Play@YSDC

OOC:   The 'Club' of professor Hawthorne.

The gentlemen’s club, of which Professor Hawthorne amongst many of the academic luminaries of the city is a distinguished member, is found off Regency Street. A typical Georgian building of three floors, it’s glossy black front door with suitable brass embellishments is reached by a short flight of marble steps flanked by wrought iron railings. To the right of the door is a large bell pull and a bronze plaque which identifies the establishment as the ‘Prince Regent’s gentlemen’s club; Home to the Cerebral Activities Society, London branch’ a further sign admonishes the visitor to ‘ring and await answer’. Above the door in a stained glass panel a Latin text reads 'cerebrum educatione est in escam' ('Education is food for the brain', I trust ).

Upon pulling the bell a quiet yet pleasant bell note is heard from behind the door. Within moments the door is opened to reveal a thin faced, somber looking gentleman in a splendidly maintained tail coat. He regards you momentarily in the fashion that only a butler of the highest caliber can. “Yes Gentlemen, how can I be of service?”

"We are guests of Professor Hawthorne, here is our reference."

Wellington produces the letter of introduction and hands it to the butler.


"I am Mr. Horatio George Wellington and my companion here is Mr. Arthur Cecil Klevendon. We would very much like to have a sherry in the parlour."

The attendant looks you both up and down in that haughty manner that servants have, takes the card and glances at it. Obviously satisfied with both your appearances and the credentials, he bows stiffly and ushers you through the front door into a splendidly decorated lobby, complete with tiled floor, varnished oak and brass fittings (including the new fangled electricity lighting), and exquisitely upholstered leather and velvet furniture.

He indicates a side room of splendid proportion, panelled extensively with the same varnished oak as in the lobby, comfortably furnished throughout, in which at the time there are several well dressed gentlemen taking tea whilst perusing the broadsheets. In the same room there are two elderly men, both obviously asleep even though one has attempted to hide the fact by covering his face with todays copy of the Times.

"If Sirs, would care to find a seat in the library, I will ensure that their requirements are tended to forthwith" Once again bowing stiffly, he retires to a desk near the entrance.

Klevendon finds a comfy-looking armchair, then sinks into it and crosses his legs. "Ah, this is more like it, Mr. Wellington!"

The chairs, many of which are well stuffed wing backs, are indeed most comfortable and it is easy to understand why some members might fall asleep in them.

Within moments of your finding seats a smartly turned out club attendant carrying a silver tray and having a spotless white tea towel draped in a most exact manner across his lower left arm, appears and takes your order.

Looking around at the quality of the establishment whilst awaiting your order, you notice the sombre looking butler speaking quietly to an expensively dresses gentleman with a shock of white hair, which seems to have a will of its own and extends above his head in a series of wayward spikes, from the occasional glances in your direction you assume that you are the subject of discussion.

This is made abundantly clear when the said gentleman rises from his seat, pulls at the bottom of his waistcoat in an effort to retidy it, and walks over to your table,
"My dear sirs" he smiles and the hint of diamond is displayed amongst his otherwise brilliantly white teeth, "I am Lord Carrington - Fforbes, and have the honour of representing the committee of the Cerebral Activities Society" He indicates an empty chair at your table, "May I?"

It seems his manners are as impecable as his dress, which you conclude is tastefull and not in the least ostentatious. it speaks quietly of wealth without vulgarity.

Taking your aquiscense for granted, he sits in the chair and leans across the table top to offer you a pinch of snuff from a gold and ruby studded box, "Soames tells me that you have a letter of introduction from Hawthorne over at the Natural History Museum. I must say that your coming was anticipated since not an hour ago a short note was delivered from the good Professor to apraise us of your requirements" He returns the snuff box to a waitcoat pocket, "Just tell Soames what you require. However may I say that the idea of any of this societies iluminaries being involved in any nefarious undertaking, frankly astounds me. Yet be that as it may...talk to Soames"

He stands, "If you will forgive me gentlemen duty calls. Soames will attend to you and I see your drinks are forthcoming"

"You are most kind, Lord Carrington, most kind indeed."

Wellington gladly accepts the snuff.


"Before you summon your man, might I inquire as to the nature of your own particular cerebral activity?"

Smiling, which again reveals that shine of diamond in his teeth, Carrington - Fforbes takes a ornately decorated watch from a waistcoat pocket, flips it open, to the tune of 'Rule Britannia' and glances at the time, "Indeed sir you may, I count myself amongst the architectural elite of the Empire. Why it is for a meeting of tha latest planning stage of the new Highbury Sewerage Planning Commitee that I must now depart"

He returns the watch to its pocket, "Frankly sir I am a little suprised and hurt that you do not recognise my name and my recent involvement with the construction of the new Airship terminal at St Pancreas"

If he is 'hurt' by your ignorance to his position in society he does not show it, he simply bows formaly and turns towards the entrance, "Ah Soames, be a good chap and attend to the needs of these fine gentlemen"

Soames bows, glances towards you, cocks an eyebrow expressively and says in a supercillious manner, "Indeed sir"

"I'll have cognac, my good man," says Klevendon.

"'Highbury Sewerage Planning Commitee': Mr. Wellington, now that is a clue!"

Wellington harrumphs at Klevendon's remark and reclines in his seat.


"Indeed, Mr. Klevendon, but a clue without a motive, is about as useful as tobacco without a pipe. Any idea's?"


He looks up as the butler approaches and clears his throat.

"I'll have a cognac as well, Soames, and some moments of your time when you're ready."

Soames favours the waiter with the spotless towel a glance to which the waiter nods and quickly disapears through a side door.

"How may I be of assistance gentlemen?" he speaks with the flat tone particular to the serving classes, a tone that speaks of boredom yet a professionalism that will see a job done correctly.

It's Klevendon's turn to harrumph. "You are the Detective, Mr. Wellington! However, I thought a visit to the Sewage Committee may be profitable---" He stops talking and looks at Soames when he speaks.

"I am, indeed." Wellington flashes Klevendon a wicked grin and then turns to Soames.


"Ah Soames, could you tell us anything in particular about the notables of this club? With cognac of this quality, I'd be more than interested in considering paying the admittance fee."

DrPeterson wrote:"Ah Soames, could you tell us anything in particular about the notables of this club? With cognac of this quality, I'd be more than interested in considering paying the admittance fee."

For a few seconds Soames regards you with an unfathomable stare, "Indeed sir, you need not think to flatter me with your protestations of interest in membership of this club. I can assure you that your future potential membership is of no concern to me. However, I have been given full instructions by our esteemed Chairman Lord Carrington - Fforbes to furnish you with any information you should require that does not contravene the privacy of our members"

He coughs, politely into his hand, "I am certain you understand my meaning sir. Now if you would inform me of the information you require"

Klevendon thinking:   Does Soames believe we know more than we actually do?

"Soames, since we are being blunt--er--is there an 'inner circle' of the Cerebral Society? and how does one attend any meeting?"

Tabs wrote:"Soames, since we are being blunt--er--is there an 'inner circle' of the Cerebral Society? and how does one attend any meeting?"

Soames observes you with an inscrutable look that would grace the face of a Chinaman. "Inner circle?...Oh I see what you mean sir, there is no 'inner circle', unless one includes the membership committee and that meets once a month unless there is important membership business to deal with"

Wellington had little regard for this man and he had even less inclination to play into his game.
He sat back and watched the exchange between Klevendon and Soames, his lips pursed and looking rather cross.

Klevendon is a "bit stumped" after his "shot in the dark" failed to hit any mark. Soames would hardly confess to a satanic conclave of the hierarchy from the club and invite him along too, would he? Klevendon looks at the tight lipped Wellington, and feels a touch foolish. He changes tack: "Carrington - Fforbes has a meeting, the latest planning stage of the new Highbury Sewerage Planning Commitee, where is the meeting, pray?"

Tabs wrote:"Carrington - Fforbes has a meeting, the latest planning stage of the new Highbury Sewerage Planning Commitee, where is the meeting, pray?"

Soames considers the slightly flustered Klevendon, a slight smile curling the corners of his mouth, "Why I should imagine it would be taking place within the offices of the Highbury Water Treatment offices on Marksbury Street. However, I believe you gentlemen are here at the behest of Professor Hawthorne at the Natural History Museum in regards to a meeting that was held at these premises recently. Not wishing to instruct you in your business, but that matter, I would imagine, has little to do with his Lordships architectural enterprises"

There is something about Soames' manner that reeks of the arrogance of an inferior's victory over a superior.

Wellington's voice is cold and his eyes are ice.

"Why don't you tell us then what you have been instructed to tell us, Soames."

Obviously impressed by the steely glint in your eye and the grim set of your lips, Soames issues a gentle cough quickly stifled by his hand, obviously a subtle attempt to diffuse a rapidly escalating situation.

From his inside pocket he produces a short list of names written in a neat and precise hand,

"Here is the list of members present during the lecture in question" with one immaculately manicured finger he indicates the list, which seems to include beside Lord Carrington-Fforbes and the good Professor Hawthorne around a dozen of the most respected members of the city's elite as could be hoped for.

To your quick scan of the names, there is none that stand out as being of the calibre to attempt such a deadly practical joke.

Soames, his face now showing the indications of servitude expected for one in his position, continues,
"These most honourable members were the only people present at that meeting. For this I can personaly vouch as I was attending in my capacity"

From the oak mantle beneath which a warming fire burns fiercley, an ornately crafted clock strikes two o'clock followed by a chime that vaguely resembles the hymn 'I vow to thee my Country'

Wellington folds the list and pockets it. He gets up out of his chair, his sharp aquiline features contrasting heavily with that of the servant.

"Then it is time we took our leave. No need to show us out, Soames, we know the way."


He turns to Klevendon and nods, inviting the man to come along and then nods his goodbye to the butler.

Mustering the full amount of respectfulness, Soames politely bows, "As you wish. Shall I have a cab hailed or shall you find your own?"

OOC:   You have an hour to kill as you had arranged to meet Nellie and Roxborough at 3pm. I have, at last, managed to put the newspapers from the Professors up. Please study them you may find something of use within.

Klevendon stands-up from the comfy armchair. "I haven't finished my cognac yet," thinks he petulantly.

He whispers to Wellington: "My God! you certainly can deal with the lower orders."

"You may hail us a cab."

Wellington buttons up his waistcoat and makes to leave.

When Soames has left to get the cab, he turns to Klevendon.

"The arrogance of that man was simply impermissible. However, given the expediency with which we have conducted our research here, I would propose taking our cab via Fleet Street. I am eager to take a quick look at the surroundings there. A visit to the Water treatment offices may be more prudent on the morrow."

"Yes, yes, Fleet Street it is," says Klevendon as he follows Wellington. "The rat infestation: I wonder if any of Nellie's colleagues were bitten?"

Within moments Soames reapears, "Your cab awaits sirs. May I take this opportunity to wish you a successful outcome to your enquiries and reassure you that whatever scurilous buisness you investigate the honorable menmbers of this establishment can not have been involved"

He bows slightly in an almost perfect mathematical degree of incline, for a moment the slight addition of a sharp heel click would transport you to the throne room of the German Kaiser himself. Of course it does not for this is London not Berlin.

A short time after you are seated in the relative comfort of a modern hanson cab. A small hatch near the velvet lined roof opens momentarilly and a sharp featured face is framed there,
"So where will if be Guvnor?"

Wellington disregards the butler as he gets into the cab.
Sitting down he takes the list out again, stares at the names and then passes it to Klevendon as the driver opens the hatch.

"Fleet Street first, but we'll need you for some more travel afterwards."

Klevendon sits back and peruses the list.

Through the busy streets of the vibrant capital of the British Empire, the carriage wends its way in a not uncomfortable journey. The noises and shouts of commerce are subdued slightly by the brocade and plush of the carriages interior. The gentle clip of the horses hooves and the sibilant hiss of the drivers whip, provide a most lulling effect, from which you are jolted to full awareness by the abruptness of the journeys end.

The small hatch opens once more and the voice of the cabbie disturbs the tranquility of the hansom's interior,
"Fleet street, as whot you arsked guvnor"

Fleet Street, newspaper land. Here amongst the splendour of the architectural excesses of empire, are found the headquarters of some of that empires most famous organs of truth. The Times, the Telegraph, the Express, the Evening Express, the Daily Broadside, the National Enquirer, the Record, the White Star, and the Daily Speaker.
(Fleet Street)

"Most excellent! If you'll wait here for us, good man, we shan't be a moment."

Wellington gets out of the car with some dignity and straightens his coat.

"Alright Klevendon, I suggest we see what these men and women of the written word have to peddle and perhaps take a look at the sewer from which those rats poured before heading to tea."

Stepping from the hansom to the busy street you are assailed by the noise and smells of the metropolis. Everywhere a myriad of folk some dressed in expensive clothing, others the dress of the common workman, and some wearing various scraps of ragged clothing. Yes Fleet Street shows the many facets of the cities society.

As you look around you notice that by hapanstance the cab has deposited you outside the ornate facade of a building that proclaims, by dint of a magnificent and well polished brass plaque, the offices of the Daily Speaker the very news paper whose front page had informed you of the city's rodent problem.

As luck would further have it the front door, a splendid affair of brass, oak and glazing, opens to disgorge three gentlemen, whose attire and the meerest hint of printers ink engrained around their fingernails proclaims them to be employed within the newspaper industry.

We are in luck!

Wellington purposefully strides towards the three men and tips his head.

"
May I a moment of your time, gentlemen? I was wondering if any of you could offer some more information as to what happened with the rats? More specifically, did anyone enter the sewers after those beasts came out, or did anyone hear anything in particular?"

"Horrible vermin!" adds Klevendon. "It must be hot and thirsty work at the printing press," says he pulling a few coins from his pocket, "what about those sewers, etc. like the Gentleman asked?"

At the sight of Klevenden's coins the three men quickly doff their caps and assume a proper deferential demeanour.
One of them a tall, gangly fellow with a long fair forelock dressed in a checked three piece, which from its age attested to the logevity of clothing in years past, smiles a smile of avariciousness,

"Rats?...Oh those rats, the ones what appeared from the sewers, gave some folk a nasty turn, nipped a few uvers and then vanished back from where they came"

Like members of some theatrical troupe the other two nod and smile agreement, Checked suit continues after rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand,

"As to whever anyone pursued the verminous creatures. I don't think they did uver than to make sure that the sewer entrances were sealed to stop a rehapearance"

He gestures towards a black cast iron sewer lid, a gesture reinforced by similar ones from his companions,

"That there is one of the places from which they had emerged. There was a lot of them, a veritable swarm there was, enough to force that heavy lid"

Wellington observes the threesome with some detachment, hearing their statement with the appropriate apprehension.


Would you gentlemen then help us out a bit more? You have already observed the depths of my companions pockets. I would like to have a look at that lid and sewer hole.

"That went well," observes Klevendon to Wellington, delighted with himself. He wanders over to the sewer lid.

The three accompany you both over to a cast iron sewer lid a few yards from the newpaper building. From the marks aound the cover you are able to see that the marks show a myriad of animal prints both coming from and returning to the sewer opening.

Further investigation shows that the lid itself had been recently opened and closed firmly.

"Twere 'ere that they was coming from. Some of the lads managed to reseal the cover after they was gone" the speaker in his patched tweed cap, indicates the sewer lid, "They wont be a coming out again in a 'urry we forced the top dahn 'ard, take more than a few rats to force that bugger, I can tell you"

"Oh, well done, sir," says Klevendon, relieved that the sewer is inaccessible. "We would like to interview the Editor of the Daily Speaker, my good man, is there anything we ought to know about him?--a bit of leverage so to speak. Also, do you know who witnessed the outpouring of rats?"

Wellington lets out an indignant hmph.

"Yes, I'm sure we'd learn a lot from talking to that man, but first I would like to take a look at the other side of that lid.."

He takes a step back and assesses the men.

"I'm sure three strapping men such as yourself will have little difficulty prying it loose. "

One of the three, the cap wearing fellow, turns to Klevendon, "'es a bit of a drinker, likes his gin does old Mattison." he grins a grin that almost threatens to split his face, as well as disclosing his badly cared for teeth, "But then don't us all" he winks and elbows the third member of the trio who has yet remained unspoken, "Aint that so Alf?"
Alf, studiously ignores his companion, "I imagines that the best bloke to talk to is Klebbs for it was he who wrote the article"

Whilst this three way conversation is taking place, check suit bends to study the sewer lid before straightning and placing his hands on his hips. He whistles through his teeth in apreciation of the task, "S'pose we could if we 'ad the tools, the time, and if you get my meaning, the desire" with obvious meaning he glances towards the slight bulge in Klevendon's chest pocket that is most likely caused by an overfilled wallet

Wellington raises an amused eyebrow and claps his hands together.

"Indeed, Klevendon, hard wages for hard labour! A guinea should set these fellows to work straight away. Let us away to Mr Mattison, shall we?"

He tips his hat at the three men and turns on his heels towards the office.

Klevendon wonders if he can claim for expenses from Prof. Hawthorne at the museum. He hands over a guinea, and then follows on Wellington's heels. "I say, old man, I'm not made of money you know!"

Having accepted the guinea the three set to the task of removing the sewer cover.

Through the main doors of the 'Daily Speaker' you enter a finely furnished and supplied entrance hall and a bespectacled young man with an infectious smile and wild hair, rises from a small desk marked Enquiries'. Some yards behind him a frosted glass panneled door marked 'Editor' in gold script would appear to be the repose of the gentleman you seek Mr Mattison. Furthermore the partialy open door would seem to indicate a presence within.
"May I assist you, sirs?" says the enquiries clerk in a cheerfull singsong voice.

Indeed you may, young man. Mr. Klevendon and myself would like to have a little chat with Mr. Mattison.

Wellington starts removing his gloves, indicating that he has no intention of leaving soon.

With a polite bob of his head, and a equally polite request to wait a moment, the lad swiftly disapears behind the glass panneled door. For a few moments low voices can be heard murmuring beyond, the suddenly one of the voices rises in volume to a belicose roar, "Cards! Names! Do your work properly sir, or by God you'll find yourself begging on the streets!"

Moments later the door opens and a shamefaced clerk waves you in, "Mr Mattison will see you now sirs"

Inside a well appointed room, shelves overflowing with box files, a rather portly gentleman in a smart but overly fussy crimson vest, rises from a stuffed leather chair behind a much cluttered desk. He leans forward and extends a pudgy yet immaculately manicured hand, "Oswald Mattison editor, Mr's...? How may I assist you sirs?" He says in a low obsequious manner.

As he speaks you can smell the peculiar odour of cheap Gin on his breath.

"Mr. Arthur Klevendon, antiquarian," says he, shaking Mattison's hand, "and this gentleman is the renowned Consulting Detective Horatio Wellington."

"Ah, good day Mr Klevendon and you Mr Wellington." Mattison slumps back in his seat, which creaks alarmingly. He indicates a pair of chairs close by, "Please be seated gentlemen"

Having dispensed with the expected formalities, he glances at Wellington, a faint questioning look clouds his face, "Your reputation sir precedes you. I have long admired your work especially the case of the missing Henderson girl"

He pauses, opens a drawer in his desk and produces three glasses and a partialy empty bottle of clear liquid, "Can I offer you a glass of Gin?" Without awaiting answer he pours three large measures, "Now gentlemen, how pray tell may I assist you?"

Wellington nods at the mention of the Henderson case and takes the gin, sniffing it appreciatively before tasting.


We would like to hear from you what happened during the entire rat business, Mr. Mattison.

Previously Wellington said:   We would like to hear from you what happened during the entire rat business, Mr. Mattison.

OOC:   Allthough the perfumed odour of the liquid marks it as Gin, from the taste it is indeed a most cheap label. Not the type a Gentleman would keep in his drinks cabinet, more of the quality one would usualy refer to as 'Mother's ruin' and find served at such establishments as 'The Ten Bells'.

In return Mattison raises his glass in a polite gesture to you both and swiftly tosses the fiery liquid down his throat. Instantly, at a most remakable speed, he refills his glass and sets it before him.

"I'm afraid that I cannot add much to the report by our lead reporter, Klebbs, as I was engaged in important duties within this very room"

From the way his face reddens slightly, you imagine those duties involved keeping the door locked so as to restict any entry from the rodent plague that may have been within the building.

He adds after swiftly swallowing the new measure of Gin, an action that helps him regain his composure, "It seemed that the sudden explosion of vermin from the sewer below caused bedlam amongst our fellow newspapermen with more delicate sensibilities" He laughs, the Gin no doubt adding to his show of bravado.

"If you gentlemen would care to ask questions of the reporter, I shall summon him forthwith. In the mean time another Gin sirs?"

"Uh, no, no thanks--er--my doctor says that I must not drink more than one glass after lunch," apologises Klevendon. "Please, summon Mr. Klebbs."

Previously Klevendon said:   "Uh, no, no thanks--er--my doctor says that I must not drink more than one glass after lunch," "Please, summon Mr. Klebbs."

Mattison smiles and rises, with some difficulty, to his feet, "As you wish"

Crosing to the door he opens it and shouts, "Perkins, go and fetch Mr Klebbs, tell him that two gentlemen would care to speak with him." He adds after a second or two, "Now Mr Perkins, now sir, now if you please"

In a short time a poorly dressed gentleman enters the room. Mattison, who has returned to his chair, desk and the rapidly diminishing bottle of Gin, nods, superiorly to the newcomer, "Ah Klebbs, these fine gentlemen Mr Wellington and Mr Klevendon would like to ask you some questions concerning the recent rodent problem"

From the way he maintains possesion of his chair it appears that Mattison has decided to stay and hear the conversation.

Klebbs looks from his red faced, Gin sodden editor towards the two of you, "It would seem that the recent vermin infestation has become something of notoriety, for yours is the latest enquiry that I have had this very hour, Though I must add that the previous enquirist was far prettier that either of you" he smiles, "However not so her companion"

Wellington raises an eyebrow and manages the faintest of smiles.

I see, you must be delighted to have such interest in your tale, Mr Klebbs, I hope Mr Mattison has recognised the importance of such notoriety for his newspaper in an astute and most rewarding manner.

Horatio nods at the editor to petition his agreement and then carries on.


Would you be so kind as to share with us your tale once more?

Previously Wellington said:   "I see, you must be delighted to have such interest in your tale, Mr Klebbs, I hope Mr Mattison has recognised the importance of such notoriety for his newspaper in an astute and most rewarding manner. Would you be so kind as to share with us your tale once more?"

The reporter, Klebs, gives you a look that says "As if!", before, with hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, he begins.

"Well sirs, there is, as I told the young lady, little to add to my article about the recent rodent invasion. To misquote a famous writer, 'They came, they bit, they scarpered'." he pauses half starts to laugh at his own wit, then thinks better of it and continues, "I spoke to a Harold Watkins from the Water and Sewerage Authority, but got no usefull reason as to the behaviour of the rats. He attempted to blame recent tidal abnormalities in the old river but it was obvious that he was but attempting to confuscate the issue. He did, however, supply me with the name of the local sewer man Norman Smalls. But so far my attempts to contact the individual have gone without success. I believe that I have an address for Mr Smalls somewhere in my files and could be prevailed upon to find it" It is obvious what he is implying without being crass enough to mention money.

Mattison, whose face seems to have developed a white, parsomonious cast since your 'reward' comment, favours Klebbs with a look that could shrivel a spiders web, "Thank you Klebbs you may leave us now, unless, of course the gentlemen have other questions, or you feel that you have other information relevant to this case."

I believe I shall accompany Mr Klebbs to his work space.
Mr Mattison, I thank you for your time. I'm sure Mr. Klevendon has a few further questions for you, if you'd be so obliging.


Wellington gets up out of his seat and joins Klebbs.

"Yes, Mr. Mattison, 'further questions,'" says Klevendon, desperately trying to think up something to ask. "Do you know the identity of the pretty lady and ugly man? We--Mr. Wellington and myself--are working on a mysterious case--all information may be of use--the Daily Speaker will be the first organ to hear about our results, of course."

Previously Klevendon said:   "Yes, Mr. Mattison, 'further questions', Do you know the identity of the pretty lady and ugly man? We--Mr. Wellington and myself--are working on a mysterious case--all information may be of use--the Daily Speaker will be the first organ to hear about our results, of course."

Having stood as Wellington exited the room, Mattison slumps back into his chair, it creaks alarmingly, "Another Mr Klevendon?" he indicates the half empty bottle, "No? Well, if you'll excuse me" He helps himself to another 'generous' measure.

"The identities of the lady and the man?...I honestly have no idea, I presume they were asking for Klebbs directly...Now as to this 'mysterious case'" Having seen off the Gin he turns towards you a gleam of interest in his eyes, "Mysterious, how?"

"Well--the rats, for a start," says a floundering Klevendon. Then it occurs to him that Mattison may know a lot about the goings on in town. "Maybe you can assist us, Mr. Mattison, what do you know about Lord Carrington-Fforbes and the Cerebral Activities Society?"

Previously Klevendon said:   "Maybe you can assist us, Mr. Mattison, what do you know about Lord Carrington-Fforbes and the Cerebral Activities Society?"

Mattison sinks back in his chair, his feature now displaying a similarity to a hound who has just scented its quarry, "I know of a Lord Carrington-Fforbes the architect, but of this ...'Cerebral Activities Society', nothing. Why do you ask? Is there some connection between his Lordship, this society and the recent rodent outrage?"

Without you having noticed he has produced a ring notebook and a silver mounted pencil and has begun to take notes.

"Tell me more, do you perceive a threat to the Empire, nay to her Majesty herself? And is Lord Carrington-Fforbes involved in some fashion with this plot? And does this plot originate with the Russians or the anarchists?"

Klevendon holds up both hands in submission. "Mr. Mattison, the reporter in you is evident. I asked some questions, and if you don't know the answers--well--I think is not time for me to enlighten you!"

Previously Klevendon said:   "Mr. Mattison, the reporter in you is evident. I asked some questions, and if you don't know the answers--well--I think is not time for me to enlighten you!"

Mattison glances up from the notepad where he has been scribbling fiercely. He peers towards you in a semi awareness as if ony partialy aware of your presence, "Eh?...Oh yes...Absolutely my dear sir"

Then bending his head to his notes he dismisses you, "Please be so kind as to close the door as you leave. I have work to do and have no need of further disturbance. Good day Mr Klevendon"

Wellington:

Klebbs shakes his head, "No, there is nothing more to tell"

I have work to do and have no need of further disturbance. Good day Mr Klevendon"

"You disgusting soak," thinks Klevendon. He leaves Mattison's office.

Wellington bids goodbye to Klebbs and goes out to, encounter Klevendon on the way out.

"Ah! I trust our editor in chief was very informative after I left. You have the look of someone who left the most charming of company!"

Horatio G. Wellington straightens his coat and prepares to leave the building

Coat suitably straightened and sartorial splendour restored, both of you leave the building and descend the steps to the street, which amidst its hurlyburly can be seen a small group of persons stood around a sewer entrance. Of course three of the five figures are those very gentlemen that you recently employed to remove the lid of the sewer entrance from which you have been appraised that the recent deluge of verminous creatures had issued.

Beside them you notice the well, but functionaly, dressed female form of Miss Bly and her erstwhile companion and epicurean purveyor of wild life savouries, Mr Richard Roxborough.

It would appear that the three gentlemen of recent aquaintance have succeeded in opening the sewer and Mr Roxborough is currently looking into it.

Even at a distance it seems from the way Miss Bly is wrinkling her nose and covering her mouth with a delicate lace handkerchief that a most obnoxious smell is emanating from below.

OOC:   Please continue here: viewtopic.php?f=286&t=4860&p=155820#p155820