ENTRY 24: D'ENOUEMENT II
------------------------
Part I
Report of John Hatch
24 March 1925
On the evening of the 23rd, E. phoned
MI-5's public number and
confirmed our employment with the
organisation. [Ref phone records,
central operator] After being patched
through to myself, E.
arranged an urgent meeting for within
the hour. At this meeting, Miss
Essex conveyed a message from K, indicating
that K was willing to
speak with us, but that she (K) fear
imprisonment and/or loss of
mobility. Based on our knowledge of
K's history and temperament [ref
file #244306] Mr. Barnes and I interpreted
this as a desire to reunite
with her lover, T. [ref file #9845]
and within the realm of
the negotiable. We applied pressure
on E. by under-scoring the
severity of her legal entanglements,
and held out the promise that K's
concerns could be addressed. Sensing
desperation on the part of E.,
Mr. Barnes and I indicated that we
were prepared to wait for as long
as was necessary to meet with K directly.
In anticipation of imminent activity,
we reserved facilities for such
a meeting [ref requisition #03-25-2996]
for the entire week. Such
far-sight was rewarded in the early
morning of the 24th, when E. phoned
from a Whitechapel brothel [ref phone
records, Whitechapel
interchange] to arrange a meeting.
Said meeting was arranged for later
that morning at the arranged facility.
As per standard procedure, E
would proceeded K to inspect the grounds
and structure.
Killing two birds with one stone, Mr.
Barnes and I arranged to have
W. brought to a rendezvous close to
the facilities. The three of us
spoke briefly, at which point he agreed
to co-operate with
us. Mr. Barnes left him at the rendezvous,
where travel could be
easily arranged, and went to meet
E at the facilities. E inspected the
facilities, and once satisfied as
to K's safety, signaled such to K who
arrived momentarily. E left at that
point.
Negotiations with K proceeded smoothly.
She seemed willing to divulge
information on her previous employers,
spending a period of up to six
months to answer our questions. What
was not negotiable, apparently,
was her desire to leave the country
at the end of that period at
travel to points undisclosed.
It is at this point that I must admit
the first of two tactical error
on my part. Guessing that the travel
would be to find T, I revealed
some recent intelligence regarding
T's present lovers in the hopes of
shaking K's devotion. It apparently
worked all too well. K became
enraged, accusing Mr. Barnes and I
of concocting falsehoods. She
became even more enraged after being
presented with proof of these
allegations, and Mr. Barnes and I
retreated to another room to give
her time to calm herself.
This is, of course, the second tactical
error. It is impossible to
determine her exact thoughts during
these moments, of course, but in
her actions she apparently chose to
attack the messenger. Shots were
fired at us, which I returned. K retreated
into the kitchen and took
shelter behind the stove. While Mr.
Barnes and I tried to reason with
her during this impasse, I can only
surmise that K was detaching the
gas main from the stove in preparation
for a spectacular suicide.
------
"Right. And that's when I noticed the
smell of gas and ran out the
front door. Barnes, not being so lucky,
got blasted to kingdom come in
the explosion. So, that accounts for
the two bodies and the
bullets... Anything I forgot?"
Hatch has quickly taken control of
the situation, gathering the
survivors at a safe distance from
the flame-engulfed cottage. He
looks around at his audience. "I'll
have to fill it out a bit, but I
don't think they'll look at it too
hard. Bloody lucky thing that we
hadn't yet told anyone about Ivana.
They'll notice her missing in a
few days, but I doubt that anyone
will connect her to to this. So, if
anyone asks, Miss Essex left the house
when Katya came in, and met
Wesson at the train station. They
were waiting for the next train when
they heard the explosion and came
back here. You, Dr. Cainsley, were
never here. And hey, you!" Hatch says,
noticing Vincent for the first
time. "Where did you come from? Were
you in the trees this whole time?
Well, no matter. You'd better take
Cainsley here and get out of the
area. Take the motorcycle while you're
at it. And head left out of the
driveway-- no neighbors for two miles."
He turns to Smythe and Elizabeth. "Right.
Someone--probably not me--
will meet with you later this morning
to set things up with you. Drop
boxes. Contacts. Code phrases. That
sort of thing. If what you said
earlier is true, you'd better get
out of London as soon as you
can. I'll call off the dogs from my
end. And you--" He points at
Katya. "You're dead. As of this instant.
Do you understand?"
Without waiting for an answer, he looks
towards the street. "Fire
company will be here in a few minutes.
Those of you who are leaving
better leave soon. And you two," he
says to Elizabeth and Smythe,
"When we have a chance, I want to
hear all about this cult. But keep
it to yourself for time being-- It's
bloody unlikely that anyone will
believe you, and neither you nor I
want anything delaying your
departure at this point. Right?"
Katya gets a thoughtful look on her
face. "Hatch - you have probably
already thought of, but - bodies of
creatures. If they are
. . . recognizably organic, someone,
somewhere, may ask question."
Hatch lets our a snort as he fishes
in his jacket pocket. "I don't
think that will present any difficulty.
Of course, I could be wrong--"
he says as he pulls out an ornate
cigarette case, "That has been known
to happen-- but I don't think I am
in this case. Examine the living
room window, if you need to convince
yourselves. Not even gas burns
*that* hot." Hatch's hand shakes as
he lights his cigarette.
Of course, this is easily be forgiven
by anyone else who saw the
macabre sight framed by the window.
The upper body of one of
the... things lies draped over the
sill. Flames dance over its
misshapen and malformed torso, and
underneath a viscous black liquid,
covering the entire form, drips off
to form a pool on the ground
underneath. The pool burns also, creating
and swirling grey ash over
its surface. Every so often a flash
of bright light and extreme heat
eminantes from the creature's body,
as some kind of internal structure
is revealed. The heat generated by
its immolation is enormous, and
whenever the the smell is sickly sweet
and chokingly noxious
together. The combustion is surprisingly
strong; the creature's bulk
visibly diminishes rapidly and this
one, at least, is over half
consumed.
Katya nods, and runs towards the woods
without another word. Vincent
revs the motorcycle and races down
the driveway, Adrian on back
hanging for dear life. Hatch, Elizabeth
and Smythe each stand mute,
watching the flickering flames, and
wait for the authorities to
arrive.
Part II
The dawn comes hard to London, fighting
its way through the fog and
the smoke, pushing its way into the
alleys and narrow streets,
breaking its way into the slumbering
consciousness of those Bright
Young Things who celebrate its absence
rather than its presence. The
victory, such as it is, is today Pyhrric:
at the end of the battle the
light is thin and faded, too exhausted
to do any but the barest amount
of actual illumination.
But still, its presence alone is enough
to relieve and fortify those
who have had nights harder than the
dawn.
Five in the morn, an hour when the
respectable are not yet up and the
wicked have retreated for the day.
A time solely the province of
bakers, servants, delivery men, and
(apparently) artists. The hour
finds two men--both smartly dressed,
but betraying signs of
stress--contemplating the exterior
of a Soho house. Run-down and in need
of repair, it stands in mute protest
to the dawn. Its windows--painted
over to a man--succeed where the smoke
falters, protecting the
inhabitants from any unwanted solar
attention.
One of the men breaks the still and
knocks on the door. From inside, a
distant sound drags itself doorwards,
a bubble of unwholesome air
slowly ascending within a stagnant
pond. The sound, like the bubble,
culminates in an exhalation of foul
and old air; to those with
overactive imaginations it must seem
that the house itself exhales
when the door is finally answered
by a disheveled, unkempt figure of
Bohemian bent.
A brief conversation is had, in which
the voice of the resident flits
from enraged to cunning to pleading
and back again, all in the same
breath. One of the visitors replies,
his voice calm and
soothing. Abruptly, the inhabitant
looks back into the house, and
shuts the door. After a few seconds,
the door is opened again to
reveal the smiling face of a kindly
old woman, and after some brief
pleasantries, the two men are invited
into the house.
----------
Some few minutes pass, and the door
opens again to release the two
visitors. One of them--the younger--walks
from the house with a fast,
purposeful strides and a strangely
wild look in his eyes. The other,
older gentleman hurries to catch up
while still putting on his
coat. "Did you _have_ to pay that
much money?" he asks.
The younger man does not respond, but speeds his pace slightly.
-----------
Across town, in the lush parlor of
a "swank" townhouse, a well-dressed
gentlemen of obvious breeding and
good habits addresses the
distinguished patriarch of a minor
noble family. Although the
patriarch is still in his robe and
slippers, and sits at his breakfast
table, the visitor smokes easily and
shows no sign of
discomfort. "...And so, to put it
discretely, the Crown would
appreciate the... services of your
daughter. I assure you that it
would place her in no danger, but
her ability to travel unfettered and
without raising suspicion is of value.
And to show its appreciation, I
am authorized to assure you that certain...
indiscretion on her part
will be overlooked. Indeed, we see
no need that they go further than
this room."
The patriarch smiles.
-----------
In a sparse, under-furnished apartment
across town, the older of the
two visitors flips open a telephone
listing and dials a
number. There is a pause, and he mutters
"Answer... answer the
phone..." under his breath. Another
pause, and he depresses the switch
and dials another number from the
directory.
-----------
In a minor but well-used chapel, the
morning service just finishes as
the second of the two visitors enters,
making the sign of the
cross. He waits patiently in the back
as the worshipers, all of whom
are men and most of whom wear robes,
finish their personal prayers and
meditations.
As they shuffle, walk, or stride down
the aisle on their way to their
daily activities, the late-comer stops
one. "Father, may I have a word
with you?" he asks in an American
accent.
An older man, poised and weary at the
same time, nods. They speak
briefly, and the older man nods again.
"Very well. It was good to have
you here, Vincent. May it be the Lord's
will for you to return. Don't
forget to wire ahead to make the arrangements."
-----------
In what can only be a bachelor's study,
a debonair, stylish, and
handsome young man listens to the
story being told by a small,
flustered, and frankly unattractive
gentleman. "...And so then Hatch
told me to leave, and I did. I don't
know how Katya's going to get in
touch with us, but I'm sure she'll
find a way." The speaker takes a
gulp from the glass of amber liquid
in front of him. "We've got to
leave London. Today. Right now, if
possible."
The bachelor, who has been listening
with obvious incredulity, glances
at a slightly-ajar door. From within
comes the sound of someone
shifting in their sleep.
"Well," begins the younger man, "there
is a Cartwright ship leaving
later today, about three o'clock in
the afternoon I believe. Heading
to several ports in France before
heading into the Mediterranean. And
as it just so happens, I have an estate
in the countryside. May I
suggest that we sojourn there for
a brief respite?" He also has an
American accent.
The haggard man nods and picks up the phone.
------------
In a sunny, well-kept sitting room,
the well-dressed early-morning
visitor from before addresses a regal
young lady while the sounds of
breakfast tinkle in from the next
room over. "...Mostly to observe,
rather than to have any particular
objective. As a mentioned before,
the odds of being in any danger due
to this is extremely slim, but if
you feel in need of assistance, place
that advertisement in the agony
column of the Cairo Bulletin, and
you will be contacted within a few
days."
In the distance, a phone rings.
"And what about travel arrangements. Will you make those?"
The visitor shakes his head. "No, absolutely
not. It is imperative
that you not be connected to us under
any circumstances. No, I'm
afraid that you will have to make
your own arrangements, just as you
would otherwise."
A young girl in the modest dress of
a maid enters the room. "Miss
Essex? A phone call for you. A Mr.
Smythe."
The young lady gracefully leaves the
room, only to return shortly. "As
it happens, the question is moot.
Mr. Smythe, of whom you must be
aware, has arranged our travel already.
And now, sir, I have only one
last question for you: Katya. How
is she?"
The visitor responds promptly and smoothly.
"Ah. Miss Petrova has
decided to accept the protection of
the British government, which I
must say is a wise decision. You'll
have to understand that I am not
at liberty to disclose her present
whereabouts, as she is in great
danger, but I do have a note from
her. Transcribed, of course, by
Mr. Hatch, whom I believe you have
met."
The young lady accepts the note with
a face as composed and
inscrutable as her visitor's.
--------
In the bare apartment, the present
inhabitant continues his use of the
telephone. Visible signs of stress
cloud his face. "Answer, damn
you. Answer I say-- Yes! Yes! Hello?
Yes! I need movers,
immediately. How soon can you be here?"
Pause. "No, that's too late. I
need you here now!" Pause. "Yes, yes,
I'll pay the extra! How soon--"
Pause. "For the love of God, can you
be here no sooner than that?"
Pause. "No! No! Yes! Come over!"
He shouts an address into the telephone
and slams it down. He picks up
the telephone directory again, and
flips the
pages. "Cleaners.... cleaners...."
he mutters to himself.
--------
In the bachelor's lair, the haggard
man puts the phone down. "That's
everyone. Except Adrian, of course.
His phone has been busy all
morning. Do you think that we should
go over there?"
"Perhaps you should try one more time." replies the fashion plate.
The other shrugs, picks up the phone once again.
--------
In the bare apartment across town,
which has become even more bare
somehow, the professor pulls papers
out of a desk drawer and throws
them into a box. Around him, clothing
and various personal possessions
are scattered across the floor. The
phone rings, and he springs to
answer it. "Yes? When? What?" He looks
at his watch again. "Oh, dear
God, that's not enough time!"
He slams the phone down and redoubles his efforts at making a mess.
--------
In the den, the haggard gentleman looks
at the telephone receiver in
his hand. "That's odd. He sounded...
half-crazed." He considers for a
second. "Although I suppose that's
not surprising."
The bachelor, from across the room,
chortles. "No, it's not. Now the
only thing left--aside from packing,
of course--is to get the items
from the bank. How do you suppose
the best way is to get them across
the Channel?"
"Only Elizabeth can get them from the
bank, but as for getting them
out of England..." The first speaker
snorts gently. "My specialty."
---------
In a sparse, stark room, containing
only a bed, small desk, and a
prominent crucifix, the American finishes
his own prayers and
leaves. On the way out, he notices
a young man, barely out of his
teens, flagging him down. "Is it important?
I was on my way to send an
urgent telegram."
"My apologies, Brother, but there was
a telephone call for you this
morning. They left a message."
The younger man hands the American
a note, which is quickly scanned
and digested. "Thank you. You were
right to get this to me."
----------
In the foyer to her townhouse, the
young lady greets the tired and
ill-shaven gentleman who telephoned
earlier. "We'd better go to the
Bank, first off," he begins.
"Are you sure that is wise? I am wary
of removing them from the safety
deposit box until absolutely necessary."
"It is best to do these things early,
unless you were planning on
carrying them on your person."
"As it happens, I was. The larger items
in my room can be shipped,
though."
The gentleman nods. "Very well. If
I recall correctly, I'll need some
help getting some of it to the cab."
---------
In a bedroom that can only be described
as decadent, the handsome
bachelor smoothes his silk robes,
lights his pipe, and contemplates his
now-empty bed. Then, shaking his head
as if to clear it, he sits at
his desk and writes quickly on several
sheets of paper. He opens a
drawer and removes two small vials:
one containing a red substance,
the other a black powder. Hesitating
a moment, he looks at the vials
as if considering a newly-formed idea.
Seizing a small spoon, he places a
small amount of the black powder on
a porcelain dish. He then wipes the
spoon, and places a similarly
small amount of the red substance
on the edge of the plate. Leaning
far back in his chair, he gradually
pushes the two substances together
until they almost touch. Taking a
deep breath and wincing as if
expecting a violent explosion, he
pushes the substances the last
infinitesimal distance towards contact.
Nothing happens.
Opening his eyes again, he looks at
the mixture, and then leans
forward to get a closer look. Seeing
nothing of interest, he considers
for a moment, then sniffs gently at
it.
Nothing happens.
After a moment in this ridiculous position,
he laughs at himself and
sweeps the mixture into the rubbish
bin. He pulls on a rope next to
the bed, and places the vials into
a small wooden box with the letter
he wrote previously.
There's a knock at the door, which
he answers. "Ah, yes, Standish. I
will be traveling to the estate in
France later today. I will
probably be there for some weeks.
Prepare things, will you? Oh, and
please ship this box to the address
on the letter inside, send this
telegram, and deliver this letter
to the current Cartwright
dock-master. Oh, and make sure that
his family gets a nice goose for
their dinner table this weekend."
-----------
In a small, ill-lit office, a large
and ill-shaped elderly man
apologizes to a young lady. "I'm sorry,
Miss Essex, but you said
nothing about needing the samples
back. I've sent traces of it to all
my colleagues, and we're all frankly
puzzled."
She sighs, almost inaudibly. "You did heed my warnings, did you not?"
"Oh, yes, certainly. I don't know why
you were so afraid of it,
though. They remarkably inert. We
can't find anything with will react
with it, and it is remarkably dense.
The only explanation that we
have--and even this is under vigorous
debate--is that it was formed at
extremely low temperatures. Very low,
indeed. Temperatures you will
only find in outer space."
----------
In the apartment that was once bare,
the sole resident finds new and
interesting sources of stress. In
one corner of the room, several
bulging and stained suitcases sit,
waiting. The rest of his earthly
possessions, of which there is an
astonishing amount, are scattered
around the room in piles of various
sizes. The man responsible for
this standing in the middle of the
mess he wrought, arguing with
several large men. "No, really. I
need everything in this apartment
packed up, taken somewhere, and burnt."
They look at each other. "That's what
I thought you said the first
time," one of them replies. "But...
but... Burnt?"
"Yes, burnt. To ashes. Today. As soon as possible."
There's a knock at the door. "Cleaners!" someone yells through it.
The ring-master, lines of worry showing
on his face, opens the door
while continuing to talk to the movers.
"It's a.... bet. Yes, a
bet. To see how long it would take
to completely destroy all my
possessions. If I get it done by three,
I win some fifteen thousand
pounds."
The movers look at each other. "Well,
if you want it burnt, then I
guess burnt it is. But.... where do
you want it burnt?"
"What do I care?" he snaps. "Just burn it, man!"
----------
In the vault of a large, prosperous
bank, the young lady removes a key
from around her neck and inserts it
into a lock. The obsequious man
beside her selects a key from a large
ring and does likewise. Turning
both keys at the same time, he removes
an oblong box from its niche in
the wall and hands it to her. Pausing
to take a breath, she opens it
and looks inside.
She smiles, relieved.
"Yes, I don't think I need this any
further. Will you refund the
deposit? And I will also require a
letter of credit. I am going on a
trip."
--------
On a busy residential street, the haggard
man looks even more haggard
as he loads one last box into a cab.
The cab driver stands to one
side, protesting. "Listen, chap, I'm
not a delivery service."
The haggard man simply reaches into
his pocket at draws out a sheet of
paper and his wallet. He pulls out
a bill of large denomination out,
and folds it into the paper.
"Just deliver it all to this address.
Oh, and I'll need your spare
can of petrol."
---------
In the busy office or a major line
of ships, people stand and come to
attention as the dapper young man
strides to his private office. With
a curt gesture, he summons his secretary
to follow.
The question is snapped out before
the door even closes. "Have we a customer
named Fong Imports?"
"I don't believe so, sir, but I can check for you."
--------
On a busy street, a disheveled and
unkempt gentleman tries--and
fails--to hail a cab. From the apartment
building behind him, he hears
one mover say to another, "Do you
really think anyone will notice we
we keep a few things? Some of this
is nice stuff!"
"Naw," another replies. "I was planning on doing the same, myself."
The gentleman at the curb curses softly to himself.
--------
In a silent and still apartment, showing
signs of two residents, a
note and some money sit on a table.
Outside in the alley, the first wisps
of smoke rise from a
petrol-soaked pile of cloth begin
to rise towards the sky.
--------
On the first-class deck of a large
and luxurious cruise ship, three
men and a young woman huddle together.
"Do you think she'll make it?" the haggard man asks.
"I don't know. You all know her better than I" replies the American.
"I'm sure that she will be here. I
have the utmost faith in her." the
young lady replies.
"Yes, she shows a remarkable ability
to take care of herself, I must
admit. I an frankly more worried about
Adrian." The debonair young man
lights his pipe. "He seems the type
that would get lost in his own
museum."
"There she is!" the young lady exclaims, pointing.
All turn and look at the base of the
dock. The stylish American nods,
walks over to a crew member, and exchanges
a few words with him before
pointing in the direction of their
gazes.
A few moments later, a man on the dock
who wears the uniform of the
Cartwright Line and is obviously in
charge of the loading of both
passengers and cargo is approached
by the same crewman and a
stunningly beautiful woman. From their
vantage point they can't quite
make out the details, but all see
the woman's proud and haughty face as
she speaks to the dock-master. After
a few minutes, the dock-master
shakes his head but escorts the woman
over to a gangplank at the stern
of the ship.
"Well, that takes care of that." says
the haggard man. "But what about
Adrian?"
"I don't think we need to worry about
him." replies the other
American, who had been looking in
a different direction.
All turn and follow his gaze to the
burner of furniture. He's
staggering up the gangplank, burdened
by several suitcases and
bags. One shoe is untied, and his
coat is misbuttoned. Sweat pours off
his face, and he stumbles into the
side of the gangplank as if
drunk. At the top, he is stopped by
a steward, and he puts down his
baggage to frantically go through
his pockets.
The stylish American chuckles, walks
over to the gentleman in
distress, and whispers in the steward's
ear. The steward nods and
helps the newcomer by carrying one
or two of his bags. The newcomer,
staggering no less for his lighter
burden, struggles his way over to
the group before collapsing. One of
his suitcases pops open as it hits
the deck, spilling a pile of greyish
pants (underwear, for you Yanks)
all over the place.
"Hello, Adrian." the other American
says. "You owe me a pound!"
Part III
The Cartwright Estate proves to be
just what the doctor ordered. After
a brief trip (but one night) in First
Class luxury, our intrepid
adventurers collect their companion
(who thoroughly enjoyed her night
as a dishwasher) and enjoy the peace
and quiet of the French
countryside. When they are rested
a bit they might even take
advantage of the opportunities for
riding, fishing, or hunting. There
are many walking trails, some gardens,
a stony beach, several streams,
and of course, the library.
A good time is had by all, but for different reasons.
All good things must come to an end,
however, and this is no
exception. After only a few days,
the majority of our adventurers
travels on to Rome, finding accommodations
of various kinds. For the
Father, there is always a room at
the priory, but they regret that
they are unable to provide exclusive
use of any of their villa on such
short notice (and, you suspect, for
use by non-Catholics-- and women
to boot.) For those with money, there
are several fine hotels that
cater to visitors, most of which will
rent suites for parties of mixed
sex (though it often comes with a
wink and a nod.)
After a few weeks of blissful monotony,
the lone member of the group
that remained in France arrives. Oh,
happy day! He was not eaten by
unspeakable things as soon as he returned
to London! And he has the
books, to boot! All four of them!
--Ah, yes, he says. And the telegram
was certainly accurate. Two of
the bindings are, well, unique.
Indeed they are. One of them is bound in a pale leather.
Another is bound in the same material
as that from which the black
tribal mask is formed.