Re: Monday, 16 March 1925
In reply to Howard Lampton (msg #136):
Inside, Park Lane Hotel, 4th Floor
As Howard only had the key for his room, they were unable to enter Miss Holloway's suite without either going down to the desk or back down the stairwell.
The door to his own room was unlocked. It opened with a slight creak, revealing the darkness inside the room Howard fumbled at the light as Darlington followed him in, pistol in hand. So did Molly, although she was unarmed.
JM stayed out in the hall, alert for anyone approaching from the rear. In fact, if someone was in one of the other rooms they occupied they could come out at any moment. (The other rooms are: Miss Holloway's 2-bedroom suite across the hall, the 2 double rooms down the hall that are shared by Storm and Fulty, and by JM and the missing Phil).
Howard immediately wished he hadn't turned on the light.
The hotel detective, a portly gentleman in his 60's with grey whiskers and dressed in a brown suit, lay dead, strangled, just inside the door. His hat had been knocked off in the struggle. A cord was knotted around his throat, cutting into the skin, which had turned a ghastly purple due to lack of oxygen.
Nearby, Simmon's partially-clothed body lay in the middle of the sitting room floor. His arms and legs were stretched out and looked broken in several places. Bruises covered his body, suggesting he'd been savagely beaten, bones brutally crushed and broken. A single deep wound pierced his breast above his heart. He was gagged by a torn pillowcase tied around his head. Terrified eyes filled with tears stared up at the ceiling. Blood leaked from a broken nose, his proud Bantu cheekbones were shattered.
This was clearly the handiwork of the Brotherhood of the Black Pharaoh, detailed in the loathsome diary titled Life As a God. Which, judging from the ransacked nature of the room, was quite possibly missing.
Keeper's Note: SAN checks needed from Howard and Molly.
Outside, Alleyway off Picadilly
Across the park, unseen in the fog, Big Ben chimed three bells. After the echoes died away nothing broke the deathly quiet of the witching hour, 3am. Well, as quiet as the city of London ever got.
There were no footsteps in the alley. A motor vehicle chuffed by along Picadilly. Storm and Singh kept watch, Karlheinz and Dr. Weston waited behind the wheels of their vehicles. Cynthia sat in the taxi and wondered what was going on up in their rooms.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:53, Wed 02 May 2012.