Date: Sat, 20 Aug 2016 19:30:47 -0400
From: Pete Bruno <farmboy7456@gmail.com>
Subject: Noblesse Oblige Chapter 25

This work fully protected under The United States Copyright Laws ? 17 USC??
101, 102(a), 302(a). All Rights Reserved. The author retains all rights. No
reproductions are allowed without the Author's consent. (See full statement
at the beginning of Chapter One.)
 
Author's Note: Thanks to all of you who have written to tell how much
you're enjoying the story, I hope you stay tuned.  For all the readers
enjoying the stories here at Nifty, remember that Nifty needs your
donations to help them to provide these wonderful stories, any amount will
do.



Noblesse Oblige
By Henry H. Hilliard
with Pete Bruno
Book 2
An Indian Summer
Chapter 25
From the Chase to the View


A conference was hastily convened in the boys' cabin.  Martin sat on the
lower berth and Stephen occupied a stool and was holding Count Osmochescu's
notebook.  Carlo stood looking grave.

"As I see it," began Stephen, "the Count can only suspect we have the book;
he can't know for sure.  We must make him convinced that we haven't got
it-even when we get back to England."

"If we get back," said Martin.

"I don't think we're in that much danger, Mala, but, of course, I can't be
sure.  Roman Kaliszuk would not tell the Count he gave it to us, would he,
Carlo?"

"Oh no sir, I'm convinced he wouldn't, not even if he were being
blackmailed; besides the Count had left Ritterburg well before he gave the
book to me."

"We must hide the book and give the Count no reason to suspect us.  I would
like to know what he carries in his luggage and if he's armed, but if we
search his cabin he may find out and then he'd know that we had it."

"Sir, I think it might be possible to search with the aid of his steward.
He's Dutch and I knew him on the South Africa run.  He could search with
less suspicion or perhaps we could search together.  We were quite friendly
at one time."

"That's a good idea," said Martin.  "There are three of us so the Count
can't keep a watch on us all."

"But he mustn't suspect us.  We have to be extra friendly to him."

Martin thought for a moment and said: "If we can get the book to Mr
Churchill he could have it read or photographed or something and we could
post it back to Ritterburg where it could be 'found'."

"That's marvelous, Mala.  Do you think Roman Kaliszuk would be able to
collect the book, Carlo?"

"Yes he would, but it would be best if it didn't have a British stamp on
it.  There might be other suspicious eyes in the house-I'm sorry to say
this your lordship-I know they are your family."

"That's all right Carlo.  I hope Uncle Otto is not involved in spying.  Do
you think he hates the British?"

"He didn't seem to, Mala.  However, our countries have become bitter rivals
over the last few years.  He probably does have connections with the German
government, however; in fact it would be surprising if he didn't," said
Stephen.

Martin looked upset and Stephen sat next to him and put his arm around
him. "I think it's certain the Count will search our cabins, either himself
or he'll bribe a steward.  Even yours is certain to be searched, Carlo."

"We could hide the book on our persons, your lordship," said Carlo, trying
to divert Martin's thoughts away from the possibility that his family were
treacherous.  "Perhaps we could take it in turns to hide it-a day each.  We
could hide it in our trousers," said Carlo, indicating his groin.  He took
the small book and put it down his trousers and looked pleased.  However a
minute later it slithered down his leg and emerged on his boot.

Martin got up and went to his trunk. From the depths he produced a familiar
garment.  "If we wear combinations the book can't fall out," said Martin
brightly.

"Where did you..." began Stephen.

"I keep a pair for emergencies, Derby," said Martin as he removed his
trousers and put on the underwear.  He then stuffed the book down the front
and put his trousers back on.  The small volume was hard to detect in its
hiding place.

"Well done, Mala!" said Stephen. "Carlo, will you see if you can get your
friend to search the Count's cabin while we're at dinner.  One of us will
race and warn you if the Count should leave the table unexpectedly."

It was easy to gain the Count as a dinner companion.  The boys loitered in
the bar and then in the saloon where tea was served.  The Count appeared
and they chatted about Germany and travel and said they looked forward to
continuing their discussion of the possibilities of airship travel over
their evening meal.

"Derby," said Marin quietly as they walked along the deck, "should we send
a Marconigram to Mr Churchill?  He could arrange to meet us in Hull."

"I don't think that would be such as good idea, Derby.  For the Count not
to suspect us, we must travel normally with him to London-if that's where
he's bound for; besides, the wireless operator would know and could be
bribed."

Martin nodded and they stood at the rail and watched as the coast of
Pomerania slipped by.  Martin adjusted his groin.

At dinner the passengers did not dress.  Stephen hoped that his demeanor
did not give anything away or that his conversation seemed a bit forced.
He saw Carlo walk past the window and knew he was on his way to the Count's
cabin.  Martin chatted on quite naturally, almost forgetting for a moment
that this was an act.  At one point the Count found that he'd not brought
his cigarettes.  Martin froze, but Stephen smoothly produced a cigarette
case and insisted that the Count try one of his.  He drew a box of matches
from his waistcoat pocket.  They both lit up and Stephen managed to inhale
without coughing.  Martin was in awe of Stephen's brilliance.

They were having their coffee when Martin noticed Carlo pass the window
again and he breathed a sigh of relief.  The wait until they could decently
excuse themselves was unbearable, but wait they must.

Back in their cabin, Carlo had also been waiting.  "Well your lordship, I
went in with Faas who turned down the Count's bed and hung up his clothes
as normal.  He won't suspect anything.  There were plenty of papers in his
suitcase-Rumanian writing and Russian too, possibly, so it was useless to
touch them.  I'm afraid there was a Webley Mk IV revolver, sir."

Martin went pale and sat down. "What about your cabin, Carlo?"

"I have a berth with five others sir: one other servant who is German and
there are four third class passengers: a Frenchman and three Serbians.  I
will be alright there, sir."

The boys retired and Martin put the book under his pillow and made sure
that Stephen slept with him in the narrow berth.  They both slept uneasily.

The next morning Carlo knocked and was admitted.  "I believe there was an
attempt to search my luggage, sir," he began as he laid out the boys'
clothes.  "I think it was one of the Serbians, but I can't be sure.  I'll
wear the book today sir, if that's alright."

That was agreed to and the combinations were passed over along with the
journal.

The Count was not evident at breakfast but he found the boys doing Eugen's
exercises on the afterdeck.  He engaged them in conversation as they did
sit-ups and press-ups in their short trousers while at the same time he
surreptitiously ran his hand over their jackets, which lay on the deckchair
next to his.  The boys finished and the Count helped each of them on with
their jackets and walked back with them to their cabin.

As the Count had no reason to be asked in, he bowed and left them.  Martin
and Stephen collapsed from nervous exhaustion when they closed the door
behind them.

"I think we should stay in the cabin, Mala," said Stephen.

"No, Derbs, we should leave and give the Count a chance to search it and
find nothing-but not straight away or he'll go back and search Carlo or you
and me again, do you see what I mean?"

"Yes, you're right.  Good thinking, Watson!" said Stephen with a grin.

Thus the boys spent the day on their bunks, reading, with Carlo coming and
going.  The plan was explained to him and they decided that they would give
the Count the opportunity before dinner when Carlo would be having his meal
with the second class passengers and the boys would be having a drink in
the saloon.  The book was swapped to Martin again lest the Count turn his
suspicions to Carlo.



This seemed to work and when the boys returned after dinner they thought
that someone had been through their things, although it was hard to tell.

Carlo reported that his Serbian cabin mates had `accidentally' bumped into
him when playing football in their cabin and felt in his pockets.

"Carlo," announced Stephen, "you must sleep with us tonight."

"Oh sir, that would not be right."

"Because you are a servant?"

"Well there is that too, but you do snore, sir."

"I do not snore, Carlo!"



"Carlo," called Martin. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, your lordship; quite snug thank you."

"Carlo, are you wearing drawers?" called Stephen.

"I can't remember, sir, perhaps you'd like to come up here and check.
There's room for two."

"That's quite enough banter, you two," said Martin, suddenly happy for the
first time in two days.  "Go to sleep.  No, Derby, don't!  Not in front of
Carlo."

"Oh I don't mind, your lordship.  Don't mind me.  I'll just go to sleep and
won't hear a thing."



When they woke the next morning they found the ship was tied up at the port
of Kiel.  Stephen slid out of bed and took the book from Carlo and put on
the combinations.

"They are very flattering, sir," said Carlo, admiring how Stephen filled
out the garment.  "You should wear them more often."  Stephen was not
convinced, but room was made in the crowded conditions for the Count's
volume and Carlo gave Stephen's groin a little pat to make sure the book
was secure.

The Count was not seen until luncheon when he was observed emerging from
the wireless room.  Stephen wondered if there was any way of finding out
what messages he had sent.

They lunched together and Count Osmochescu was persuaded to talk about
Romania, which saved the boys having to invent topics.  Martin then
complained about seasickness and said he'd lie down.  The Count was very
solicitous and insisted on accompanying them back to the cabin and
practically forced his way inside where he insisted that Martin take some
aspirin that he produced from a bottle.  Martin took them and lay on his
bunk.  The Count looked around and left.



Martin sat up and held out his hand.  In it was the two tablets.  "I didn't
trust that they weren't poison, Derbs."

They remained in their cabin or just outside of it for the rest of the day
as the ship navigated through Danish waters towards the North Sea.  Stephen
went to dinner but Martin stayed in the cabin with Carlo who brought him
food on a tray, the Count perhaps more likely to suspect that he had the
book than Stephen who chatted with him amiably across the dinner table.

"Carlo," said Stephen as they took off their clothes for bed, "won't your
Serbians be suspicious that you are not sleeping there?"

"No, sir," said Carlo removing his shirt, "they think I'm with my Dutch
friend."

"Oh I'm sorry, Carlo, we are spoiling your holiday."

"Oh no, sir, don't say such a thing.  This is far more important.  Although
if there was room for a third in your berth...?"

"I think it's a bit tight already, Carlo," said Stephen.  "His lordship has
put on weight after all that German food."

Martin threw a pillow at him and Carlo climbed to his lonely upper berth.



*****



In the morning it was grey with sleety rain.  The North Sea was a heaving,
colourless seascape.  This, however, gave them an excuse to remain in their
cabin.  Martin was wearing the combinations and had the book again and
Carlo periodically went out to fetch coffee and food.  At 11:00 there was a
knock at the door.  Carlo answered.  It was the Count.  "No sir, they are
trying to get some sleep-Yes, sir, sick several times-Yes sir, I still do
myself, even though I was a steward for many years-I'll tell them sir, good
morning."

It was at 9:00 the following morning when, with some relief, they walked
down the gangplank.  The ship was tied up in the Humber at the Riverside
Quay.  There were some customs formalities and Carlo supervised the porters
with the two large trunks and his own portmanteau.  These were taken to the
Paragon Station to be put on the N.E.R. for London.

The Count announced that he would not be proceeding to London as he was on
his way to Liverpool.  The boys expressed their regret at the parting and
Martin went as far as to invite the Count to Branksome House when he was
next in London.  The Count looked genuinely puzzled at this piece of
disingenuousness.  He bowed again, shook their hands and left for his
train.

Stephen went to the Post Office kiosk under the great barrel-vaulted arch
of the station and came back shortly afterwards with chocolate, newspapers
and The London Illustrated News and distributed them.  They had half an
hour to fill in before their train south departed.  Then they went to the
tearoom and had strong railways tea in thick china cups.  This necessitated
a visit to the gentlemen's lavatories further down the platform.

"When we get to Kings Cross..." began Martin but he never finished the
sentence.  The world turned about itself and he fell to the ground.  There
was a terrible pain somewhere in the back of his head and he could feel his
coat being pulled at.  He closed his eyes for a moment until he could
muster his thoughts more clearly and then all was black until he felt a
damp cloth being wiped across his face.  He opened his eyes.  It was Carlo.

"What happened, Carlo, did I fall?"

"No your lordship, you were coshed.  We all were."  Martin looked across
and saw with alarm that Stephen was also lying of the ground.  His clothes
looked tattered and he realised that his were in the same condition.  "He's
going to be alright, milord.  The police are coming."

Martin sat up, but his head throbbed so much he put it down again.  "We
were set upon, milord.  They kicked Mr. Stephen pretty bad and you went
down like a sack o' spuds.  They held me down and took my purse and watch."

Martin managed to feel his coat pocket.  His wallet was gone too.  With an
effort of will, he got to his feet and went over to Stephen where he went
to kneel but ended up half-collapsing.

"Derby!  Oh Derby!  Are you alright?"

Stephen opened his eyes and tried to smile.  "I'll be alright by the second
round ref," he joked.  His forehead had a deep gash and he winced when he
moved.  "Bruised ribs-maybe cracked, Mala."

Two policemen came and the boys were helped to a seat.  Carlo, who was in
the best shape, went to have their trunks removed from the London train;
they wouldn't be catching this one.

One of the policemen came back with Martin's wallet and Stephen's prop
cigarette case.  "They must have dropped these, sir," said one of the
policemen.  Martin knew better; they were not after them in the first
place.

Stephen was just giving his account of the confused happening when Carlo
limped back, quite agitated.  "Our trunks your lordship-they've be forced!"

Martin groaned.

"Have you got it, Derbs?" asked Martin in a low voice when the policemen
left to examine this new crime scene.  Stephen's trousers had been shredded
with a knife and the answer didn't look promising.

"I wasn't carrying it, Mala."

"But sir, the trunks! They'll have it then!" cried Carlo.

"No they won't; it wasn't in the trunks.  It's in the post.  I posted it to
London when we got to the station.  We'll have it tomorrow morning."



They were detained for some hours by the policemen who tended to attribute
the events as a robbery by a band of the foreigners who flooded into Hull
on their way to America.

Carlo found them new clothes from their luggage and they were patched and
cleaned up in the stationmaster's office.  "I've had your trunks tied up
with straps, your lordship.  I'm very sorry this should have happened at
the Paragon Station, sir."

"It's hardly your fault, Mr Downes.  Thank you for being so kind," said
Martin as he drank a mug of hot, sweet tea.  "Do you think we can go now,
Stephen, or will we have to go to the police?"

"Let's just go, Mala.  The police know where they can find us."



When the three arrived in London, some five hours later, they were greatly
relieved and had used the time to plan their moves carefully.  It was
decided to tell Uncle Alfred and Glass the butler, Carlo's cousin.  These
personages were gathered in the north end of the dining room.  This space
had been transformed in their absence into a smaller breakfast room by the
addition of a folding wall.  A giant oval window had been knocked through
to the hall, borrowing light from that room.  This attractive window was
divided into smaller lights and the oval was ornamented by an elegant
Baroque cartouche-the sort favoured by Wren.  Uncle Alfred closed the hatch
to the lift that went down to the kitchen.  "The servants have found that
they can eavesdrop through the shaft," Uncle Alfred explained.

Uncle Alfred looked concerned, especially at the prospect of his German
relatives-even if only through marriage-being involved.  Glass looked upset
at the thought of violence, even gunplay being a possibility.  It was he
who suggested that Martin or Uncle Alfred should use the new telephone to
call Mr Churchill.  Stephen suggested that they should meet at Boodles
rather than at the Admiralty or Westminster.  Martin was glad that his
uncle volunteered for this and he was away for some minutes.

"How have things been here, Glass?" asked Martin as they waited.

"Well, at sixes and sevens, sir," said the butler.  "The kitchen and
scullery have been made more convenient-almost like one room.  My offices
are under the stairs so I can reach the front door or the kitchen stairs
quite quickly."  He gave a look to Carlo that suggested that this
arrangement might be more convenient than the Mews.  "Your rooms are not
finished, sir, but I think you'll like them.  There are two bathrooms on
that floor and two to go on the floor above.  We will have four fewer
bedrooms.  Lord Alfred has his own sitting room and he will have his own
bathroom too.  And, oh, there will be a speaking tube to call Carlo your
lordship- it was Lord Alfred's pet idea.  And the bells are electric.  They
haven't started on the heating yet."

Lord Alfred returned.  "It was a job to get Churchill but I did and he is
most interested.  He will meet you at Boodles at 5:00.  We are to telephone
again if the book doesn't arrive in the post."



A tour of the house was conducted.  It helped to take their minds of more
serious issues.  'Mr. Stephen's Room' shared a bathroom and dressing room
with 'Lord Martin's'.  Stephen decided that the first room would be their
study.  A small vestibule gave additional privacy to Lord Martin's Room and
this only awaited plastering and painting.  The kitchen looked bigger, but
it was only the absence of an unnecessary wall.  The service lift was
electric and, of course, the old gas lamps were now replaced.

Carlo insisted that Stephen and Martin have their cuts and bruises seen to.
In the new bathroom he stripped them both and dabbed them with iodine.
Martin had a cut on his thigh from a knife.  "What about your own wounds,
Carlo, let me see them?" said Stephen."

"No sir, Mr Glass will attend to them, thank you.  Hold still sir, this
might hurt."

Martin and Carlo strapped up Stephen's ribs tightly.  "I'm afraid sir that
you will have to refrain from physical activity for a week or so or you
will make matters worse."

"Can't I do this, Carlo?" said Stephen, grinning, as he gave his cock a few
strokes.

"Do what sir?"

"Do this, Carlo?" said Martin also giving Stephen a few strokes.

"Well, you could do this your lordship," said Carlo and he gave Stephen's
cock a few more strokes-it felt very nice-"and I think he might well need
lots of this," (he repeated it) "but I would not recommend more than this
(and here he masturbated him some more) and certainly not like this," (and
here he changed hands).

"Well, he'll just have to be content with this, Carlo," concluded Martin
giggling stroking Stephen's now rampant cock.

"Oh Mala, don't make me laugh," cried Stephen, "it hurts like blazes."

Carlo reluctantly withdrew to allow them a few moments of privacy and
happiness after days of Sturm und Drang.



*****



The next day they anxiously awaited the arrival of the post.  At last it
came and Glass brought the little package on a salver into the library,
away from the dust and the army of tradesmen, and went to inform the
participants.

Stephen opened the parcel bearing his own handwriting.  They took turns in
examining the book and could make out some names and figures-possibly
shipping tonnage.  It was hard to know.  "It must be worth something to go
to the trouble of attacking us.  I wonder if the house is being watched?"
said Stephen.  They all went discreetly to various windows and peered into
Piccadilly from behind the curtains.



"There's been no one in the Mews or by the kitchen door, your lordship.
I'm quite sure of that," said Glass.

Uncle Alfred put the book on the shelves next to Morley's Life of
Gladstone.  "It will be safe here until this afternoon."

At 4:00 Martin assembled their group and unfolded a paper bearing
complicated instructions.

Glass used his silver whistle to summon a hansom cab.  He gave the driver
sixpence and sent him away empty and signaled to a second cab. "I got that
from Sherlock Holmes," explained Martin.  Stephen and Martin got into it
and headed to Hyde Park Corner where they jumped out and hailed another cab
that took them past Buckingham Palace, through Trafalgar Square and back
along Pall Mall to Boodles where they were admitted to the Strangers'
Lounge.

Meanwhile, Carlo was seen walking to the tube station at Green Park where
he boarded a train heading west but alighted just before it departed and
regained the surface where he took a motor taxi outside the Ritz Hotel back
to St James and from there to Pall Mall.  He too was admitted and joined
Martin and Stephen.  Mr Churchill appeared and was introduced to the valet.

"Well, where is this book, young sirs?" said Churchill.

"It's not here yet," said Martin.

Just then the familiar face of Uncle Alfred appeared in the doorway and he
crossed the room and produced the book from his pocket.  "The traffic is so
bad in London nowadays; it took me several minutes to cross Piccadilly to
walk here.  Something will have to be done, Mr Home Secretary."

"What happened to your arm, Mr Churchill?" asked Martin.

"Suffragettes.  Now let me see this book." Churchill leafed through it as
Stephen and Martin took turns in telling the story."

"And this Pole, Roman whatever his name is, can be trusted, Sifridi?"

"Oh yes sir and if you go along with the idea of returning the book after
you have examined it could be sent to him with confidence, especially if it
has a German stamp and postmark.

"Ah yes, gallant Poland," said Churchill and launched into a disquisition
on its unfortunate people whilst Martin recalled Mr Monash playing a
patriotic piece by Chopin on the piano in the drawing room at Croome only
two years before.

"Well done, Sifridi, and well done to you chaps," said Churchill.  "You did
everything to divert suspicion.  My great fear is always that our
confidential agents will be exposed.  This book may tell us that.  However,
it is more likely that Count Osmochescu is working for The Black Hand or
simply for himself in a small way.  You don't have a photograph of him by
any chance?"

"Well, I took pictures of us all, Mr Churchill," said Stephen.  "I'll send
them to you at the Admiralty."

"Can you let us know what is in the book?" asked Martin.

Churchill frowned.  "I may not be able to, Lord Martin.  But perhaps we
could meet briefly next week.  The book could be back in Germany by then.
The sooner the better for you chaps, eh?"

Martin would be in School, but Stephen promised to meet Mr Churchill at the
Saville Club.

"My only fear now," said Churchill sonorously, "is that you gentlemen will
sell this story to John Buchan or Erskine Childers.  Then where will we
be?"  He chuckled and continued: "And I told you to go to South Africa or
India for excitement!"

"Rajpipla's terrible exciting, Churchill," said Uncle Alfred and launched
into a tale of daring-do in that portion of India.



*****

"Oh your lordship, I hoped you would be up by now.  You must get up."
Carlo walked through the framing of what would be a wall at the end of the
day.  "The workmen are waiting to start.  I've already put them off."

"Send them away, Carlo," said Martin from under the blankets.  It's nice
and warm in here with Mr Stephen.  I don't want to get up yet."

"I can't, your lordship, they're Irish and we'll never get them back.  You
don't know how hard it is to get tradesmen these days."

"Tell them I'm sick.  Mr Stephen is so nice and hard it would be a shame to
waste it."

"He'll be hard again, your lordship and I'm sure you never talked to Mr
Chilvers like this.  Please get up and there's Mr Craigth's exhibition."

Martin was persuaded out of bed without the need to pull back the covers.
Stephen was indeed impressively hard and Carlo felt a bit weak in the knees
when he too emerged from the bed.  He hustled them into the new bathroom
just as the workmen walked through the wall and dumped their bags of tools
on the Aubusson carpet.

"Carlo," said Martin as he got into the bath. "Mr Stephen and I would like
you and Glass to take a fortnight's holiday.  You need to recover from your
own injuries and we would like to thank you for all you've done."

"That is most generous of you your lordship, Mr Stephen.  I'm not sure how
the other servants would feel about us being treated special."

"I'll speak to them, Carlo," said Stephen as Martin settled in the water on
his cock. "You have been injured and the last few days have been
exhausting."

"Well maybe just a week at Brighton.  I have a pal who manages the Dudley
Hotel at Hove.  Should you be doing that with your injuries, Mr Stephen?"

"It's the best medicine," said Stephen with a grin that turned into a
grimace.  "Would you wash our hair?"

Carlo took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves and set to work on the
blond and brunette heads of his young gentlemen as they relaxed in the bath
with his lordship impaled on Mr Stephen's big cock.  He rinsed them off and
then soaped their bodies, being careful of their cuts and bruises.  He
realised he loved them as much as Chilvers loved them.  It was a nice
feeling.

Carlo reapplied iodine and dressings and bandaged Stephen's ribs as tightly
as he could.  Their very best London clothes were brought into the bathroom
where they were dressed with difficulty while hammering and Irish voices
could be heard in the room outside.



The gallery was in the vicinity of the Burlington Arcade and here the
cognoscenti of London had been rounded up by Lady Eudora, Archie's mother,
for this `private view'.  Half the works were by Tsindis and the rest were
from The Plunger's brush-some of which were already familiar to the boys.

Stephen and Martin pushed through the fashionable crowd and found Archie.
He was wearing a cloak and a broad brimmed hat and his red moustache was
now joined by a small goatee.  He was in the middle of an animated
conversation between a young man and the publisher, Fisk.

"...now Mr Bewley-Vance-Bewley, if you wrote novels like young Mr Lawrence
or poems like Mr Masefield or Miss Nancy Nott..."

"That's tosh, Fisk, my stuff will be read long after people like Kipling
and Masefield and Shaw are forgotten."

"Ah, but I'm afraid not before ..."

"Hullo Plunger, hullo Vance," said Martin cheerfully.

"Hullo Poole," replied Bewley-Vance-Bewley.  "How's that young brother of
mine going?"

"Biffo will be back in the lacrosse team this year just as soon as he's out
of the wheelchair.  I'll see him in a day or so.  Good crowd Plunger.  Sold
much?"

"Hullo Poole, Stephen.  A few.  Bewley-Vance-Bewley is going to write a
good review in The Times, aren't you, Vance?"

Bewley-Vance-Bewley went red and mumbled something about 'rising talent'.

The Plunger led them around the gallery and explained the pictures and
spoke of Futurism and French 'wild animals' and other things that were
strange to the ears as well as the eyes.  "I like that one Plunger," said
Martin pointing with his stick.

"You mean the one of the South London Gas Works or the Wireless Masts in
Cornwell?"

"No, the one of the Trees on the Downs.  It reminds me of Croome.  Put a
red spot on it Plunger, I'll buy it."

"Tsindis said that one had particularly significant form."

"And I'd like that one for Antibes," said Stephen and indicated with his
stick the recent one done when La Joue Rose was launched.

"Good, Stephen, Lady Ottoline had her eye on that but was too slow," said
The Plunger.

"Now that one has a good sense of colour and movement, Plunger," said
Martin, trying to get into the swing of things as he looked at an
attractive sunset done in pastel. "Is it a Fauve"?

"Yes, it is now rather, but if it's sold I have to give half to our maid.
It was a Dutch scene with a windmill until she smudged it when she was
dusting my studio, but it has significant form now, don't you think?"

They were interrupted by the sounds of a heated argument.  Tsindis was red
in the face and angrily pointing his finger.  He was, apparently,
championing a French painter called Braque while the other man, with baggy
trousers and a drooping moustache, was passionately extolling an Italian
called Boccioni.

"But you have never even seen one of his paintings!" cried Tsindis, almost
tearing his hair out.

"I don't have to; I've read his manifesto-I can imagine the paintings".

Wearying of this Stephen and Martin drifted in the direction of the tea
while The Plunger hurried over to his mother who had buttonholed Roger Fry.

"...yes, here was to stand my new sculpture 'Bride of Nuba'," Tsindis was
explaining to Margot Asquith while indicating a large stone plinth that
stood vacant in the centre of the room, "but the damn dray horse bolted and
the work was smashed to smithereens.  A year's work gone.  I had been
hoping to sell it; Thaddeus Buckweet said the Metropolitan Railway might
have been interested in it for their new station at Baker Street-now it's
just rubble," he sighed. "And the driver blamed me and said that it had
frightened the horse."

They were getting ready to leave by stealth when they saw that there was a
watercolour that had attracted quite a crowd.  The people were squirming
and tilting their heads.  The boys were intrigued and moved closer.  It
then became apparent that it was being used as looking glass and the
elegant men were adjusting their ties and fashionable ladies were
straightening their hats in its reflection.



****



Stephen was drinking beer in his usual corner of The Saville Club.  Several
members came up to him and asked what he thought of Craigth's view and
Stephen replied that he thought some of the pictures had 'significant
form', and the members went away mentally adding another string to young
Knight-Poole's bow.

Eventually Winston Churchill, the Home Secretary, came in.  Brandy was
ordered and conversation was conducted in low voices.

"Mr Knight-Poole, I can tell you that the diary has already been sent on to
Ritterburg by our agents in Germany.  We have to hope that the Pole can
convincingly play his part, for if he does so, there will be nothing
further to fear from Count Osmochescu."  Stephen nodded.  "I would like to
say that he was already known to us, but I'm afraid that he wasn't.  Your
photograph was a great help."

"What was the scale of his work, Mr.\ Churchill, that is if you can tell
me?"

"We seem to think he was in a small way and was gathering information to
sell to anyone who would buy it.  His notes seem to suggest that you, sir,
or Lord Martin might be able to provide him with information on a Mr
Tatchell or even obtain confidential information on our government's naval
program.  It suggested blackmail might be employed."

Stephen swallowed hard.

"Is there anything that he might have held against you, Mr Knight-Poole?"

"I can't think of anything, Mr Churchill," Stephen lied, glad that Martin
wasn't here.  "We both hold shares in Tatchell's company and we know he is
making naval parts- possibly for submarines- but that's hardly a secret in
Dorset.  Martin sits on a committee with him."

Churchill nodded.  "There is also the question of the role of the von
Oettingen-Taxis family.  At the moment we can find no connection with the
Kaiserliche Marine-the Navy- in fact they are a Reichsheer family with
connections to the Prussian land forces.  Possibly Count Osmochescu was
sniffing around them for the same purpose.  We just don't know.

"Have you heard of the Black Hand, Mr Knight-Poole?"  Stephen shook his
head and ordered more brandy from the club steward.  "They are a violent
Serbian nationalist group-nationalism is the cancer of our era, sir-and
they are fermenting revolution in the Balkans.  I suspect there will be war
again before the end of the year-this time it is Bulgaria who I fear is the
aggressor and is threatening Serbia and the Count's own homeland.  The
Count may well be working with this group."

"I noticed how militaristic Germany was, sir, with many uniforms to be seen
in Berlin and even at the seaside.  Do you think they could be preparing
for war?"

"It is obvious they are and we must be prepared in case we are challenged,
which I hope we shan't be.  Many nations, including Germany, would be
interested in our new super-dreadnaught class and in our battle cruisers.
I can tell you, sir, that their turrets will house 15-inch guns, sir-not
12, but 15 inches!  Never built before!" said Churchill almost
breathlessly.  "The Germans would love to get hold of our plans just as
we'd like to get hold of their technique for making their steel barrels.
That explains why there are foxes like Count Osmochescu scurrying about.
If you see him again you must act as if nothing had happened-invite him to
dinner as you said you would, but give us a 'halloo'.  We'd like to know
what he's up to in England and hunt 'the fox from his lair in the
morning'."

To be continued?

Thanks for reading.  If you have any comments or questions, Henry and I
would love to hear from you.

Just send them to farmboy5674@yahoo.com and please put NOB Nifty in the
subject line.