Play@YSDC

Number 27 Avenue Road, Primrose Hill is a large Victorian house, set back from the road. A short drive cuts through a well manicured lawn. Adjacent to the main house is a large outbuilding. Its double doors are wide open...

Klevendon will stroll up to the double-doors and have a look inside the outbuilding.

Nellie Bly

"Careful! Remember this Professor Nightingale posted a dinosaur egg! Let's not just barge in..." Nellie says cautioning the Antiquarian.

"Indeed" mutters Wellington showing his disaproval over Klevendon's haste.

However the double doors being wide open affords a good view of the interior of the building wher a figure dressed in a white coat can be seen crawling across the floor towards the doors.

Nellie Bly

"Let's just be careful... we ended up confronting four armed ruffians just by trying to obtain this address...." says Nellie

OOC:   Nellie will follow the others, fearing some kind of ambush...

"A fellow human being needs help!" says Klevendon, ignoring Nellie and Wellington, as he rushes towards the white coated figure.

At Klevendon's cry of humanity, the crawling figure looks up. Blood can be seen matting a section of his wild hair, even at distance it can be seen that he has suffered a mishap of some sort.

“Oh my, what happened? Who are you people? What…what has happened to my machine?! You thieves!” he cries in a reedy, nasalish whine that verges on the edge of panic. He rises, with effort, somewhat shakily to his feet. “My life’s work stolen! Stolen Police! POLICE!” He blinks owlishly as if attempting to focus on you.

Nellie Bly

Nellie follows Klevendon seeing that the figure in the hallway is indeed in some distress. "Calm yourself Sir, we mean you no harm and will assist you in contacting the local constabulary should that be your wish." Nellie says as she guides the man to a chair, as he looks none to steady on his feet. "Let me see to your wound.." Nellie starts to tend to the head wound .. utilising another of her makeshift bandages. "We're looking for Professor Nightingale do you know where he is?" Nellie asks almost sure that this is the Professor.

" 'Thieves'! Are they still around?" says Klevendon.

The white coated gentleman allows himself to be led to a nearby chair, where Nellie performs the necessary administrations in a most professional and medical manner, worthy of the great Florence Nightingale herself. Within moments the wound is cleaned and a suitable dressing is applied. The wound seems superficial, looks worse than it is. Whoever struck him meant to do him no permanent damage.

Previously Nellie said:   "We're looking for Professor Nightingale do you know where he is?"

For a second the white coated gentleman looks at you goggle eyed, "I of course am Professor Nightingale. Who, may I enquire, are you? What do you want? And more to the point, where is my machine?" He is beginning to get agitated again, especially when Klevendon asks,

Previously Klevendon said:   " 'Thieves'! Are they still around?"

Again, eyes rolling as if in response to what he feels is a particulary stupid question, he answers, one hand reaching out to grasp Klevendon's wrist in a grip of steel.
“I… I… I have no idea. There were two of them, actually. Called earlier this afternoon. They said they were from my patron and asked if the machine was ready yet. I replied yes, bar a few minor adjustments to the temporal calibration matrix, and then everything went black.”
The look of terror that the memory had obviously awakened in his mind, is quickly replaced by one of anger.
"Who are you? And who sent you?"

"I am Mr. Klevendon, sir, and your tone is objectionable in someone who has been rescued. No one 'sent us,' we are investigating a dinosaur egg and have ended up here. Now it is our turn: Who is your patron? and what has been stolen?"

Horatio Wellington

Wellington has been watching the progress of the others from the sidelines, examining what he can see of the house, brining his powers to bear on the situation at hand. It seems that the Professor had been assaulted and something of value stolen, the mystery was unravelling but Professor Nightingale wasn't the ultimate perpetrator.

"I would encourage you to answer my colleague Professor while we may not be the Police we are investigating some very serious criminal activity. It would appear that the villains that we are tracking have stolen something from you... the questions is what and why. So, Sir, what machine was stolen and by whom...."

Nightingale looks at his inquisitors with a steely gaze, which is lessened by the fact that he keeps blinking like a suprised owl.
"If one of you would be so kind as to find my spectacles, I will be more than happy to answer your questions"

Roxborough looks around and spots a pair of discarded spectacles near a much used workbench, "Are these they?"

The professor favours him with a particularly vile look, as if acknowledging a particularly stupid species of life, "Of course they are" he snaps grabbing the spectacles and settling them on his face.

He blinks twice and refocuses,
"Now" he says looking at the detective, “My dear chap, I have worked over half my life on the greatest machine ever created—a time portal. Not a fully-fledged time machine, of course. No, that is impossible, despite what Mr. Wells might contend. My machine creates a gateway across time, linking the past with the present. Alas it currently has a slight flaw, in that it only joins our modern age with the time of the dinosaurs...perhaps if I adjust the fluoro-oscillating aethereal flow coils to account for the temporal displacement fluctuations caused by the Earth's gravitational field...as to who stole it, I have absolutely no idea. Perhaps a rival? Maybe that Mr. Wells has grown tired of his repeated failures and sought to steal my glory! Why I should call him out and accuse him at the next meeting of his foolish society!”

He turns his gaze to Klevendon as if suddenly aware of his presence, "Oh, how rude of me, what did you ask? Oh the egg... How on earth do you know that? I discovered it during one of my sojourns into prehistory. When I heard Hawthorne talk about a basilisk I thought whatever was in the egg might be helpful. I was under strict instructions not to talk about the time portal, so I mailed it to him anonymously. Was the creature of any use in helping with the rats? As for the identity of my patron...well sir I'm not sure I should name him, even were I able”

Klevendon is reminded of his cherished Hollow Earth theory which had been swept from his mind by all the recent drama--dinosaurs, etc. " 'Calling out' Mr. Wells, now I would like to witness that," he mutters, curious about the Professor and his time portal but wary of his spiky temperament. "So Hawthorne had . . . problems with a basilisk before you sent him the egg? And, no, it didn't help with the rats--too many of 'em I guess."

Nightingale glares at Klevendon, "No, old chap, let me put it simpler for you, as you are obviously having problems with your brain" he tuts in a most disagreeable manner, "Hawthorne was giving a lecture...I suppose one could call it that...concerning the advantages of having a legendary basilisk loose in the sewers to cull the rodent population. As the basilisk is nothing more than a classical legendary creature, I imagine that he was over indulging his imagination...those trained in the classics and the history of those times often do...However having seen all manner of creatures during my trip through the portal, and being aware that many of the creatures seen in the age of the dinosaurs might suffice. I merely retrieved an egg and mailed it to him anonymously. I am sorry that it did not help" he shakes his head in mock sadness.

"As for that fool Wells, if he or any of his sychophantic readers were behind the theft of my portal...I assure you sir I will do more than merely 'call him out'"

Roxborough clearly irritated by the self-important pomposity of Nightingale busies himself looking for clues or tracks of the assailants and thieves.

Roxborough thinking:   What a pompous arse! Really! Still - a time machine, of sorts. Hmm the possibilities! Diplodocus steaks! Bronosaurus Bourgignon! Triceratops stew! Poached Pteradactyl eggs meurette!. Oh what culinary wonders. I need to find that machine!

A loud gurgle punctuates the brief lull in conversation and Roxbourough unconsciously taps his belly.

OOC:   tracking 6 -[dice]0[/dice]

Roxborough studies his surroundings with the critical eye of a hunter. He sniffs the air, hoping for a hint of a scent. He stares hard at the floor of the outbuilding but sees little other than some obvious marks that speak of a large, heavy, object having been dragged to the double doors. However outside there is no further indication of passage. And other than a small pool of blood which had come from the professors scalp wound, no evidence of any assailants.
With a disgruntled mutter of inaudibility, he returns to where the interrogation continues, visions of huge blood rare steaks turning to ash before his eyes.

Horatio Wellington

"So, your assailants identified themselves as being sent by your patron, I assume that they did do by name... Then one can deduce that they were sent by the person who was underwriting your work to obtain your machine. It seems that your so called patron had his own motive for his sponsorship and once you had a working machine he acted, sending lackeys to spirit your work away and this person must also have been responsible for the attack that we foiled at the London Electric Company." Wellington[/b[ ponders before continuing "How large was your apparatus Professor, you say two men assaulted you.. could they have easily carried it away?"

"How would Nightingale's patron know to send ruffians to obtain the ledgers..." the detective thinks... filing this away in his mind as another facet to explore after the matters in hand have been dealt with.

Seeing Roxburgh return and by the slope of his shoulders and look on his face deduces that the hunter cannot find any tracks. "No luck picking up their trail, old boy?" he asks.

Previously Wellington said:   "How large was your apparatus Professor, you say two men assaulted you.. could they have easily carried it away?"

Nightingale consider Wellington's words,
"How large?...More than large enough to need more than two to move it. Then they would need some means of transport, unless they chose to drag it to someplace else" from his expression it is obvious what he thinks about 'dragging' the machine.
"Imagine a device as large as a full length mirror and that is but the portal, then there is a large amount of machinery to be considered...delicate machinery...my device is a thing of wonder and beauty, unlike the hideous thing which Wells tries to sell the ignorant. No it would need more than two to move it, if it was expected to arrive safely at its destination"

As you listen a rather portly, balding man in an expensive, if tired looking, morning suit puffs towards the outbuilding from the nearby house.
"Sir, sir, such comings and goings" he stops speaking as he sights the hastily applied bandage, and favour you all with a suspicious look, "Are you okay sir? Should I call for a constable sir?"

"So who is your patron?" says an exasperated Klevendon.

Nightingale looks at the exasperated Klevendon, sighs, then begins to talk in the manner that a tired schoolmaster might use when explaining something simple to a small child,
“Oh dear, as i previously said, I believe, the identity of my patron is unknown to me. He was willing to fund my research and that was good enough for me. He seemed to wish to remain anonymous, nothing more than an unknown benefator. History, as I'm sure you are aware if filled with such men." he coughs behind his hand, discreetly.

"The trouble is, as again I am sure you are aware, to facilitate a scientific breakthrough is a most expensive pursuit. I found myself unable to raise the finances necessary to construct the Portal. I tried several leagues, but was unable to convince them of the veracity of my plans...I suppose the Temporal Society might have helped, but I didn’t want to share my design, not until I had a working model. Pride cometh before a fall, yes?" again the discreet cough this time accompanied by a smile.
“Anyway, where was I? Ah yes. It was after a lecture I gave at the Royal Geographical Society... I was trying to raise funds, but they turned me down... As I prepared to leave a gentlemen approached me and offered to fund my research. He declined to give a name choosing to use the alias 'Jericho', saying that as a man of high status his involvement with me might soil his name. Rather rude, but totally understandable. He would provide me with wealth on the sole condition that I kept the existence of my work a secret.”

With that he turns his attention to his manservant, "Ah Smithers, it took you long enough to decide that something was amiss. But let's not dwell on that. 'Comings and goings' you say, just what 'comings and goings'?"

Looking somewhat shamefaced, the elderly servant points outside to the gates of the estate. "Why Sir, other than these fine fellows" he turns redder in the face, "Begging your pardon Miss. The cart from Robertson and Co that came here about an hour since. It seems they picked up a large crate. I took it that it was with your blessing as they didn't act furtive or anything".

"Let's recover that machine. Where is Robertson and Co.?" says Klevendon.

Nellie Bly

"So the two that attacked the Professor must have carted the machine away.. how can we find the offices of Robertson and Co I assume they are a local company?"

Both Nightingale and the red faced Smithers turn to Nellie, their dislike of Klevendon'e somewhat brusque manner obvious in their faces. Nightingale shakes his head, "Sadly I have no knowledge of any tradesmen of that name"
However Smithers, his eagerness to remove any stain of dereliction of duty obvious in his manner, "Begging your pardon Miss. I believe that there is a small haulier firm of that name trading out of a yard near Totenham Court Road. Mrs Blighe, the cook, has used them on several occasions to transport food stuff from the docks"
He turns to his employer, "That is, not to excuse myself, one of the reasons that I saw nothing untoward in the carts arrival"

Nellie Bly

"I see.." Nellie ponders the information that Smithers has just relayed. "We would certainly be inclined to try and recover your invention Professor but perhaps you could also aid us? A simple letter giving us your proxy to obtain information from Robertson and Co about their recent shipment. Would you be able to do that for us Professor?" Nellie asks, thinking that such a document would help to smooth the way in their enquiries with the shippers.

Klevendon takes a turn outside, breathing deeply and wondering if the time machine is for real.

Nightingale, brushing aside the ministrations of the still apologetic looking Smithers with a terse, "Stop fussing man!!" turns to the lady reporter, "I could, but I fail to see how that would assist you as I have no connection with the haulage company. If they were working on anyones orders, they were not mine"

Nellie BLy

"Oh I see... " Nellie looks crestfallen.


Horatio Wellington

"No... no.. Miss Bly is on the right track. The haulage firm were obviously engaged to collect your invention but as you are the owner and certainly did not consent to that course of action then an offence has been committed. Robertson and Co are unwitting accomplices to this theft; a note from you, on your headed note paper to that effect would be enough to encourage the hauliers to be co-operative." Wellington favours the Inventor with his best stony face "But of course if you would rather involve the police in this matter .." he trails off.

Roxborough clearly irritated by Nightingale storms over and places his face an inch away from the other man's nose

GOOD GOD MAN! ARE YOU A TOTAL AND UTTER BUFFOON!

ARE YOU TRULY BLESSED WITH THE INTELLIGENCE THAT YOIU CLAIM!

DO YOU WANT TO RECOVER YOUR GODDAMNED CONTRAPTION OR NOT?

He steps back and turns and points at the butler You! get this blithering idiot a pen and headed notepaper. The trail goes cold by the second, be quick about it!

With that he walks out of the building muttering under his breath.

Nightingale, the superciliousness driven from him by Roxborough's tirade, opens and closes his mouth in a fair impersonation of a landed trout, "I say, steady on old chap" he gives a weak smile, although you would guess that tears aren't far away.
Smithers walks, nay runs, off in search of the necessary writing utensils, which, upon his reapearance he hands to his employer.

Nervously eyeing the huge, and somewhat angered, Roxborough, he clears his throat, "Now good miss and sirs, what would you have me write?"

Within a short time the four of you are full steam ahead for the premises of Robertson and Co just off Totenham Court Road, leaving a somewhat brow beaten professor watching you from his doorway while being smoothed by a glum looking Smithers.

OOC:   Papa G, your characterisation was so good that I felt it unecessary to ask you for dice rolls

In no time at all you find yourselves at the entrance to a hauliers yard. On the open gates the name 'Robertson and Co' has been painted in large letters, faded slightly by time and elements.

Within the cobblestone courtyard amidst piles of straw and hay, a few piles of crates, a collection of barrells, all things to be expected really, a large wagon also marked with the firms name is being loaded by two brawny looking workmen. As they strain, grunt and curse over a rather large barrell marked with the name of a local brewery, Mastersons, a third man dressed in an almost clean brown coverall stands close by marking something on a clipboard.
"Oi! be carefull wv that Mastersons don't pay for spillage"

Klevendon looks between his companions. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, that that barrel demands closer inspection?"

Nellie Bly

"Why Mr. Klevendon are you thirsty?" she smiles. "I rather think that chap with the clip-board is the one we want.."

With that Nellie steps into that yard, waiting a few moments to be noticed, then coughing politely "I say, are you the Manager here?" she enquires of the man in the clean brown overall.

Horatio Wellington

The dour detective follows Nelie into he yard proper. As Nellie makes her initial approach he pulls the letter they managed to obtain from the obstinate Professor Nightingale.

The chap, a rather fresh faced youngster with freckles and a shock of blonde curly hair, looks up from his clipboard, "Indeed I am, Silas Robertson at your service Miss"
He turns his gaze to the dour detective approaching with a folded sheet of paper in hand, "If it's a legal matter or anything to do wiv losses, it's my father you require he deals wiv that stuff" He smiles a smile of innocense and gestures to a small building set back in the yard in which you can see a cap wearing individual eyeing you suspiciously through a small window.

"I only drink tea at this time of day, Miss Bly" says Klevendon humorlessly. Nevertheless, he investigates the barrel, "Could it hold the time machine?" he wonders.

Nellie Bly

"Of course... I wasn't suggesting otherwise." Nellie replies to Klevendon smiling.

...
Nellie motions to hold off Wellington no need to go brandishing their letter and making this into a 'formal' matter well, hopefully not.

"Ahh, Mr. Robertson, oh dear me no... not a legal matter .. but perhaps a delicate matter. We understand that you were engaged to collect a crate from the address of Professor Nightingale, in Primrose Hill earlier today?" she asks of the young man.

The tousle haired chap looks at his clipboard, turning several of the handwritten worksheets, "Let me see, Nightingale...Primrose Hill...Earlier today" Having looked through all the sheets, he shakes his head, "Nah, not us sorry. Now if you'll excuse me we 'ave a keg of beer that needs delivering to the Travellers Rest over Stepney"
Turning his back in a dismissive gesture he continues supervising the delicate operation occuring on the cart, "And just make sure it secure we dont want another incident do we?"

OOC:   Rolls may be made, or you could simply let Roxborough loose on him, he seems to have a natural talent for intimidation

Roxborough using the tone of voice that comes naturally to the gentry and those that give commands

Master Robertson! Boy! How dare you!

How dare you turn your back on a lady!

Come here and apologise to the lady this instance!

Or do I need to do the job that your father has so obviously failed at and teach you some bloody manners!

OOC:   Apologies Tabs, missed that bit

Despite Nellie's poor attempt at humour, Klevendon, takes a closer look at the barrel which is being manhandled onto the cart.
Stamped Masterson's Brewery the sloshing sound of liquid helps to confirm its contents. As to it being sufficient in size to hold the device? From Nightingales description you doubt it.

At Roxborough's fierce reprimand, the clipboard wileding chap turns white and throws a quick glance towards the office. Although he says nothing the look on his face is an obvious plea for assisstance to his father.
Within seconds a short, well built individual,sporting a cheque cap and showing a similarity of features with the young Robertson that can only be familial, appears in the yard outside of the building marked office.
"If there is a problem, may I suggest you bring it to me, rather than annoy my workforce"

The acorn didn't fall far from the tree did it?

Hardly surprising that the boy is uncouth and ill-mannered when that is the kind of example set by the father.

Roxborough glares as Robertson senior before turning his attention back to junior

The lady is still awaiting your apology boy, show yourself to be a better man. and then in a much softer voice, almost to himself and you may even impart a lesson to your ignoramus father.

Klevendon nonchalantly returns to his companions. He does not say anything, just clears his throat, "Ahem."

Nellie Bly

Nellie places a restraining hand on Roxborough's arm. "Now Peter, I am sure these gentlemen are justly worried about their reputation for being discreet and are just being careful..." she eyes the younger Robertson with a cool stare. "However, I really must insist that our enquiries are answered ..." Nellie pats the brawny big-game hunters well muscled arm for emphasis.

For a moment the elder of the Robertson's looks about to object. He glances quickly at his barrel shifting workers and his clip board holding son as if for back up. However it is plainly obvious that he can expect no aid in a fisticuffs with you.
At that moment Nellie calms things down a tad, but with her gesture to her large compannions musular arms leaves the threat hanging in the air.

In an effort to recover his position the father turns to the son, "Well, check the worksheets and answer the question"

"I did, but there is nthing here" the lad waves the clipboard.

"Give it here, let me have a look" Robertson snatches the clipboard and rifles through the sheets.

"Hmm, it seems we did shift a load from Primrose Hill today. But..." he looks at Nellie pointedly, "You never heard this from me, after all client confidentiality and all. The crate was delivered to a steam barge on the Thames, company by the name of Grey and Drake. And before you ask I have no idea of its destination after that or who hired us to move it. The instructions were" and he reads from the worksheet, "Pick up a crate at the home of Nightingale, Primrose Hill, and deliver to Grey and Drake. Besides the fee for the job we were paid another fiver to forget it."
He returns the clipboard to his son,
"Now if you fine people will forgive us we have this barrel of beer to deliver"

" 'Steam barge on the Thames, Grey and Drake'--excellent work you fellows," says Klevendon.

The Thames is a rather long river you know. Be a little more specific as to where we might find Grey and Drake and which side of the river the barge was docked and we'll leave you to deliver that beer.

There's a good man

Robertson removes his cap and scratches his head, "Battersea".

Good man! Good man! booms Roxborough he turns to the others Let's get to Battersea sharp! Don't want the trail to get cold!

Locating Grey and Drake's steam barge on the river at Battersea is simplicity itself. Old but serviceable the barge is currently moored, however the steam engines are obviously being stoked.
The deck is empty. of both people and cargo, but the door to what you think must be the boiler room is open and from inside you can hear the sounds of coal being shoveled and the occasional curse.

Nellie Bly

Nellie concentrates on not stepping into the many pools of dirty water that litter the quayside, tutting as the occasional splash threatens to muddy her boots. Coming to where the steam barge is moored, Nellie stops, looking about cautiously.

"I wonder if the crate is still on board, It would have been delivered some time ago..." Nellie says hopefully, scanning the decks of the barge for the a crate looking large enough to be the time portal.

Perception Roll (8): Looking to spot the Time Portal,[dice]0[/dice]

There is no indication of the crate being on the barge. The deck is empty.

Damn and blast it! mutters Roxborough under his breath before glancing quickly to see if Nellie has overheard his cursing

Sorry Nellie, that was most inappropriate - just a little frustrated that the trail is going cold. Seems we've been dealing obdurate and obstinate fellows that have obstructed our speedy progress

He steps to the edge of the quay and hollers down to the engine room Hallo! You there in the engine room!

From below in the boiler room a voice calls back, “Sorry sir, I can’t leave the boiler until she’s up to steam, but you’re welcome to come aboard if its business you’re offering.”

Accepting his offer you climb aboard the steam barge. Everything looks neat and tidy, 'shipshape' as they say. As you move to the hatchway that leads below you note that there is no sign of cargo aboard.

A small flight of stairs lead below to the boiler room inside you see a man wearing a much worn peaked cap shirt sleeves rolled high to show muscular forearms covered in tatoos. At your approach he turns and with a spotted handkerchief wipes his brow,
"Hot work. How can I help?"

"You're empty? Able to transport goods for us?" inquires Klevendon.

Nellie Bly

Nellie daintily walks along the small 'gang-plank' careful not to have her skirts become entangled with anything. She looks about the vessel, to confirm that there isn't anywhere that the Time Portal could be secreted. As she gazes towards the stern she frowns, Wellington appears to be examining something on the deck.

Before Nellie can speak Klevendon pipes up and asks the 'captain' his question.

Horatio Wellington

The detective steps onto the steam-barge, following the others.

His keen eye spots something on the deck and he moves closer.

"Wellington thinking:   Interesting,this coil of rope is of a grade not usually seen on the Thames.."

he bends down and runs his fingers on the rough twisted strands of the thick rope.

"Wellington thinking:   Yes indeed,unmistakable.. the twists and thickness or cordage... this rope was purchased in Cornwall and from the [i]Trivenden Rope Mill[/i] how unusual to find it here."

"I say... do you have links with the Bartholemew Steam Line at all??"

OOC:   All made up ... just to add colour... poor old Welly is feeling a tad left out

Klevendon spots the frown upon Miss Bly's pretty forehead. He walks over to her and gently takes her hand. "My mother always said," he affects an odd, high pitched voice, " 'One should never frown in case the wind changes and it sticks!' "and then adds in a whisper, "Anything of note, Miss Bly?"

Nellie Bly

"Nothing awry, Mr. Klevendon not yet at least. Though I do hope the master of this vessel agrees when it becomes apparent that we do not have any cargo for him or his boat to carry." she replies in a low voice.

Still wiping his brow with the handkerchief the muscled engineer, nods toward Klevendon, "I might have a space for a cargo, depends on size and distance".

Pushing the handkerchief in a trouser pocket, he steps towards you, keeping his head low so as to avoid the deck timbers. He extends a large hand, "Josiah Grey, part owner and captain of this tub" there is a hint of pride in his voice that tells you how he thinks of 'this tub'.

Klevendon replies to Nellie: "Maybe so, Miss Bly, but do I look like the type of man who hauls his own goods to the dockside?" he shoots his cuffs.

To the engineer: "Ten pallets--to Richmond. So what do you think, Mr. Grey?" he shakes Josiah's hand. "May we look her over?

Nellie Bly

Nellie's eyes bulge as Klevendon continues his charade suggesting that he has a consignment for shipment.

Nellie thinking:   "There's no need for any subterfuge, we have a letter from the rightful owner of the 'crate' stolen from Professor Nightingale. The hauliers may have been 'prickly' about divulging any information but that's no need to resort to lies that will cause ill will, when out true purpose is revealed."

Horatio Wellington

The tall detective springs to his feet, stuffing his large magnifying glass back into the pocket of his coat. "I say, Mr. Grey is it?" he says as he cuts to one side of Klevendon "This is a most fine vessel indeed... now can you settle something for me?" The detective carries on his manner suddenly more animated and excited, as he speaks he flashes a gold sovereign between his fingers. "Now... I deduce that earlier today a large crate was delivered to you for shipment up the river, this crate would have been accompanied by two burly fellows, probably quite dour and thuggish..." with a flourish he holds the coin between finger and thumb.. "My question is this.... where did you offload this cargo, hmm?"

Grey looks from Klevendon to the tall detective, but the glint of the gold coin has more appeal.
"Lord save us, but you are a clever one. Indeed we did, sir. Took her all the way to wharves ‘tother side of Tower Bridge we did. Huge crate, it were. Must have weighed nigh on a ton if it weighed an ounce.”

He licks his lips in anticipation of the coin, "Team o’ men was waiting at the other end to unload it. Didn’t take it far, just to a ship berthed at the docks. I’m heading back up that way in a few minutes. Cargo just up from there needs collecting. If you’re wanting to know which ship it was I’ll show you in person, for another consideration. I could do with the company, and..." he waves a hand at the boiler, "There’ll be hot tea on the boil soon enough.”

"Now sir..." he turns his gaze towards Klevendon, "What's the nature of this cargo you are talking about...It's nothing iffy I trust Grey and Drake's is a reputable firm we don't do iffy"

Horatio Wellington

Wellington favours Grey with a smile "Capital! Take us to where you delivered the crate and I'll match that." he promises, as he hands over the sovereign.

"Nothing at all 'iffy,' my good man," says Klevendon. "Now, let's have some tea and see how the 'tub' floats? To the wharves!"

Roxborough steps aboard the vessel before turning and offering a steadying arm to Nellie

Come Nellie, it seems the trail retains some warmth he smiles, there is an obvious twinkle in his eye, a man in pursuit of his quarry.