It was just after tea time on a gloomy Thursday.

Singh changes to his third best jacket and his old Army boots, settling his revolver securely in his jacket pocket. Joining the others, he eats a hasty tea. Blotting his mouth with the serviette, he nods to Miss Holloway and leaves the room. He walks through the lobby and out the front door, walking briskly to the nearest tube station.

He checks the map on the station wall and boards the first train that will take him to Soho, where the Blue Pyramid Club is to be found.

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #2):




Charing Cross Road, Soho

In five minutes, Singh walked from the hotel to the Hyde Park Corner tube station.  It was under a red ox-blood brick building off Hyde Park, and accessed by a series of lifts. To get to Soho, he would have to take the Great Northern, Piccadilly and Brompton Railway line, four stops to the east. It would be a journey of a few minutes at most to cover what would be a mile's walk on the surface.

Like usual, he was ignored thoroughly by the other passengers, protected by the invisibility of the lower and non-white classes. After the ride he exited at Leicester Square, taking the lifts to the street. Getting his bearings, Singh walked north up Charing Cross towards the club, which was a short distance east on Litchfield St. at the corner of West st.

Once he turned the corner on Litchfield, he looked back and realised he recognised a man that was following him. Plenty of people were going his way this time of day, but he recognised the fellow from the lift at Hyde Park station. The follower was an Arab man in his 30s in a shabby suit, bad haircut and cheap hat.

Singh circles the block, pausing several times to look into shop windows, pretending to consult a piece of paper and reversing direction, crossing the street and then re-crossing it. During these maneuvers he observes any others who respond to his movements and whether his shadow gives up.

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #4):

The tail struggled to keep up. He was either not very good, or WAs deliberately drawing attention to himself.

The block was triangular, with Charing Cross forming the "base" of the triangle on the left while the club is near the point on the right where West and Litchfield meet. Singh reverses himself along Litchfield and walks back to the busier Charing Cross Rd, turning right. He then turns right onto West, heading back towards Litchfield to circle the block from the other direction.

He circled the block a couple times reversing direction once more to smoke out any other tails.

Circling the block, Singh didn't see any more tails. His own tail evidently decided that Singh had become too suspicious and at one point when Singh looked back, he was gone.

However, Imran also noticed a somewhat rough-looking Caucasian man in a suit lounging within sight of the Blue Pyramid Club. He was reading a paper at a newsstand and if Singh hadn't spotted him earlier he would have never realised the man was taking too long to make a purchase.

For his part, Detective Sergeant Darlington was bored. He knew from several days of unproductive stakeouts on his own time that the club wasn't due to open until after 6pm, hours away. Nothing unusual seemed to happen during the day, although there was always the chance something would turn up. Darlington noticed the Sikh gentleman (suit, turban, army boots) a few minutes earlier, noted the man following him, and the efforts to either lose the tail and/or determine if there was more than one. When Singh came into view as he circled the block, the tail was gone and he didn't appear to be followed.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:17, Sun 02 Oct 2011.

Singh approaches the Blue Pyramid Club, nodding at the fellow at the newsstand and giving him the smallest of smiles as he passes. At the club, he hammers on the front door.

He also notes whether he has seen other Sikhs in the vicinity.

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #8):

There was no answer as he hammered at the door. The club couldn't be that large, maybe the size of a large restaurant.

Looking around the street, Imran was reminded that Soho did not have a significant Sikh population. He knew that London was in the midst of a wave of immigrants from India, particularly Sikhs, but they settled in other areas of the city. His was the only dark-skinned face on narrow Litchfield St., quite odd considering that he was standing outside a club that catered to a largely Egyptian clientele.

Singh looks for a passage along either side of the building or another way around back. He'll see if he can talk to someone at the back door.

As soon as he has taken a few steps into the dingy, litter-strewn narrow alleyway next to the Blue Pyramid Club Imran Singh feels a firm hand tapping on his shoulder from behind. Even though he was only a few metres from the bustling throng of people on Litchfield Street, the alley felt isolated and claustrophobic.

"Allo allo. What do we 'ave 'ere then?" A commanding voice says in strong east London cockney accent, complete with plenty of dropped 'h's. "Loiterin' with intent? Or just bein' a public nuisance? C'mon, me turbaned sonny Jim, why you 'anging around this 'ere Eyptian Club when you obviously ain't no bleedin' Egyptian?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:16, Sun 02 Oct 2011.

Singh turns slowly to face the man, his face impassive, his hands empty and open at his sides. He blinks twice as he takes stock of the man. When he speaks, it is in a somewhat exaggerated, sing-song Hindi accent.

"Oh my gosh, effendi, such a start you are giving me in this too dreadful locale. I seek an employee for this establishment, wanting to make the reservation for my most excellent employer who wishes to go to the slum tonight. Not meaning any offensiveness, goodness no.

"It is possible that you are proprietor of this most desirable club and my search is at an end? Yes?"