Jason Swift was true to his name, and was moving on sharply toward the nearest train.  He had just come out a century ahead in a grift that would work up until the man he'd just conned figured it out.  Then there would be trouble, and trouble was something that cost money and time.  He had neither on hand to give out freely.

He narrowly dodged a taxicab and headed for the steps of the rail station, on the road to Anywhere but here, when the portly old man suddenly turned left instead of right and - Collision !  Hitting the old fellow with the white muttonchops was like hitting a wall, and he went down.  At this point he also heard the shouts, and the sounds of pursuit.  It was looking like trouble was catching up, today !

"I say !"  the old man snapped, his accent a Midlands English, brandishing an umbrella and unable to rise easily.  "What are you playing at, young man ?"

A look of shocked surprise passed across Jason's face, which was absolutely genuine.  This was followed by a display of chagrin, whose genuiness came from a contrived effort.  The link?  A moment of disaster may prove to be a opportunity.  For now that opportunity lay in escape.

The pursuers would be looking for a man alone, hightailing it.  Not two men, being more sedate in their ambulatory activities.  Taking the chance that the man may also be heading for "anywhere but here", Jason added an apologetic smile to his looks.

In a pleasent steady voice, indicative of an educated man Jason said, "I am so terribly sorry, Sir.  My fault entirely.  Here let me help you up and make amends by escorting you along as I offer my appologies."

Leaning down Jason assisted the man up.  He spoke calmly, asking three questions of concern, "Are you intending to catch a train?  I do hope I haven't caused you to miss it?  Are you hurt?  I am so very sorry for knocking you down."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:21, Sun 05 Dec 2004.

The portly old man proved to be as heavy as he looked, and it took some effort for Jason to help raise him back to his feet.  "I was taking the train to Worcester,"  he said, which was no surprise, given his accent.  "But now I rather think I will take a later train, and a stiff drink for now."

And Jason Swift could easily duck behind the man's bulk to avoid the mark who was looking for him, and did so, with alacrity.  The danger was passing by...past.....gone around the stairwell...Whew ! That had been close.

"You're a sharper, you are," the old man said, raising one bushy white eyebrow.  "Took that one for a few bob, didn't you ?  Well then, you're buying.  And I may have a proposition for you."  He set up a slow amble back toward the street, where the weak London sunshine was trying to dispel some clouds - and most importantly, the bloke thirsting for Jason's blood was not present.  "The Captain Kidd, I think.  Bit far but well worth it."  The umbrella tapped down once for emphasis.  "So, then, what name are you going to give me ?"

Jason smiled politely as he had helped the older man up.  Making a few encouraging remarks as he did so.  Once up he had used the gentleman as a shield under the pretence of brushing down any street debris that might be affixed to the man's clothing.

He hadn't taken the opportunity to "dip" the pockets of his shield.  Jason didn't want to chance an errror brinign attention down on himself.  But when the man's comments turned from trains to an appraisal of Jason he stood there more than a little thunderstruck.

It might be said he that for a second he was rather carplike in his expression.  But a mixture of curiosity and happy acceptance quickly replaced it.  Jason cocked his head to one side, though his eyes did flicker to where his previous mark had disappeared.  It was a glance of caution rather than anxiety.

His voice, still cultured, but far less plumb-in-the-mouth responded to the older man.  An older man? Jason looked a little more attentively at his "benefactor".  Both his vuisage and bulk.  The tap of the umbrella brought his attention back into focus.

"I'm Jason", he decided to give the man the straight skinny.  Partly as a signal of trust, partly a mark of respect for the man's ability. "....And I'd love to buy you a drink."  Jason grinned good naturedly, "Assuming, of course I haven't been dipped by the Artful Dodger himself ... all grown up that is."

Jason pushed his hat back on his head and nodded, "I'm always interested in a good proposition."  He ambled alongside the portly man. Sparing only one glance in the direction the pursuer had taken, before leaving his ears to pick up any return of the irate mark.

At one point, as they wended their way to the Captain Kidd, Jason shook his head in self dismay, speaking quietly, "I should have been sharper.  He cottoned on too soon afterwards.  I'll do better in future."  However, he brightened visibly as the pub came in view.

The old man proved to be steady enough on his pins once he was upright, and Jason's pockets were untouched insofar as he could determine.  But the sharp eyes that returned Jason's searching look were anything but old.  "Artful Dodger ?  I've not heard that in a long time.  I'll drink the drink and you do the listening, and perhaps you'll be tempted enough to do an old man a favour and to make yourself stinking - and I do mean stinking - rich.  So that you needn't run from a pigeon again.  You know what they call a man who steals a quid, right ? A thief.  You know what they call a man who steals a hundred thousand ? A government official.  It's all a matter of style.  For a name, you can call me Basil...Rose."  there was just the ghost of hesitation that told Jason this was a pseudonym.

They carried on to The Captain Kidd, a very old pub that once overlooked the gallows of the selfsame Kidd, whereupon Rose availed himself of a single malt scotch.  "Rotten luck, Kidd always had,"  said Basil Rose.  "But that's all past.  Do you like to travel, Jason ?"

Jason sauntered along next to the elder gentleman continuing his careful appraisal.  Though, in fact, Jason was feeling pretty good about him.  Yet, the young man was decidely confused.  No, make that, pleasantly intruiged.  This was certainly a turn up for the books.  He was also sure that the older man would take no offence if Jason was cautious.  Indeed, failing to take such care would be worse.



Pushing his fedora forward on his brow, Jason puckered his lips in thought. He liked what he'd heard.  There were a lot of questions still, and more than a little wariness about what waters may yet pass under this bridge.

After a moment or two he replied, "Well Basil.  Being rich would be nice, but I'll be honest with you... for me that is secondary.  But, style.... now style... that's part of the mystique isn't it.  I think I get more joy from a good artistic sting than simply getting the moolah."  Here he shrugged and opened up a natural boyish grin, "Still, the lolly has it's attractions."

Now he brightened all over, "And I'd be glad to do the listening.  Plus, I'm always ready to do a fellow a favour."  For now Jason left the matter of Rose being a pseudonym rest.



Jason chuckled, "I don't know too much about Kidd.  But I think he probably lived a life of interest.  Not sure if he was a swashbuckling good guy, or black hearted fiend.  But most likely a King or Queen's privateer who took a hundred thousand, and upset some government officials along the way."

Sipping at his own single malt, Jason continued, "Travel?  Yes I do like travel.  See different places, meet intersting folks.  Usually for pleasure and business".  Then a small shrug, "And sometimes for my health when the pidgeons get the wind up."

Jason's elderly companion possessed an admirable capacity for scotch, and put away another glassful on Jason's coin.  "A life of interest is the only life worth leading," Rose agreed.  "And travel can certainly broaden a man's opportunities.  There's a place I'd like to get to, before I die.  Haven't been there in many a long year, and I find I require a travelling companion in the infirmity of old age.  It would be worth your while, and I do mean that."

 Rose smiled, face falling into a series of merry wrinkles, and flashed a bright emerald set in rich yellow gold, a ring that Jason had not noticed yet.   "I think you'd find a cruise might suit you, right about now, would you not ?  On a ship with a casino, of course, no point in letting anyone keep money they don't know how to hold onto. I could stop in at my club to pick up something, and we could be on our way in a matter of days."

Jason leant back in his chair, legs outstretched before him.  His hat now pushed forward, nursing his drink as he looked at Basil thoughtfully.  For about a full minute he stared at the elder man, lips slightly pursed.  Then a shiver of mirth shook Jason's shoulders and he gave a wry smile.  Raising his glass, "Your on", he said.  Whatever concerns he felt, Jason pushed aside.  This was piquing his interest no end, and he felt himself warming to Basil Rose.



"Yes, I do believe I could use some sea air, and a change of scenery." was Jason's initial response.  He eyed the ring Basil had displayed.  Displayed with probable intent behind the act no doubt.  Jason, took the bait, "Nice sparkler, gives me an idea or two about travelling."

He grinned, "Let's pick up your stuff, and see about some documents.  Pasports and such.  I can pass pretty readily as an auction house freelance assesor.  And, depending on locale, a second set of docs as a minor business rep.. coffee, tobacco, tea.  Something like that, new company looking for fancy goods to purvey.  Combing business with family, escorting my Grand Uncle on a world tour.  Unless, of course, you consider something better.  I can dodge up the first set in a couple or three days.  The second set concurrently.  But..."

Here Jason gave a slight shrug as he continued, "... to do things right, and fast, might take a bit more cash than I have.  So, I'll get the scotch, can you cover the costs of some supporting papers?  We'll make up the difference at the casino."

Now Jason gave Basil a straight look, "But, I'm always ready to learn different.  I'll consider myself in the hands of the Dodger himself.  I'll follow your lead."

"That's the spirit,"  Basil Rose replied.  "I can have the papers drawn up fast enough, and you can shop for a pith helmet and tropical wear as well.  It's bloody hot down there and no mistake, and it rains every wretched day.  Come along,"

He got up looking rather spry, for an old fat man, and set off steadily as if the scotch he had just put away was merely flavoured water.  Jason found himself led toward a fairly fashionable street, to a fashionable brass-dressed door, where the old man knocked twice, then once again.  The door opened to show a hugely muscled man in a blue suit, who nodded at the key fob that Basil flashed at him and stepped back to let them in. "Members only inside, but there's a foyer with a snooker table,"  Basil said, and Jason found himself shuttled off into a pleasant room with, indeed, a snooker table, soft overstuffed chairs, all of the day's newspapers and a selection of books.  Not the worst waiting room.  He waited a bit, then heard yelling.

Basil Rose's face was red but it was a controlled fury.  "They gave it away,"  he hissed.  "Come on, Jason, we have to get to the damned library !"

Quietly and softly Jason wandered around the waiting room.  Part of his attention was on the contents of the room, furnishing, atmosphere, art, bric-a-brac.  Absorbing what this place, not just the room, but what the whole clubbish thing was all about.

Jason's hat was pushed back on his head, and his hands were deep in his pockets. Although he was looking about with interest, much of his mind was working on the strange turn of events he'd just encountered.

No accident this meeting...  fateful.. but no accident.  That change of direction by Basil...  Jason grinned, .. very neat.  But..... maybe it was just fate.  A small shrug evidenced at the shoulders, Jason laid his concerns aside for now.  He'd wait and see. But the wait would not be blind.

Hot and rainy? ..... pith helmet?   .....   down there?.... Tropics then?  Choices?  The South Americas?... The Carib?  .... The Africas?   .. China Seas?   .. Indian subcontinent?  Siam Peninsular?... .  Once again Jason Swift grinned.  No, he smiled.  Rich pickings indeed, whatever happens.  Large trade cities... European colonies.... traders.... commerce.... ... shipping....movement...high risk investing.... rich, bored wives and daughters.... jewelry....  lots of angles, and the list just gets larger... deals, opportunities...  Yes, being Uncle Basil's favorite Nephew may well indeed be a golden opportunity.  Jason's face grew a little sombre as he pondered the attachment he felt towards the old man.

Once again came the slightest shrug, followed by a boyish chuckling grin, Two peas in a bloody pod we are.....  If I had a real Uncle, I bet it'd be Basil anyway.....  Draw up papers?  By golly, I hope he is my Uncle.  That means "pull", so it did......  Draw up papers.... crackerjack!  There followed thoughts of Captain Kidd, Kings, Queens, a hundred thousand and governments. But most of all, a life of interest.

The facial expression became more serious at the sound of shouting.  When Basil came in red faced but in command, Jason straightened up and took his hands out of his pockets. "Taxi?", he queried.  He did not question further, Basil would let him know details when fewer ears were around.  Jason was already moving with alacrity towards the exit.  He felt like part of a team already, letting the sybiosis grow.

Basil Rose seemed to be in command of the moment, and his temper.  "Taxi," he agreed, and scouted the street for one.  At the raised hands, one of the humble black cars pulled over to the kerb and they got in.  It was a short enough ride to the library, where Basil got out, completely calm again, and strode forth...with a slower pace, this time.

"I'll need a penitent nephew," Basil Rose said, "Who made a mistake and gave away one of my precious books, written by an old friend, signed by him.  We need it back. So sorry for the inconvenience sort of thing."  And then they were in the library, headed to the front desk where a fish-faced skinny woman was stamping books with some sort of grudge against the world.

"Pardon me, Miss,"  Basil said, his voice now with a gentle quaver, "There's something terrible that's happened, and I am really hoping you might help us..."
This elicited some mild interest from the woman, who sniffed and adjusted her spectacles.  "There was a book that my nephew here, it seems he made an error and donated it to your fine library.  I'm afraid it was one of my favorite books, and I would like to humbly request it back."

Jason nodded and slipped his hat into his hands.  Holding the Fedora so it was level with his sternum.  The fingers of both hands curled over the edge of the hat brim.  He scrunched his shoulders forward and hunched very sligtly.  Carefully Jason structured a mood into his facial expression.  Mildly bewildered and wide open eyes, and a crinkle of helplessness across his brow.

The pace was a little short and a little nervous.  Overall Jason looked like a rather drippy naiive twit.  His manner that of an eightyear old schoolboy who'd been caught with his hand in the biscuit barrel; feeling guilty, even if he had thought permission had been granted.



Jason, hat held at his chest gave the impression of a rather nervous gerbil.  An awkward inane grin on his mug.  Rather slowly he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again.



As Basil spoke Jason nodded his head in emphasis to the situation.  His voice was just a trifle higher than normal, yet clearly indicative of a "nice" upbringing. Jason did not add any lisp, but a few of his "R's" came out as "W's.

When he spoke it was marginally breathless and lightly exiteable, "Yes Miss.... ... aahhh  Sowwy.....my fault entirely.....   Aah... good cause y'know... libwawies...  ahhh...  Well, did the done thing.. and ahh... unfortunately.. aaah .....  the baby and the bathwater thing happened...  Sowwy...."

The slow phrases were punctuated with little nervous shifts from one foot to the other. "Welll....   aaa.....  Unky here has a great sentimental attachment to it...... aahhh .... the book that I put in with the west of the donation......   sowwy"

Now Jason's head cocked over slightly, with a rather querrulous look of hope on it, ""Ahhhhh I do hope you can help..... wecover the book that is.... aaaahhh   awfully grateful if you can..... please....  ahhh welll.... aahhhh .....   uummm.... Sowwy"  he tailed off rather timidly.  Clearly he was in awe of the Miss in charge of the library.

At this point the shuffling Jason bumped a piece of furniture causing a squeak of shifted wood on wood floor.   "Sowwy", repeated Jason folornly. He looked more drippy and eagerly hangdog with each passing moment.   The hands shuffled the hatbrim around at his chest.

"Good grief,"  the librarian snapped at Jason, her voice a harsh North of England monstrosity.  "Will you stand still, young man. What is the title and author of the book ?"

"Expeditions to the Amazon, by James Peach.  He's signed it, and I've a bookplate in it as well,"  Basil said, in the old-man-distressed tones.

"Well, you'll have to wait.  Someone's checked it out."  the acerbic response came.

Jason dutifully jumped at the sharp admonition.  He huddled up to the librarian's countertop.  His hat he placed on the wooden surface, held only by his left hand. The other hand he laid flat next to the hat.  He nodded emphatically at her instruction for the ceasation of movement.  A marginally blank look crossed his face at the request for the title.



As she entered into discourse with Basil, Jason quickly scanned the contents of the counter.  He was looking for the neat, thin open wooden containers of library cards. The small card pockets that contained the identifying tickets kept in the fly pockets of books until they were checked out.

He knew that they would be sorted by date, with the wooden racks rotated daily.  He was pretty sure that the card pocket would have the name and address of the reader on them. They certainly were in libraries that he had frequented in the past.  It saved on multiple filings for subscriber details.

It was a quick scan, and he was once again looking helplessly at the librarian when she said her piece about waiting.  Jason gave a vaccuous nod of affirmation at her instruction to wait.

He quietly said,  "Ummm  ... yes quite so....   ahhh... may we know when the book might be back.....  aaah ... and ... ummm  please...could you put a note ...  aah in the ...  umm ... libwawy card.... ...  ahhh you know.... ummm a hold....."

Jason looked slowly at Basil and said, "You see Miss.... aahhh Unky is vewy attached to the book...  aaahhh the author vewy close fweind...  and the bookplate is .... wellllll.... aahh rather ummm.... valuable in itself.... "

He ended up looking hopefully at the woman.

Jason Swift glanced over the freshly stacked library cards, reading names.  They were written in some sort of Sanskrit and were upside-down - no help there.  And the icy hag didn't seem to be thawing any.

Basil Rose pulled out his handkerchief and clutched it dramatically to his chest, making a little gasping noise. "Oh my...oh my...I feel unwell....."  And this prompted the woman to hurry out from behind her desk, to fuss over him.

This left Jason with the unparalleled opportunity to read the last four cards.

Jonathan Brisbee, Douglas Meerenfeldter, Marianne Trevors, and Kelly McFlaherty.

Jason had no idea of anything at this point. There was nothing to even base a guess on.  The book may have been here days, or weeks.  Maybe only hours. And, he wasn't about to tip his hand on a wild guess.  However, the fact that the old bag hadn't made a move to provide a required service had suggested an avenue to follow later.

Basil's convenient bad spell was gong to be useful.  Just for chance Jason screwed his head around awkwardly to better see the cards he could read.  Now he quickly ran his eyes over these four looking for the book title,  "Expeditions to the Amazon, by James Peach."

Jason Swift palms the four cards, as the lady determines that Basil Rose is just Malingering.  "I told you, it's been taken out.  You can ask for it to be put on hold for you when you return."  The old shrew snapped.  Basil glanced at Jason for affirmation, then resumed his sweet-talking.

"My dear lady, you are so kind to look after an old man,"  he said, "I would be ever so pleased if you would place it on hold for me.  Basil Rose is my name.  Someone will take a message for me, at my Club, the Hamilton, near the Circus."  He made a show of mopping his brow as she wrote this down, then the two men departed.

"I trust you got the cards ?  Splendid.  TAXI !"  They would proceed to the address of each of the four, until someone had the book that had so taken Basil Rose's interest.

At the third stop, they were knocking on Marianne Trevors' door.

(scene change to Marianne's lucky day)

Basil Rose had rolled his eyes and reached into his coat pocket, and snaked out two 50-pound notes, with the dexterity of a fine dip. "Make them do a lot of work,"  he cautioned, and handed them over.

Jason Swift knew enough unsavoury characters to be able to obtain a shotgun, double-barrelled, a semiautomatic pistol (Luger, parabellum), and an American model 1911a handgun.  The shotgun was the easiest to purchase ammunition for, and he got two boxes of shells, the Luger came with eleven bullets, and the 1911a had one clip, but they were going to the Americas, so perhaps they'd get more there.   He had scrambled to get clothes, a canteen, a good pair of boots, and was at the Compass Rose Club at a bit past 9 am.  He knocked on the brass-dressed door, and saw the slot slide back.  "No solicitors !"  rumbled a deep voice.

At a request for Basil Rose, the door swung open, to reveal the biggest bruiser of a fellow that Jason had ever seen, seven feet tall if an inch, whose muscles had muscles, stuffed into a suit.  This broken-nosed giant examined the card and wordlessly led Jason into a drawing room full of stuffed animals.  Under the snarl of a cheetah he waited, and presently a harried-looking Basil in impeccable tweed came into the room, flourishing papers.

"Got you a Yank passport and a British one,"  Rose said, passing documents over. "We have an afternoon departure from Dover, there's not a moment to lose.  Sent a man over to Miss Trevors' to collect her and her luggage.  My stuff's already gone on to the ship.  Three staterooms, ours has an adjoining door, hers is across the passageway.  Ship is called "Queen of Emerald Bay", captain owes me a lot of money, old gambling debt I called in."

(feel free to go to Queen of Emerald Bay thread, if you wish)
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:40, Fri 21 Jan 2005.