Do you like what I did? I made that frame for Aleister him a couple of months ago. Are you interested in seeing more? I have some more, you know. Some of the better ones, not open on display."

He reversed course and bounded past her back up the stairs. At the top he turned opened a small closet door. Nothing jumped out, Cynthia could see (from where she stood on the stairs) there were some artist's supplies inside, and part of the frame of a painting of some kind. It had the same motif and design as the mirror.

Miles answered his mother, "Mum! Not to worry, just showing her the painting! The best one! Maybe she'll buy it!"

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #87):

The old lady saw Singh come into view down the stairs. He explained he was looking for the lavatory.

"Down the hall, to the right. No, your right." Singh found the correct door, next to the kitchen.

When Miles called down, she relaxed. She replied, "well all right then, dear. Remember, they have a friend waiting outside, so let's not keep them too much longer. Please let me know when you're finished up there?"

She addressed Imran when he emerged from the washroom. "Why don't you come into the kitchen, dear? Do have a cup of tea."

Turning around, she marched back into the kitchen. "Honestly, that boy. Always changing his mind. He hasssn't been the same since his father left when he was so very young." Mrs. Shipley's eyes seemed very warm and sympathetic.

The Count watched the woman walk past the parlour and then he quickly disposed of the tea. He also did a quick search just in case there was something here in the room he had not spotted.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #91):

The Count moved to the kitchen without Mrs. Shipley noticing.

There wasn't anything of note in the kitchen and no weapons were handy. The basement door was locked.

She appeared to not notice his actions before turning back to address him.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:27, Tue 20 Dec 2011.

"Ah well... yes he looked quite stressed. What is this other painting he mentioned, a larger work ?

The count hoped Mrs Holloway would be all right, she looked quite capable and Mr Shipley was not at his peak physically.

Cynthia tries to look away, expecting something absolutely terrible, but she can't help herself and waits for him to reveal "the best one".

"Do you spend much time with Aleister and his friends? They've always seemed very ... snobbish, at times. Have you noticed that? It would be good to catch a drink with him. Friends like to get drinks with friends, don't you think?"

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #93):

Kitchen

"It's something he's very proud of."

"Your card? More tea?"

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #94):

Miles moved to block the painting. In the brief look she had, it seemed to be the same ornate design of frame as the mirror. The painting itself was hard to see, it looked like the focus was a stone altar on an island in a swamp filled with serpents.

Shipley slammed the door shut. "You're not serious. It's not for you. Good-bye."

"MUM! They're just leaving! I don't think they want to buy!" He blocked her way at the head of the stairs.

"Get out now or so help me I will THROW YOU OUT! THROWYOUOUT! OUT! OUT! OUT!"

Cynthia simply stands her ground. She has bankers checks, and she is interesting in buying. But she has no intention of being shortchanged in the process, however. So she will wait until Miles wears out his tantrum, and trusts that greed (either his or his mother) will win out again. With the face she's wearing, she doesn't even need to say anything. She's simply ... amused, serious, matronly, and waiting.

In reply to Mrs. Shipley (msg #95):

"Ah yes I have one here somewhere, he fumbles in his jacket."

"More tea, yes... Well if it is the height of Miles work I am sure she will have to have it."

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #97):

Knowing he was beaten, Miles stood aside.

Southern Railway Station, Westhanger


The Southern Railway train chuffed into the Westerhanger rail station. A handful of passengers boarded and disembarked onto the platform, aided by a couple conductors and porters. Waiting for them was JM's motorcycle and sidecar.

Also waiting was Karlheinz beside JM's other ground vehicle, a Ford Model-T flatned 1-ton truck.



This message was last edited by the GM at 06:49, Fri 23 Dec 2011.

Karlheinz crushed out a cigarette.

"Okay, ve vill be going to aerodrome now, ja? I vill ride und the back. Vith zee luggage."

He tossed the keys to JM, then took their day kit bags (mostly clothing, but also maps, compasses, etc.) and climbed onto the flatbed. It was only a mile's journey at most, they would be there soon. Karlheinz lit another cigarette. They couldn't smoke on the majestic Zeppelins that he served on in the Great War so he was making up for lost time.

"Oh, und ze maschinenwaffen, ah, machineguns, they are ready for installation."

Feigning an inability to find a card he adds:

"Such a shame Miles was not elevated for membership at the Royal Academy of Arts during their summer exhibition. His work was certainly the talk of the show. It is a bit of a... "closed House" I believe."

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #102):

Freshly brewed pot of tea in hand, Mrs. Shipley moved back into the living room.

Mrs. Shipley poured him a cup, not seeming to notice Miles' ranting from upstairs.

"Yes, if only he had someone to help him, open doors into higher society. Too bad about the card. Perhaps later?"


OOC: I assume you are moving back to the parlour.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:07, Wed 21 Dec 2011.

In reply to Mrs. Shipley (msg #103):

Taking the seat he had recently vacated the Count replies;

"Well I wouldn't say I could be of any help, but I do know one or two of the board members at the RA."

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #104):

"You would? That would be wonderful. Oh, you didn't give me your card already did you? I get so forgetful sometimes." She looked up the stairs, with a puzzled look. "I'm sure he said they were coming down, no, wait, your friend the lady was looking at the painting? My word, I get so confused sometimes."

As Mrs Shipley looks up the stairs the Count nods towards Mr Singh indicating the door to the basement.

"So tell me more about this premier work, has Miles been working on it long ?"

Singh sreps into the parlour, snapping the Count a military salute, "Your Grace, I will check on the car and driver."

He leaves the house and hurries to the car, "Mr Webley, I need your assistance." Leading Phil to the house, he explains, "Miss Fuller may be in the cellar, but the inside door is locked. We'll look for an exterior door or window."

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #107):

"Right!  Driver stay HERE!"
Phil gets out and does a quick check of his Luger. He starts to scan the 'house' and move towards the left side.
"I may not have the license yet, but I have the will Mr. Singh."

Cynthia withdraws the painting from the closet to give it a proper examination (front and back). She also takes the opportunity to check the closet for anything else of interest. If Miles complains, she gives him another look until he shuts up.

Upstairs

The closet held the painting on an easel, plus some cleaning supplies. As she strained to see it better, Miles stepped in from behind and blocked her view. He pulled a drop-cloth over the frame and then shoved her back, hard, towards the top of the stairs. "No! It's not for the likes of you!" He then locked the door and put the key in his pocket. Any looks were met with a hard, possibly unbalanced stare.


Keeper's Note: the homes in the 1920's did not have garages to the right of the front door, as automobiles were not common (or indeed around) when they were built. Aatually, you can get floor plans for 6 Holbein Mews on the Internet, but these days it's a heavily-remodeled 3-story walk-up with a garage and no basement that retails for about $7 million.

Outside the House

The house was a row house, one in a series of brick homes. As such it had no sides that weren't other houses. It likely had a rear alley accessed from further up the lane. To the left of the door were casement windows, to the right was a wall with high bedroom windows. There was no basement access.

The cab driver spilled his flask of tea in surprise. "'Cor, wot's goin' on?" He started the car.

Inside the Parlour

"Oh, it was quite a labour of love getting it finished, all right..."

Singh barged past them and saluted on his way out the front door, startling Mrs. Shipley. "My word! What's all this fuss? I shan't be letting anyone back in, it's getting all too much for me!"

She got up and went to the front door, looking out at Singh, the car, and Phil. With a squeak of fear she locked the front door and took the key with her. "Heaven's sake! What's going on here? I will call the police this instant!" The little old woman bustled off towards the kitchen.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:24, Thu 22 Dec 2011.

The Count followed her into the kitchen.

"Sorry... there must be some mistake. I think Mr Singh was just checking the taxi was not leaving."

He tried to think of something else that may defuse the situation.

"So how much are you asking for the major work." He rummages in his inside pocket looking for his bill fold.

"Yes my good lady, lets talk business. I think Mrs Holloway is interested in the major work and if the price is right I may take the large mountain work as well."

He watched the woman trying to gauge whether she had calmed down. He also tried to lead her back to the parlour closing the door when she entered.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:50, Thu 22 Dec 2011.

JM woke as the train slowed, looking out the window and spotting his motorcycle with sidecar still parked next to the train stand.  He whistled merrily and rose, grabbing his case.

Come along now Major, we have a plane to catch.  I hope you don't mind riding in the side car.  I assure you it is perfectly safe.

"Go round to the alley and look," Singh tells Phil as he goes back into the house.

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #113):

Singh tried the front door, only to find it was locked.

Meanwhile, Phil started up the street to find the alley that led to the rear lane.

Singh knocks politely.

Cynthia is unperturbed by all of this nonsense. She gives him one more good look, then walks down stairs, taking her time.

She then sits down at the table, pulls out her banker's checks, and begins making one out. Sooner or later the Mrs. will notice. It would be much less embarrassing for her if she didn't have to apologize to the police when they arrive, but such things are not of Cynthia's concern.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:48, Thu 22 Dec 2011.

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #116):

Inside the House

Miles returned Cynthia's look with a coldness bordering on anger, seemingly a different and perhaps more dangerous person from the babbling wreck of a few minutes earlier. As she left the loft, she heard Miles lock the door and follow. Without a word he saw her down to the ground floor, staying up on the first floor.

Cynthia tried the front door, found it was locked. As it was an older-style lock that required the key (which was missing) she was unable to unlock the front door.

Mrs. Shipley trundled into the kitchen, locking the rear door and putting that key into her knitting bag along with the front door key. She looked at Cynthia and the Count.

"I say, what's this all about? I have half a mind to..." she paused. "Eh, you mean you want to buy? My son's best work is not for sale. You may purchase any others for eighty pound each."

Cynthia arches an eyebrow. She writes the check for two hundred. "I would like the mountain and the one in the closet. I trust this will cover any inconvenience."

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #118):

Basket on arm, Mrs. Shipley crossed her arms and set her mouth in a line.

"The one in the closet is Not For Sale."

"Come.. my good lady Mrs Holloway has made a generous offer... could we not come to some sort of arrangement."

He turns to Miles in the doorway;

"Miles would you not part with your crowning glory ?

Miles walked to the kitchen door.

"My mother said it's not for sale. I say it's not for sale. You can have any other one."

There was a knock at the front door. Bertha Shipley paused in mid-pour of the hot water into the teapot, cocked her head, listening.

"What's that? Someone at the front door? Who could that be?"

"So be it, but maybe we could sweeten the offer by say £50 pounds ?"

He waited to see if they would change their minds, if not he adds;

"Well Mrs Holloway do you need to take another look at the large piece in the studio or to choose one of the others to go with it ?"

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #123):

"The one in the studio I will be willing to sell for £130. That is, the temple in the jungle. Any other for £80. Those are the only ones for sale."

Excellent Karlheinz.  We'll be taking the Brisfit up as is.  No installation of those guns until the time is right, though, good work getting them ready.  Major, you are welcome to ride in the truck, or hop in the sidecar as you choose

He gives the Major time to decide, but not a lot, before slipping goggles over his eyes and kicking the Triumph to life and gunning it back for the airfield.  It's so tiring just to ride, a pilot lives to feel the wind on his face, after all.  The commander of his own destiny, as it were.

He wastes no time as they arrive at the aerodrome, changing into flying leathers and doing his pre flight checks.  He didn't want any surprises out of the trusty Brisfit, and a good pre flight was excellent preventative medicine.  He made sure they had copies of the maps and the flight plan, as well as optics and sidearms, just in case.

"I'll be counting on those experienced eyes of yours Major, both to help with navigation and spotting.  I'll pack us some tea and biscuits for the trip, just in case we get a little toothy."

In reply to John-Marc Falcon (msg #125):

Lympne Aerodrome

Major Storm decided he didn't care for riding in the sidecar. "I'll be freezing my hienie off soon enough!" He got in the passenger side of the flatbead, Karlhienz got in and turned the engine over. Eventually it caught, by that time they were eating JM's dust.

The aerodrome was less active this time of the year. The shells of a few surplus aircraft by a series of massive sheds to one side were all that remained of the vase air fleet that had defeated the Kaiser's best and bravest and struck at the heart of Germany itself. One by one they'd been disarmed and dismantled at Lympne Aerodrome or places like it. A few (mainly Vimy Bombers and Brisfits) converted to civilian use. The Aerodrome had just the year before become the headquarters for the newly-organised sport of air-racing, and it's proximity to Dover meant it was a popular way-point for flights to and from the Continent, France and beyond.

Falcon Aeronautics was located in a small dilapidated hangar at one end of the airfield, not too far from a secondary gate that led directly to adjoining Alderton Road and the cottage John-Marc rented with Karlhienz.

The Brisfit was parked outside, already fueled. The Vimy passenger was stored inside, engines apart for some lackadaisical maintenance. This time of year business was very slow due to the winter that was lingering into early spring.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:28, Fri 23 Dec 2011.

"Got my field glasses right here, don't you worry!"

Storm had a pair of good-quality Zeiss binoculars in a hard leather case.

"Karlhienz, help me get into these flying togs."

In reply to Major Charles Storm (msg #127):

"Ya, warten sie eine minute herr Major. Ach, one minute."

He helped the Major into his heavy coat and sheep's wool-lined pants. Then lifted the old soldier into the cockpit, handed up his flight bay.

That done, he walked over to grab the propeller, waiting for the word from John-Marc... "contact"!

John-Marc checked the last of his gauges, he'd already finished his manual walk around and had been setting up in the cockpit as the Major was helped within.  He pulled his headgear around tighter and buttoned up the last few togs on his coat before flipping the switch for power and gave Karlheinz a thumbs up for contact.

He grinned to himself as the Biff's sometimes tempermental 270 Horsepower of the mighty Rolls Royce Falcon III Roared to life, and Karlheinz quickly retreated.  John-Marc patted the cockpit combing of his Bristol Type 14 F2B, saluted Bergmann and after a grin back to the major, started taxi to the strip, a cursory look around for any flag offs or other aircraft and he gunned the throttle, the exemplary light scout almost seeming to leap into the air as eager as a horse off the starting line.

He made on pass of the airfield, got his bearing for his flight, and after a waggle of his tail to Karlheinz, proceeded to climb to calmer air.

Phil moved down the rear alley, transferring his Luger from his trousers to his coat pocket and began counting houses so he knew which one was the right one.

Turning from Mrs Shipley to Miles then back again the Counts asks;

"Would it be possible for Mrs Holloway to have another look at the large piece in the studio again ?"

He tries to stay back if it looks like both Miles and Mrs Shipley are going up stairs.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #131):

"You're playing some kind of game here. I don't know what, but I don't like it. You got a good look before, you can decide now if you want to buy."

Miles stood in the door to the kitchen, arms crossed.

In reply to Miles Shipley (msg #132):

"Game... no game just thought if Mrs Holloway is handing over such a large sum she may wish to see if any of the other works complement the one she is purchasing."

He looks away and swirling the tea in his cup adds;

"The one piece then... Mrs Shipley when the reporter came the last time did she say when she would be back... seems the girl maybe missing."

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #133):

Miles scowled. "I don't know anything about any woman. And your friend has seen quite enough. If you are not buying then mum will see you out."

Ignoring Miles the Count leans in closer to Mrs Shipley;

"You remember Mrs Shipley, the young girl from the scoop came to write about Miles you let her in, did she she say where she was going after she left ? Maybe at the door ?"

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #135):

This time, Mrs. Shipley answered. "No, I don't recall where she was going. I told you all this before! I've asked you to leave unless you were buying. Let's not hear of any more foolishness and if you are buying, then pay me and be on your way."

With little else to say Bathony sat back in his chair and waited for Mrs Holloway to pay and collect her purchase. There was something incredibility odd about this couple but he had little experience in such things. If they had the girl apart from physically restraining them as he searched the house he could see no way to force the issue.

London

Phil trod down the back lane. The rear wall was very tall, about 8-9 feet high and made of crumbling brick. He carefully counted off the addresses, and near the end he came to the rear gate of 6 Holbien Mews. The gate was locked from the inside.

Brisfit (Bristol F.2B)

The twin-seater climbed into the dreary sky, leaving Lympne Aerodrome behind. There was a layer of overcast far overhead as they banked and flew north towards the Isle of Sheppley. Reaching Whitstable they soeared out over the dark water using a map and compass. With luck they should reach Mersea Island, south of their destination, in about a half hour (the leg from Aerodrome to Mersea Is. being 50 miles).
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:16, Tue 27 Dec 2011.

JM settled in on the navigation route over water, and then took them above the clouds for smoother air, he checked his watch and marked the start of about 30 minutes, holding his airspeed at about 100 knots indicated.  He settles back for this short leg of the flight and while holding his heading yells back to the Major.

"30 minutes over water!  Relax for a bit!"

He looks around idly, enjoying the sunlight playing over the cloud tops.  England is very pretty, he contemplated, as long as you can get above the clouds.

"I shall have the one with the mountain, there's no question of that. If you let Mr. Singh in, he'll help you wrap it and move it to my car. And I will happily pay five hundred pounds for the piece in the closet, easily twice what my competitor is paying. Your son is skillful enough, he can make another, and I'm sure Mister Crowley will understand the delay. I won't be here to pick it up tomorrow, and such a rare find is well worth the price. Also, please bring down the one with the two moons in the background. I'm of two minds of it still."

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #140):

Miles looked a lot less agitated when Cynthia made her decision. "I'll get the temple one and the painting with two moons, both for £200. The one in the closet isn't for sale. Mother, did you lock the front door? May I have the key?"

He took the key from her, and, passing the front door, unlocked and opened it (leaving the key in the lock as was usual). "Sorry, Mister Singh? I don't know why you were locked out. Please come with me. Your Mistress has a couple paintings upstairs for you to carry out."

Miles started up the stairs, with Singh (hopefully) in tow.


OOC: If it's okay with everyone, let's just assume you take the "temple" painting and another, for £200. (Not the closet painting.) Hey, it's not like you have limited funds! We could dicker a little more back and forth but the Shipleys' patience is obviously quite at an end. If Molly is here, then they're too canny to blurt it out and probably aren't going to let you anywhere she could be accidentally found. If she was able to (if she was here, etc.) she'd have made some kind of signal to you by now.

The Count did not move from his seat as Miles left to fetch the paintings. He continued to play with the tea in his cup before addressing Mrs Shipley;

"And there we have it Madam sale made. As to the missing girl I'm sure the Police will require a search of the premises as this was the last place she was seen before going missing. Shouldn't be too much of a bother I believe them to be thorough and efficient."

He tried to sound like it was just some advice, nothing more.

"Thank you, Mr Shipley."

Singh follows the artist upstairs. He helps wrap the canvasses, making sure it takes as long as possible, 'accidentally' ripping the paper and tangling the string, knocking over a jar of soaking brushes, backing into a stack of blank canvases, and otherwise giving Phil as much time and cover as he can.

He insists on carrying each painting himself -- "They are, after all, sir, Miss Holloway's property and I her servant, is it not so?" -- clumping slowly down the stairs with first one, then the other.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #142):

Mrs Shipley waited eagerly for the check, trying not to hover over Cynthia.

"Wot? Oh, right. I do 'ope they find her. I'm sure she'll turn up some place, probably one of them dreadful flappers, flaunting their beaded dresses everywhere and all."

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #143):

Up in the attic, Miles waited impatiently as Singh bulled about. "Careful there, you bloody wog! Don't... touch... anything.... fool..." He muttered to himself.

In reply to Miles Shipley (msg #145):

Not knowing anything about lockpicking Phil tried the rear gate and couldn't get through. He then tried to climb up the rear wall.

12:59, Today: Phil Webley rolled 1 using 1d100. Climbing.
12:58, Today: Phil Webley rolled 23 using 1d100. (Lockpick)

Rear Alley, 6 Holbien Mews

Using some vines and ivy climbing a trellis, Phil was easily able to climb over the rear wall into the garden. He swung over and jumped down. It was overgrown by long brown grass and tangled bushes, dormant after the winter's frost and flurry of early spring snow. There were some rotted crates and a trash bin. An almost overgrown cobble path led to the kitchen door, a clothesline sagged from the kitchen window to a post in the middle of the yard.

From where he stood by the rear gate he could see the rear door to the kitchen and a small barred window to the basement. The rear gate was closed by a key lock so he couldn't unlock it from the inside. He might be able to climb up the rear wall with the help of the bin and the crates. If they held his weight.


Keeper's Note: At this point I'm going to take Phil's narrative to another thread or probably PM to preserve an element of mystery as to what's going on with your comrade!

In reply to John-Marc Falcon (msg #139):

Storm, chilled but not yet freezing, peered out and around. From in behind JM in the observers/gunner's cockpit, Charles' voice was almost completely whipped away by the slipstream. "Holy smokes! You can see so much from up here! I hate to say much more than on the back of a horse! I wouldn't be surprised if they made some kind of "Air Cavalry Corps" some day!"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:14, Sat 31 Dec 2011.

Inside the House

Singh brought the purchases down to the parlour, Miles close behind.

Everyone met in the parlour, Miles and his mum waiting on the payment to proceed.

Before moving off to the parlour if the Count got a chance to riffle Mrs Shipley's knitting basket with out detection he would. Otherwise he waited for the exchange of money to be made.

Cynthia isn't quite sure who should be paying. The count seemed so eager with his money. She feels a little bad buying it for herself if he wanted to pay for her ;)

Singh stands patiently with the bundles.

Inside the House

Mrs. Shipley left her basket unattended for a fraction of a second on the table. Most of the time she kept it with her, so the Count took what little opportunity presented itself to have a peek. There was nothing suspicious inside: balls of coloured woolen yarn and a pair of knitting needles. She stepped back in to fetch it before proceeding to the parlour.

After receiving the payment from Cynthia, Mrs. Shipley and Miles saw the group out the front door. There was no word of goodbye, just a door shut perhaps a little too quickly behind them.

The taxi was waiting, engine idling. Phil was nowhere in sight.

It was not till Bathony had taken a seat in the taxi that he realised they where one down.

"Should we wait for Mr Webley around the corner, will he be rejoining us ?"

"Driver, please drive to the end of the alley," says Singh, "Mr. Webley is looking for a way into the Shipley's cellar."

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #155):

"Roight, guv. 'E didn't say where 'e was goin', just t' stay 'ere."

The driver helped Cynthia inside, then put the packages in the boot. Getting back in he released the brake and put the taxi in gear. He drove down to the alley mouth, then stopped (still on Holbien Mews".

"'Oi'll just stay 'ere, if that's fine with you, squire."

John-Marc laughs loud enough to be heard by the Major

"Air cavalry?  No, aeroplanes are the future, not the past!

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #155):

"Should we offer assistance Mr Singh, though to be honest I am not sure what that would be."

He then got out of the taxi to see if he could spot Mr Webley along the alley.

"Fanciful to think of planes replacing cavarly, I know! Ah, maybe not, those new tanks and combat cars, those will replace the horse, no doubt. Trucks. Trains. Maybe these aeroplanes, these are just a fad, you'll see! Zeppelins, are much more useful for war, for passengers and cargo!"

The slate-grey ocean passed beneath them. Off to the left was the mouth of the Thames, ahead was Mersey Is.

Up in the Air

At a cruising speed and altitude of 90 knots and 5,000 feet, the Brisfit quickly covered the offshore leg of its journey. Thames estuary and river mouth a dark mass to the left, Mersey Is. below. Off to their right lay the North Sea. The overcast thinned a bit, letting in the early spring sunshine.

They turned right, following along the coast to the northeast. Soon, they were over Walton-on-Naze and the headland of the Naze itself, near where the al Misr Estate was located. The Naze (headland, in Old English: naes or literally "nose") was a slowly-eroding headland jutting out into the North Sea. On the heights of the peninsula an octagonal dark brick tower rose, placed there in 1720 to assist in navigation.


Beyond the Naze was a protected estuary called "Hamford Water", and somewhere in this marshland, approximately 5 miles southwest of Harwich was the al Misr Estate. Formerly belonging to Sir Aubrey Penhew, since passed on to Edward Gavigan via probate. Knowing where the estate was on the map was one thing, finding it on the ground was another. The estate had 2 components: a vast walled-in tract of rich farmland either rented out or left to go fallow, and the mansion itself set on an island on the south side of the estuary separated from land by a slough and reedy marshes.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:55, Tue 03 Jan 2012.

"Pish posh!  No, we need new tactics, they are far more than scouts or cavalry!  Three dimensions Major!  You have to expand your thinking for aero warfare!"

JM Slowly tilts the Brisfit right and left as they descend out of the clouds on time and view the shoreline, he uses the flaps to slow them and after taking a glance at his map low in the cockpit and comparing it, he calls out, pointing to their right.

"That's the estuary Major!  Pull out your glasses and I'll bring us down closer so you can look better!?"

JM angles for shadowing the estuary in lazy banks that allow for good scanning and easy observation, cutting airspeed even more as he does, making their way to the mansion itself

"Pay close attention to the water!  I'll get us a view of all of it!"

In reply to John-Marc Falcon (msg #161):

"I've had enough damn progress with those blasted tanks, thankyouverymuch!"

He pulled out his field glasses and started looking.

"Ah yeah, I see it now! Okay. Goddam, this view is tremendous!"

Most of the estate was farmland enclosed by stone-walls. The outer plots were rented or leased out, the land closest to the water gone fallow covered with bramble and weed. The al Misr mansion itself was actually on a small island in the estuary, separated from the shore farmland by a shallow slough and reed-filled marsh but connected via a short bridge on the southern tip going north-south.


On the island, there was a sprawling 2-story mansion. As well, they could see a large stele rising from the manicured grounds behind the mansion.

In reply to The Keeper (msg #163):

Look for the ship or anything suspicious, I will circle slowly!

JM banks and slowly circles the area, trying to get the Major a good look even at inauspicious areas, and looking naked eye himself for anything suspicious himself.

In reply to John-Marc Falcon (msg #164):

After about a half hour of observation Storm put down his binoculars and yelled,

"All right, I've seen enough and I've marked the map. Not much we can see, no fortifications or supply dumps. I think that's enough! I'm freezing, by God!"

There was no ship or yacht in sight, although there was a small wooden wharf on the island not far from the bridge that would allow a dinghy to to tie up.

Observations:

1. The fence surrounding the fields is made of undressed stone, six feet high.
   
2. Access through the outer perimeter wall is an iron gate.
   
3. There is a gatehouse
   
4. The gatehouse is connected to the main house by a telephone line.
   
5. The phone line also hooks into the truck line along the main highway.
   
6. The road to the island travels along a 5-foot levee.
   
7. The fields on either side of the road are sunken below river level and are currently fallow. The receding is likely caused by centuries of farming.
   
8. Massive dikes along the riverside protect the fields.
   
9. The bridge to the island is a turnstile bridge. There doesn't seem to be a need for this, the channel seems too narrow to admit any but the smallest craft.
   
10. al Misr House is (as mentioned) on a river island, which is higher than the now-sunken fields.

London, Holbien Mews

The group waited in the idling taxi for Phil to return. The driver turned to address the Count. "'Scuse me, want me to go 'round back, guv?"

Spurred into action he addresses the driver;

"No my good man would you be so good as to turn off the engine and wait, thank you."

He then addresses Mr Singh as he leaves the taxi;

"I think I will take a quick look to see if I can locate Mr Webley."

With that he begins to count the houses down the alley until he believes he is at the correct gate.He stops and remaining perfectly still tries to hear anything from the garden.

In reply to Major Charles Storm (msg #165):

JM laughs and banks back to the heading home, eye on his compass.

"Roger!  Returning to the aerodrome!"

He climbs and brings the Brisfit to about 90 knots cruising, relying on instrumentation to get them back to the aerodrome.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #167):

Phil slipped out the rear gate of the house. "Sorry I'm late fellers." He got into the cab. "No way into the basement from outside there was a window but it was barred."

"He has a painting matching the frame we found in the upstairs closet. I think we may want to get a better look  at it."

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #171):

"Right, back to the hotel?"

He started the cab back up.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:48, Thu 05 Jan 2012.

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #171):

"I agree and he seemed somewhat reluctant for you to even look at it. There is also the missing girl to think of. As this was the last place she was seen and even with Mrs Shipleys insistence she left I get the feeling she is in dire straits."|

He tried to shield the taxi driver from the conversation.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #173):

"Perhaps Maloney should report it to the police."

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #174):

Yes I thought we could do that, maybe accompany Inspector Darlington if he was able to obtain a warrant to search the house."

"It is just I think time maybe against us... it is probably to late if something has happened."

"Unfortunately, I don't think we have any better options."

Up in the Air

The Brisfit roared home on a reverse course.

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #176):

The driver waited patiently, meter clicking away. The fare would be several pounds so he would be satisfied. Otherwise he seemed a little perplexed at the goings-on but things seemed to be normal now.

"Right then, sorry to bother you, but shall I take you back to the 'otel?"

In reply to Taxi Cab Driver (msg #178):

"Yes driver I think back to the hotel. That is if no one has any objections ?Or should we go via Mr Darlington's office ?"

He then spends the ride back to the hotel or the office in silence.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #179):

London

Lacking contrary instructions, the cab drove them back to the hotel. It was time for lunch, and they could have a better look at the painting if they wanted.

Howard was waiting for them there.

Ralph and Dr. Weston were continuing their research in the London city and county archives.

Lympne

While the others were having lunch, JM brought the Brisfit back safe to Lympne Aerodrome. Circling the field, he could see a man and a car waiting for them below, along with Karlheinz. It looked like Darlington, the police detective.

Indeed, Cynthia will 'enjoy' a more 'leisurely' examination of her acquisitions.

Do we know where Crowley is currently? Would it be possible to steal a quick interview with him?

JM circled the aerodrome once to make sure everything was set up right, calling to the Major "Get a good look down there for hazards before we land!"  Then once he was satisfied he lined up and tapped down, landing and taxiing to his hangar.

Likely, Karlheinz was there to help direct and wave them in, if he was not drunk already.

In reply to John-Marc Falcon (msg #182):

Smiling, Karlheinz walked over to help Storm out, then roll the plane into the hangar. "Did you haff a gut flight, my friend? A bit cold, ya, but otherwise fine weather!"

In reply to Karlheinz Bergmann (msg #183):

Once the plane was in the hanger, Storm staggered in after it and helped close the door.

"G-g-g-g-Goddamn! I'm freezing!" Storm's teeth were chattering a little. "I'm-muh-muh not getting up in one of those blasted things until they develop heating! Only one cure, of course." Setting down his satchel with the sketchbook, maps and field glasses Storm took a swig from a silver flask.

"Ah, can already feel the warmth returning. Anyone care for a nip?"

In reply to Major Charles Storm (msg #184):

Detective Sergeant Darlington was smoking a cigarette as they landed, he declined to assist with the aircraft. He was dressed in a thick coat, bowler hat and paisley tie.

Once in the hangar he accepted the offered drink, passing the flask along to whoever wanted it. "Naow, I trust you gents 'ad a wunnderful flight? Oi was talkin' t' your friend Karl'einz 'ere abaout them guns you was talkin' abaot. Got them written down, all nice 'n propa', Oi did."

"So what of interest did you see on your little excursion, do tell?"

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #181):

"Well, anything useful to be learned from the mad artist?" is Howard's greeting to his friends, "Ah! You bought some of his work, eh? I'll have Simmons order up luncheon, shall I?"

At Cynthia's question about Crowley, he chuckles, "Well, y'know Mussolini chucked him out of his abbey about a year ago, out of Italy, too, for that matter. I see brief notices in the press from time to time; seems he's traveling on the continent: Paris, Berlin, Antwerp last I heard. I met him once. Strangely compelling crackpot."

In reply to Howard Lampton (msg #186):

The painting was of a primitive scene, some sort of night ritual at a temple, lit by torches and a bonfire. A mountain loomed in the background. The setting was African, as evidenced by the thick jungle off to the sides and tiny dark-skinned worshipers with arms raised imploringly towards the sky, or perhaps the temple, or perhaps the mountain behind the temple.

In reply to Howard Lampton (msg #186):

The Count gives and accurate account of their time with the Shipleys.

"Mad... possibly dangerously so. There where instances where if cercumstances had been different there may have been violence. I believe the girl if she has been detained by them is in serious danger."

"I think we should notify Mr Darlington as soon as possible."

He then thinks for a minute or two.

"As for Mr Crowley well our interests do overlap in several areas especially in books. I had heard many stories before meeting him in person and I think they where all true. He seems to have a magnetic personality for attracting waifs and strays and the idol rich. I have done business with him and my shop does have standing orders through his library agent."

"If he was in England I believe a meeting would be possible as it is. Neither the less I will endeavourer to gain a better understanding of the relationship with the artist."

At the mention of lunch he turns to Mr Simmons;

"A bottle of scotch as well. To settle the nerves...Macallan, Glenburgie, actually see if they have a bottle of Ardbeg 25 years should do. Thank you."

"Crowley was the buyer of the painting. He may have more. Or if he's away, perhaps we can forge a note as to where the product should be delivered.

"As for Miss Molly ... Indeed, if she's there, she's in extreme danger, or possibly already dead. I didn't hear anything, and I'm sure she heard us, tromping around on those creaky old floor boards. Unfortunately, if she's not there, charging in might just result in us all becoming a little more familiar with Mr. Darlington's jail cells."

"It certainly felt as if we had exhausted all avenues in trying to get a look around their house. So unless we restrained them while we looked there was nothing more we could have done."

"I think Mr Darlington is our only legal means of entry and if the painting was to be taken as evidence at least we could get a look at it."

"I suspect they don't go out much, It would be good to know if they got visitors. Another possibility, perhaps a little aggressive, if one of the neighboring houses are vacant or agreeable, we might even be able to dig through a wall. A little crazy, I know, but at least it's a thought."

The Count thought for a moment;

"I suspect that Mr Darlington will be able to gain lawful entry on the information we provide. If not then the opposite house is a good idea, through the basement maybe."

" I could have my man Perkins watch the house tonight and tomorrow if that helps ?"

In reply to Howard Lampton (msg #186):

"You got it, sir!"

Simmons went about serving a late lunch.

Singh sees to the paintings, making sure that they are safe and out of the way.

2 O'clock

London

The paintings were secured, tea was served. Fulty and Dr. Weston called from the archives, checking in via telephone. They had picked up a package sent from Jonas in New York, with some interesting article. Also, they dug up some information on the principals of the Carlyle expedition.

Lympne

Leaving Karlheinz to deal with the Brisfit, Storm, Darlington and JM took the train back to London. Storm took the time to update Darlington on what they saw.

The Count was about to say his goodbyes after lunch, but on hearing that additional information on the Carlyle expedition had been unearthed he decided to stay.

Any mention of the expedition irked him no end. He poured himself and any one else a scotch and topped it off slightly with spring water from the jug. He then retired to the terrace reaching into his Jacket to retrieve a well worn cigar case and taking a seat on a wrought-iron chair.

He opens the case and after a second or two of thought retrieves the Partagás Serie D No. 4 leaving the H. Upmann and El Rey del Mundo. Lighting it with a long match he strikes off the side of the chair, he sits in quiet contemplation mostly to do with the books Mrs Shipley mentioned and how he might acquire them.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:26, Sat 06 June 2015.

5 O'clock

Park Lane Hotel, London

Everyone was together at the hotel.

The various stories were related: the odd meeting and purchase of a painting from Miles Shipley and his wife, the air reconnaissance of el Misr House, and the information unearthed at the archives, as well as the floor plans for the Penhew Foundation.

"We found these blueprints. They're for the Penhew Institute."

---

---

This message was last updated by the GM at 08:42, Wed 25 Jan 2012.

In reply to Doctor Phillip Weston (msg #198):

"And, we found out about the principals of the Carlyle expedition from various sources. Not just the main members, but some others associated with them."

"No information, I'm afraid, on anyone that seems to be the man that swindled you, Count."

---

The Carlyle Family History

The first Carlyle, Abner Vane Carel, was transported to Virginia in 1714, having been convicted of "unwholesome and desperative activitie" not otherwise characterized by Derbyshire authorities. Abner was the illegitimate and discredited son of an undistinguished Midlands nobleman. Abner's son Ephraim moved to New England, adopted "Carlyle" as a more gallant surname, and made sound investments in lumber and textiles, the basis of the family fortune to come. The Carlyle interests amassed huge profits during the American Civil War, and far-sighted management further expanded the financial empire in the half-century thereafter.

Roger Vane Worthington Carlyle

Always wealthy, always neglected and ignored by his father. Young Carlyle craved attention. His lawyers evaded a paternity suit when he was 17. Roger underwent short treatments for alcoholism when he was 18, and again at 20. Miraculously, he graduated from Groton, but was allowed gentlemen's resignations from a succession of excellent universities (Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Miskatonic, Cornell, and USC) in the next three years.

When his parents died in a car crash, Carlyle seemed to take stock of himself and for the next year gained the general approval of his peers, retainers, and relatives. But he slipped back into his old ways when his sprightly sister (who had not neglected her studies) showed a better grasp of family affairs.

His lack of character seemed confirmed when Carlyle fell under the influence of a mysterious East African woman, a self-styled poetess with the nom de plume of Nichonka Bunay. Rumors of debaucheries and worse circulated among the police, journalists, and others whose business it is to know the backgrounds of public personalities. Roger Carlyle began to drain great sums of money from family interests, which prompted vicious arguments between himself, Erica, and their executives. In person Carlyle remained forthright and friendly, and was a popular figure at glittering New York night spots.

In the months before he left for Egypt, Carlyle seemed to withdraw and become more serious. But though Carlyle might have been maturing, the goals of the expedition remained nebulous and secretive.

Dr. Robert Ellington Huston

No police record; no military service. The youngest of three sons, his father was a Chicago M.D. who as a young man was reputed to have been caught up in the utopianism of the early plains, and to have belonged to several deviant sects.

Robert Huston graduated with honors from Johns Hopkins. After three years he threw his circuitory-ailments practice (and his wife), and went to Vienna to study first under Freud and then under Jung. Huston was among the first Americans to undertake this esoteric and controversial study of the mind, which dealt so much with sexual behaviour that no respectable person could talk about it. Huston's seemingly salacious and dangerous past, along with his elegant manners and sardonic wit, made him in much demand when he returned to New York City. There he established a practice in psychoanalysis catering to the very wealthy.

Huston enjoyed fame and notoriety. His fees were whispered to be $50-$60 per visit (bearing in mind that a college professor might make $4000 a year). Women found him suave, handsome, sensitive, perceptive, and sexy. Among his patients was Roger Carlyle. Though Huston supposedly went on the expedition with Carlyle to continue his treatment, Huston had just broken off an affair with Miss Imelda Bosch, who had then committed suicide. Roger Carlyle helped hush up the scandal, perhaps in return for Huston's company on the expedition.

Imelda Bosch (former affair of Dr. Huston)

Imelda was a much publicised torch singer and actress, her last film being the American version of Henrik Ibsen's 'A Doll's House'. There was talk among the community whether her death in 1919 was suicide or was murdered at the hands of Dr Huston. There was an investigation, but in the end Huston was cleared of any wrong-doing.

Miss Hypatia Celestine Masters

She has no poice record or record of public service. She is heiress to the Masters armaments fortune, the dark antecedents of which have been chronicled in the muckracking Masters of Corruption by Nikolai Steinberg. Miss Masters' grandfather, Aldington Masters, held onto and increased the holdings by leaving most decisions to a series of chief executives who uniformly made intelligent, far-ranging, and profitable moves. George, her father, also adopted this relaxing way of life, spending his time doting on his daughter.

Hypatia attended Swiss and French academics, showing facility for langauges. Her great interest proved to be photography. Several of her shows earned good reviews and enthusiastic attendance. A daring streak in her led to an incautious affair with a Catholic Marxist, one Raoul Luis Maria Pinera, at City College of New York.

Miss Masters dated Roger Carlyle several times, but apparently only as a friend. Her presence on the expedition might have been Carlyle's gallant whim. No one actually knows why she was invited or why she was accepted.

Jack Oriel "Brass" Brady

An Australian veteran of the Great War. His police record (in Australia, New Zealand, the USA and UK) lists assaults and barroom brawls, petty theft, loitering, gambling, mopery, public drunkeness on both sides of the pond, and an acquitted murder charge in California.

As a corporal in the ANZAC, Jack Brady served in Egypt, Palestine and then the Gallipoli campaign.

He is rumored to have been a mercenary in Turkey just after the war, and to know Turkish and Arabic as well as several Chinese dialects. In Oilfield, California he was in a barroom brawl where he struck his opponent, causing him to collapse and expire in a fit, all in front of horrified witnesses.

The Oilfield murder piqued the curiosity of Roger Carlyle, who just then was being expelled from USC. After an hour long interview, the two forged an intimate alliance, amazing everyone who knew Roger, for the youth had never made any strong friendships. Carlyle summoned the best legal minds in the country for the defense, who proceeded to blow to pieces the seemingly open-and-shut case offered by the county prosecutor and eclipsing the tesimony of seven eye-witnesses. Brady was acquitted on a variety of technical grounds. From that time, Jack Brady was Roger Carlyle's bodyguard, and at other times was his spokesman. For the expedition, Brady acted as general foreman and manager, and by all accounts performed well.

Brady's nickname comes from a brass plate about four inches square which he carries over his heart. The plate is described as covered with strange signs and inscirptions. Bullets twice have denied it. Brady has said that his mother, a recluse in Queensland, had The Eye, and that she made this plate to guard her impetuous son.

"A theme of violence and inappropriate intimiacies. I may decide I prefer the company of Director Gavigan.

Should we assume that 'Nichonka Bunay' is M'Weru'? And is there any more information on Penhew, or why he fell in with this rather sullied company?"

With little to add, Phil examined the floor plans as he munched a sandwich leftover from tea time. "I got a feeling there's maybe an answer to that here, at this here fine institute."

"Major, I saw what looked like some kind of odd rock or monument behind the mansion.  Did you get a good look?  Can you draw it for me?"

The Count studied the plans with interest they seemed to be in order, but the basement detail was somewhat odd. It did seem to be the easiest way in if the need arouse.

He was disappointed that the con-artist who cheated him was not in the group;

"Not to worry, I am sure the rogue shall present himself in due course."

"Inspector Darlington I think that there may be a girl missing and the Shipleys maybe involved. I believe she was a reporter for the Scoop sent for an interview but has not been seen since. Would you be able to bring them both in for questioning or are you able to obtain a warrant to search ?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:47, Thu 19 Jan 2012.

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #200):

"I should think you are correct, Miss Holloway. She is likely the infamous "M'Weru". An assumed name, to be sure. It seems like Penhew sought these people out to staff and back the expedition, to me. Perhaps he didn't know what he was getting into, or perhaps he did?"

"Oh! speaking of motivations, an interesting package arrived from New York in the mails. Jonas sent it about a week after we left, on a fast steamer. Just arrived today."

"Huston, the psychoanalyst, had several files detailing of Roger Carlyle, and Erica as well. They were released to his sister, Erica, whom we met back in New York and was most helpful."

The investigators had indeed met Erica, and the thick packet of information was there for anyone who wished to read the files.

---

Huston's Files from the Medical Affairs Board

The files contain only a few relevant excerpts, though through reading them you perceive that the more Huston grew to know Carlyle, the less he was willing to put pen on paper about him.

Huston's file for Erica Carlyle

Her file notes a few innocuous consultations for which he charged her an outrageous $90 each, and establishes that she was troubled by her relations with her brother, Roger. Huston believed Erica to be of remarkably fine character, and notes that he saw such capable adjustment to the problems of living. He suggested that he would be glad to talk to Roger.

Huston's file for Roger Carlyle

Dr Huston's file for Roger Carlyle contains minor interview notes for about twenty sessions over the span of a year.

quote:

CARLYLE, ROGER VANE WORTHINGTON
First Meeting: Jan. 11, 1918
Reference: Erica Carlyle
Closest Relative: Erica Carlyle

At his sister's insistence, Mr. Roger Carlyle visited me this morning. He deprecates the importance of his state of mind, but concedes that he has had some trouble sleeping due to a recurring dream in which he hears a distant voice calling his name. (interestingly the voice uses Mr. Carlyle's second given name, Vane, by which Mr. Carlyle admits he always thinks of himself.) Carlyle moves towards the voice, and has to struggle through a web-like mist in which the caller is understood to stand.

The caller is a man - tall, gaunt, dark. An inverted ankh blazes in his forehead. Following the Egyptian theme (C. has no conscious interest in things Egyptian, he says), the man extends his hands to C., his palms hold upward. Pictured on his left palm C. discovers his own face, on the right palm C. sees an unusual, asymmetric pyramid.

The caller then brings his hands together, and C. feels himself float off the ground into space. He halts before an assemblage of monstrous figures, figures of humans with animal limbs, with fangs and talons, or no particular shape at all. All of them circle a pulsating ball of yellow energy, which C. recognizes as another aspect of the calling man. The ball draws him in; he become part of it, and sees through eyes not his own. A great triangle appears in the void, asymmetric in the same fashion as the vision of the pyramid. C. then hears the caller say, "And become with me a god." As millions of odd shapes and forms rush into the triangle, C. wakes.

C. does not consider this dream a nightmare, although it upsets his sleep. He says that he revels in it and that it is a genuine calling, although my strong impression is that he actually is undecided about it. An inability to choose seems to characterize much of his life.

September 18, 1918. He calls her M'Weru, Anastasia, and My Priestess. He is quite obsessive about her, as well he might be - exterior devotion is certainly one way to ease the tension of megalomaniacal contradictions. She is certainly a rival to my authority....

December 3, 1918. If I do not go C. threatens exposure. If I do go, all pretense of analysis surely will be lost. What then will be my role?

In reply to John-Marc Falcon (msg #202):

"Of course! Here's the sketch. I was working on details on the train here. Seems Egyptian to me, certainly."

Putting down his brandy and cigar, Storm took out his sketchpad and flipped to the right page.

"It was covered with ivy. I couldn't see details from the air, of course. I think Professor Fulty with his camera should be the next observer. I damn near froze my balls off! Still shivering."

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #203):

Darlington had listened incredulously to the story of the unbalanced Shipley and his poor mum in the shabby Soho home.

"Blimey, that's incredible! 'Es's completely barmey, Oi'll wager. Tell you what. Oi'll talk to Mahoney meself, tomorra, then wi'd a comaplint in 'and Oi can bring in the lot of 'em, mum and 'er nutter son."

"Ah... that brings up an issue. Tewfik and 'is mates, they're goin' ta be showin' up soon at the Blue Pyramid to pick up a victim. The pattern says tomorra noight. Oi'm not sure I wants you lot gettin' involved. Not unless you undserstand there will be risks if we interfere in their business. Oi'm thinkin' of bringin' in Inspecta Barrington, get 'is welcome assistance in stakin' out the club."

"I'm quite sure you're right. Come Monday, we'll be able to widen our search of the records, see if we can get a list of those who might have joined the expedition here in London."

"If you can provide a name and description we can check the proper records."

"That is excellent news inspector, if I am able to be of any further assistance please ask."

The Count turned to Doctor Weston;

"I will bring in the fake credit note when we next meet say lunch tomorrow. As it is I have a prior engagement tonight I must attend and so I must say my goodbyes. It has been wonderful to meet you all, such an exciting day. Well goodbye."

With that the Count collects his hat and gloves and catches a taxi back to his shop.

In reply to Count Sigismund Bathony (msg #208):

Darlington shook his head at the painting, the savagery affecting him as it seemed to do for all that looked at it.

"Cor blimey, wot an 'orrible piece of work, that is."

"Oi'll 'ave a squizz at the note tomorra, as well, Count. Could get lucky, maybe that bloke, 'e used a known alias, yeah? Oi'll be on my way if there's naow other business."
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:32, Sat 21 Jan 2012.

From the package Jonas sent from New York, Ralph brought out something wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

"I wonder what this is? Jonas said that he was sending something they found on one of those bloody, er, "bloody tongue" cultists they caught in America. Some made it all the way to New Orleans and were trying to arrange passage to England when they were arrested."

He unwrapped the large item. It was a savage-looking ceremonial mask, evidently quite old. When he brought it out to look at it in the light, a musky unpleasant odor filled the suite. A scent of rotting vegetation, sweat, smoke... and perhaps blood.

"My word, this is ugly! I'm no expert on African artifacts, but this definitely looks African, all right!"

"Tchak!" Singh glares reprovingly at Major Storm for using such language in the presence of a lady.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:57, Fri 20 Jan 2012.

"Really, Cynthia, do you think that painting so vital to our investigation that we need to overstep the boundaries of the law? I mean, forgery, really."

He hands Storm's sketch back to him, "Looks Egyptian-inspired, at least."

Lampton moves to Fulty's side to get a better look at the mask.

Howard Lampton rolled 2d100 with rolls of 87,11: Anthropology 50, Archaeology 50.

"Hmmmm... Certainly appears African from the workmanship, but I cannot place the style or tell the significance."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:03, Fri 20 Jan 2012.

"Frankly, yes. That painting matched the frame we got from Al-Sayad. And Al-Sayad we know is connected with these murders. And the paintings that that silly artist is making match our murders in half a dozen other ways. The same weapons, the African mountain. I don't know how he knows these things, but he does. Logically, he's an accomplice of some sort, and the proof is sitting there, locked in his storage closet."

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #211):

Storm reddened at the implied rebuke. "Quite right! Sorry for the language, miss. I meant, er, my nose." He took another sip of brandy to cover his embarrassment and pulled on his cigar.

The painting was quite ghastly.

It was showing what was, quite clearly, a human sacrifice and cannibalistic ritual by tribal African heathens. The details were vivid and graphic, from the bright blood and blue intestines to the reddish-brown bones that some in the foreground were stipped the meat from using white teeth.

The priest overseeing this horrifying ceremony was wearing the same mask.

"Well, if you want more details, we either drive out there, or someone can fly with me that is good with cameras.  While we are doing it, I can maybe scout for a suitable landing position, but from what I recall that is very unlikely.  I just know that something struck me odd about that stone."

In reply to John-Marc Falcon (msg #216):

"We may do that. There are plenty of farmer's fields in the area, many are fallow this time of year. We could find a place to land nearby if needed."

"Ta ta, Oi must be 'ome for the strife."

With that, Darlington left the room, heading home for dinner.

Arriving at the front entrance of the shop, the Count looks past the closed sign an spotting Perkins in the gloom he raps on the door.

"Good to see you Sir I was wondering if I you would be in before I left."
The Count turned to the man of about 45 who stood before him. He was dressed in a brown three piece suit and already had his bowler hat in hand.

"I to wanted to see you before you left. I have a task, short op eyes only on a building and two occupants, no contact. Similar to the Penhew foundation and for the same reason. Trail the son if he leaves carrying a bag or similar. Take backup and go tooled up."

Perkins had served with one of the London regiments during the War. He won the Military Medal and was put forward for a VC. Fearless character who the Count owed a great deal to. Putting his hand on the man's shoulder he added;

"And be careful the sons mentally unstable and the mother .. well she's just odd."

He stood in the shop alone for several minutes after Perkins had left lost in thought. The smell of the books reminded him of his families library or the library of the University of Bucharest where he met Ileana.

He turned and walked up the stairs to the very top landing and using the key from around his neck opened the door. The room took up the entire floor and was filled with fitted bookcases and several display cabinets. He moved to the velvet curtains and slipped behind them as he opened the door onto the terrace.

It was large and had a section covered by an open glass conservatory that housed a small section of potted plants from his homeland. The Count moved past them to a small table and chair retrieving a bottle and tumbler from one of the long bench chairs as he pasted.

The view of the London roof tops was spectacular, seven stories up he could see for miles in each direction. This was the second feature that sold him on the building of course when he moved in it was being used to store rubbish. Now with a large rough paver's and a waist high wrought iron fence and of course the conservatory who's sliding concertina doors could be close in the cold, it was his one place to escape.

He pored the cognac into the glass and spent the next hour before his dinner engagement finishing it.

Taking his leave Darlington left the hotel, heading home by bus. Tomorrow would prove to be a busy day.

In reply to Albert Darlington (msg #220):

Storm had a few more brandies and smoked a couple more cigars in Howard's room before retiring, himself.

In reply to Major Charles Storm (msg #221):

Fulty had a scotch and soda, leafing through the psychiatrist's report. It all baffled him.

"I should be making my way to bed, too."

"Dr. Weston, you should have a look at this, tell us what you find."

In reply to Prof. Ralph T. Fulty (msg #222):

Nodding, Dr. Weston began delving into the files, himself. "Yes... this whole situation involving Carlyle, his analyst, Penhew. Very disturbing. Perhaps there's a clue here, somewhere."

He yawned, about ready for bed himself. Dr. Weston had his own usual room here on the 2nd floor in a different wing and had been moved there during the day. As a result, JM had been moved into Phil's room a ways away down the hall on the 4th floor.

Cynthia hasn't fully adapted to these early bedtimes, what with sharing a hotel with so many, ahem, distinguished gentlemen. But she knows there's not much to accomplish by staying up all night. Perhaps tomorrow, should they begin following up on these disappearances.

JM finishes his drink and sets it to one side "Then I suppose we will discuss plans in the morning.  It seems we are turning up more clues, but what they mean is another story.  Goodnight."

He heads to his room for some well deserved sleep.

"Gonna go play some more darts." He headed out into the London streets, towards the pub he visited before.

"Hang on, Webley, I could use a bit of a walk." He gathers his overcoat and a walking stick and accompanies Phil to the pub. He buys all their drinks.

Singh assists Simmons in putting the rooms to rights, then retires to his room. He exercises and meditates before going to bed.

They reach the Pig and Whistle without incident, enjoying the walk through the London night. As it was Saturday evening, there was a lot of traffic around them, both vehicles in the street and people on the sidewalk.

After enjoying a few rounds of darts and pints of bitters (as was Phil's drink of choice) they left to make their way the dozen blocks back to the hotel. Roughly halfway, they both become aware they're being followed by a man about a half block back on the far side of the street, keeping to the shadows. It was hard to tell for sure, as there were still quite a few people about.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:17, Wed 01 Feb 2012.