" Don't look at me like that." I said. " It's not my fault."

" Huh." Judy looked at me accusingly.

It could have been worse, no it could not. The sound of a large heavy distant door being shut and equally large steel bolts being thrown into position echoed down the empty passages. It was not a sound either of us had heard before, especially from this position at the end of a long passage, but we both instantly knew what it meant. It was still not my fault. At least the lights are on I commented brightly, as it turned out just a fraction too soon as just then the lights went out.

" Oh great." said Judy. " This looks like it is going to be the perfect week end."

" Don't worry." I said." I've got a match." I struck a match and looked at Judy through its flickering light.

" And how long is that going to last my little darling." said Judy, looking straight at me with those beautiful dark brown eyes.

" About fifteen seconds." I said as the match started to flicker.

" So when does the water start flooding in." said Judy

" Don't say that." I said.

" That's what usually happens next in films where people get locked in cellars." she said.

I was a pity it was not a file if it was we would get rescued by Lassie. The match burnt my finger and flickered out. It was very dark Judy thought the place was bound to be haunted, she was as bad as Joe always thinking of the most inappropriate thing to say when you need cheering up in a tight situation. Like have you seen ten foot long rats down here. Judy screamed at the mention of rats, ghosts she did not mind but rats. She said that ghosts do not nibble you toes. Just as I was reassuring Judy that there were no rats or ghosts down here a hand dropped onto my shoulder. I felt warm breath against my face. Judy ask if we were going to be stuck down there all night and pulled me close to her. I put my arms around her waist and told her it looked like it. It struck me no Joe, no Spotty, no one to disturb us at all, we brought our lips together and kissed, the way only Judy can kiss.

Why a picture of a Moose should come into my mind at a moment like this do not know.

The kiss continued, we were in no hurry we had all night, in fact I had a suspicion we had all weekend, although I was not going to tell Judy that, at least not yet.

Judys body was soft and relaxed in my arms, more relaxed than I had ever known her. Judy lived on the edge, but here in the dark was another Judy, the one I loved the one I wanted. The kiss was held and the dream was held, the kiss was beginning the relaxed warm marathon stage, Judy was holding me even tighter, when the lights came on.

" Hello are you down there." Joes voice echoed down the passages.

" Sod Joe." I said.

" We could hide." said Judy.

" They don't open up again until Monday." I said.

" Is it so bad to be stuck down here with me for two days." said Judy.

" Two days alone with you I could stand." I said. " Two days stuck down here in the dark without any biscuits I don't think I could."

I was not frightened of the dark it was not having any biscuits I would get withdrawal symptoms. I admit it I a biscuitaholic.

" If there's nobody down there will you please say so." Joe voice echoed down the passage.

" There's nobody here." I shouted.

" He's not going to believe you." said Judy.

I let go of Judy and we wandered back through the passages to the ladder that led up to freedom, people and biscuits. Oh well I sighed, Judy then gave me a quick kiss before we ascended the ladder to freedom.

We emerged through large a trapdoor in the floor just behind the bar of the Griffin and Three Fingers. I ask Joe who locked the door and put the lights out as we dusted ourselves down it appeared that it was the surveyor who thought we had gone home. Judy did not know the surveyor he would not think of checking, if he found a double rebated tusked tenon everything else goes out of his mind. Mind you I thought tusked tenons only lived in Africa. I ask Joe what made him come back. It seemed I had forgotten I was taking the boat out fishing with Joe, when I was not there Joe guessed what might have happened. Judy wondered why I was going fishing with joe as I do not fish so Joe explained that I was the only one who can get the outboard motor going on the boat.

The Griffin and Three Fingers was an odd place and I only found out about it quite by chance. I had been waiting in the Puffin and Spyglass with Sprags rabbet, the rabbet was in a box which I had collected from the railway station. I was sitting quietly minding my own business when the parrot, which the barman in the Puffin and Spyglass keeps behind the bar, shouted " Look out behind you?". Now I knew it was the bird talking so why I turned round I will never know, however I did and in the process caught my elbow against my glass of beer knocking it over. Now the Puffin and Spyglass seems to have been built with quite a slope in it, because the beer from my overturned glass went running along the bar counter at a fair rate of knots. It decided of course to drip off the bar at the place where the only other customer in the room happened to be sitting.

" Oh zebras stripes." I shouted grabbing a cloth from behind the bar and throwing it to where the beer frothing like a tidal wave down the counter. My aim was quite good but I had not managed to stop the first surge of frothy beer soaking the trousers of the unfortunate customer.

" Oh I am sorry." I apologised as the barman appeared with some dry tea towels.

" Don't worry." said the man wiping himself down.

" It was that retched bird." I said.

" I know I heard it." said the man. " But don't worry I have had many a pint spilled down me over the years."

" Its a bad place to sit then." I said.

I ask him why he sat there if that was the case but he had not meant that he got soaked in this pub, he was once he explained a barman and getting soaked with beer every now and then goes with the job. The man introduced himself as Boater, he used to work at the Griffin and Three Fingers before it closed down. I apologised to Mr Boater and ask him if he would let me buy him a pint to make up. He thanked me but corrected me that it was not Mr Boater, it was Boater McFarlan. An unusual first name Boater it seemed that his fathers favourite hobby was boating, he could only be thankful his farther was not into skiing.

I ask where The Griffin and Three Fingers was as I had never heard of such a pub round these parts and I had looked at most places in the past few months. I appeared it was right in the middle of town and Boater was the barman for twenty three years, suddenly the place closed down. Suddenly I queried. Overnight without any warning apparently.

As I had not seen any old pubs in town i wondered if it been converted into something else but Boater said its was still sitting waiting for a new owner he said Boater he would buy it himself only he had not got the money it was a lovey old place. I looked at him.

" Now isn't that a coincidence." I said.

We stood in Rat Rising Road looking up at a row of elegant white georgian houses. They were nice places, three stories high, gable windows in the roof and half basements below the pavement. A flight of six steps up to each front door gave them a grand imposing appearance, not one them however looked like anything other than an ordinary house.

" You're not having me on are you." I ask Boater. " For spilling my beer all over you."

" It's no joke." said Boater. " It's the end one over there."

Boater pointed to the end house of the row. We walked down the road a little and stood opposite the house. This house was at the corner where Finkle Street joined Rat Rising Road, it faced onto both streets and the front door had been placed on the corner. All the windows were boarded up and the paintwork was looking decidedly tatty compared with the fresh paintwork on all the others. I still thought Boater was pulling my leg it looked just like an unoccupied house there are no pub signs on it or anything.

Boater told me it never did have any signs it was a very refined area when it was built, they did not want nasty things like pub signs spoiling the row. I wondered why they would have a pub at all in that case but apparently it was built on top of an older pub on the same site, it was it seems a lot more interesting on the inside. I really did not believe any of this, then Boater ask if I thought that our friend might be interested in the place he could get the keys from the agents and meet us here the next day. He wanted to prove to me that it was a pub.

I told him I did not want to put him to a lot of trouble but it seemed that he had to go in occasionally to keep an eye on the place. We agreed to meet at ten in the morning then I would bring Joe and a torch.

" A torch." said Boating.

" All the windows are blocked up." I said.

" Its not derelict." said Boating." There's power on in it."

Me and Joe stood on the top step of The Griffin and Three Fingers in front of the large imposing blue door. Joe had brought a torch. O Yea of little faith I was saying because Joe still thought this was a joke we would get in there and this Boater chap would turn all the lights off and laugh himself silly, all the way back to the Puffin and Spyglass.

You got a good view from the top step of the corner house you could see all the way down Finkle Street. Finkle Street however is not exactly what I would call a good view, if you moved all the houses, the glue factory and the rubber works it would be.

Joe wondered where's this boating lake fellow was and looked at his watch he had said ten o clock it is now twelve minutes past. Joe was a bright one to talk about time keeping, as soon as he had said it Boating appeared coming down Rat Rising Road.

Boating came up to us by the front door and produced a large bunch of keys, he opened the door and we went in. Me and Joe walked thought into a dark cavernous hall, it was very dark inside, smelt very fusty and neglected, Boating fiddled about in a cupboard near the front door, then suddenly all the lights come on.

It was a strange sensation, I do not know what I had expected but what ever it was, it was not this. We had entered a derelict empty house and we had gone into the centre of the main hall by the light from the open front door. When Boating was fiddling with the lights I had only expected to see and empty rather dirty neglected house. What I had not expected was to be standing under a gigantic glass chandelier, surrounded with deep carpets, Regency furniture, wall hangings, silver candelabra, french paintings and bronze statues.

" Good heavens." said Joe as the sight took his breath away.

" You aint seen nothing yet." Said boating joining us gawping at our surroundings.

" And I brought my torch." said Joe.

As we wandered from room to room, each room seemed to be more splendidly furnished than the last, it became apparent that this was not a pub, it was a palace. The room that was supposed to be the bar was more like the reading room of a very exclusive club, it had leather arms chairs and a very discrete bar at one end. Boating told us that it almost operated like a club with just a small band of regulars. As there was not any kind of pub sign on the outside very few strangers ever came in and those that did were somewhat intimated by the surroundings. I could understand what he meant, even now with the obvious smell of neglect hanging in the air, I felt that we were intruding into someones rather private world.

I ask what had happened to make it suddenly close did the owner suddenly die. Boating could have understood if it were that simple but the owners just disappeared one night, never to be seen again. Joe thought Boating was just having us on it was a joke this was somebodies house. Boating was serious he ask us to fallow him as he disappeared behind what must be the only regency style bar in the country it seemed if we thought the part of the house we had seen was fantastic we had not seen anything yet.

Me and Joe followed Boating behind the bar counter, squeezing into a very small space, we had to back up a bit as Boating struggled with a large hatch in the floor. He reminded us about the fact that the place was built on the site of an older pub as he opened the hatch and flicked a switch under the bar counter, light flooded onto the area below the hatch revealing a long flight of wooden steps descending down into a deep cellar.

" Lets go and disturb a few ghosts." said Boating as he went down the steps.

Me and Joe followed Boating down the steep steps into the void below.

He was right we had not seen anything yet, this was fantastic. We had entered a large brick vaulted cellar under the main building, this opened out into a series of tunnels stretching out in what seemed to be all directions. There were bottles everywhere, some with so much undisturbed dust on them they obviously had not been disturbed for many a long century. Boating starting off down one of what he called one of the more interesting tunnels.

As we wondered down through the cavern Boating pointed out various items discovered by archaeologists over the past few years. The caves dated back to medieval times when it seems it was safer and easier to extend your house down into the soft sandstone than build an extension out the back. It seems there was a medieval industrial complex down here, there were breweries, places where food was stored and processed, even large pits were they tanned leather. How the archaeologists worked all this out I do not know, all I could see was just a load of old caves. Although even I could tell they were man made. Every now and then shafts went straight up to ground level for ventilation. These shafts were covered by big iron grates. I had often seen these in the streets and wondered what they were. The whole place was fascinating and we spent a good couple of hours walking round.

It seemed tradition said that the caves connected all over the town at one time, over the years parts had been blocked off, bits had collapsed during building work overhead and generally they have been neglected. A lot of the older building in the town apparently had cellars formed out of the passages but people did not want their cellars connected with other buildings so most had been blocked deliberately. The caves seemed so extensive I wondered if the owners of The Griffin and Three Fingers upstairs had just got lost down here. This was one thought that crossed everyones mind it seems and the whole place had been searched, nothing was found. It seemed very unlikely situation because Boating had never seen them go down into the caves, he pointed out that as we had seen from upstairs, they were not the sort of people who would go wondering down damp dusty caves especially in the middle of the night.

" Does anybody have any idea where they went." I said.

" Not a jot." said Boating.

" It must be the ghosts from these passages frightened them away." said Joe as we found out way back to the wooden steps that lead up to the bar in the Griffin and Three Fingers.

" I don't know about you." said Boating. " But I have not been any where less ghostly than this place."

" Funny that." I said. "I don't think I have."

We climbed out of the hatch and back into the bar. It was an odd sensation to suddenly pop out of that subterranean world back into the comfortable opulence of the house.

I did not think we could suggest to Mrs Jabody that she buy the place if no one knew what happened to the past owners, it seems I was not alone in that thought it was one of the raisons it had stood empty for so long. I ask Boating if any body had tried to trace them. I seems thy had, the police had, their solicitors had, even a private investigator, they had all come up with the same thing, nothing, not a single sausage.

I sounded like one of those half eaten meal jobs like the Marie Celeste, but it seems to have been a very orderly parting, the old owners took all their papers and correspondence, in fact anything that might suggest who they were or there they went. The fact that Boating did not even know who they were struck me as a bit odd. It seems that they were there for so long people just accepted them for what they were, wealthy upper class folk. Only when they disappeared did it come to light that no one actually knew where they had originally come from. They could have been crooks or Russian spies anything was possible.

We all sat down in the old leather arm chairs in the bar. Boating had brought some bottles up from the caves below in put them down on the table between us and brushed off some of the layers of dust. Although I am no connoisseur of wine I must say that these bottles were extremely good stuff.

" Wasn't there any kind of clue." said Joe as we settled down to enjoy our drink.

" Hardly." said Boating. " There were only two odd things that stuck in my mind, nobody could attach any special meaning to either of them."

" Things related to the disappearance." I said.

" Who knows." said Boating. " Both happened about two weeks before they disappeared."

Boating poured us all another glass of the excellent wine. I seemed that the first odd thing Boating had noticed was a picture post card, he happened to see it on the lounge mantle peace one morning when he was opening all the curtains. There was nothing unusual about getting postcards, they got them from all over the place, this particular one had a nice picture of a town and Boating was curious to know where it was, he turned the card over as they usually print a little inscription on the back saying where it is. It was Cape Town in South Africa, nothing odd about that, however it was the message that caught Boatings eye. He said he did not usually read other peoples cards but this had only three words and that was odd. It simply read, Obidye is out.

" Most odd." I said.

" Who is Obidye." ask Joe.

" Haven't a clue." said Boating. " And I could hardly ask."

" Where is the card now." I said.

" That went along with all the other papers." said Boating. " It was only the odd message that made it stick in my mind, I can't remember any of the other cards they got."

"You said there were two odd things." said Joe " What was the other thing."

The other odd thing Boating had noticed was not so much a thing as a rather odd person. Three people owned the place, a couple and third man. They did not get many visitors other than the regular customers and a few local friends, so when this stranger turns up to see them, again stuck in Boatings mind. Boating took a large drink of his wine as he told us the man would have stuck in his mind regardless of where he had seen him because when he said he was a stranger he meant strange, very strange. He described the man as quite tall, dressed all in black with the exception of a red scarf pulled up over his mouth. He had a wide brimmed black hat pulled down over his eyes and a long black cloak that came right down below his knees. He could not have looked more conspicuous if he had flashing lights all over himself.

Boating who the man was or what he wanted, the strange man simply went upstairs to see the owners and Boating never saw him again, he did not even see him leave. The police could not trace this strange man as there was not exactly allot to go on and there was no indication that he had anything to do with their disappearance anyway.

" I bet he did." said Joe much to our amazement as soon had Boating finished.

We ask Joe what made him say that and Joe explained that the man in the black cloak was one of the Snittering crowd and that they are mixed up in all sorts of strange things. Boating was surprised that Joe know who this fellow was as no one else did. Joe could not be certain but if it was who he thought it was, then he knew of him and Joe was sure there could not be more than one bloke that wanders around looking like that.

" This is news to me." I said." Who's the Snittering Crowd."

" You don't want to know." said Joe" They're weird."

" Well you're not going to leave it at that." said Boating. " Explain or I don't open this other bottle."

" Great heavens you ruthless." said Joe.

The bottle was opened and Joe explained and it was all rather odd as Joe had promised.

We got off the tram at a Brimgotty bridge, the closest public transport went to what the locals called the Thread and Pot Shuttle. Why it was known locally as this I am not quite sure because the name of the place was in fact the Smugglers and Flatmen, it even had a sign outside to this affect.

" I don't think this is a very good idea." I said.

The Smugglers and Flatmen was an extremely old inn built on the water front at Flimington on Sea. It was on the north side of a little harbour, a place where one assumes, smugglers and Flatmen gathered in times past. The fishing boats and trading barges that once lined the harbour had long since given way to pleasure boats and racing yachts. The clientele of the Smugglers and Flatmen had also changed from burley fishermen and smugglers to weekend captains and martini drinking adventurers. If ever a pub could be saddened by the changing times it must be that one, I am sure the groans heard in the night were not just the timber beams moving.

The only thing the place might have drawn comfort from was the Snittering club which used the building as its unofficial headquarters. This peculiar club was dedicated to the memory of Colonel Bothington, a spy and army commander during the first world war, the inventor of false information and reversible trousers. The members of this club act out famous adventurers from the past, each member adopting the character of a famous person from the past, real or fiction. These day this sort of activity is acted out behind closed doors with the lights dimmed and the adventures restricted to a table top with little tin men. The Snittering Club however was different, it seemed to have unlimited funds, when they threw a six and the message read go to Venice and meet a dark haired lady on the Bridge of Sighs, they actually went to Venice.

It was quite obvious this club was either millionaires acting out their fantasies or cover for a real spy network, perhaps it was both.

As we approached The Smugglers and Flatmen I think we both had the feeling that perhaps we should not get mixed up with something as strange as this. We stood outside the place in silence looking up at its crooked roof and small leaded windows for the best part of ten minutes. Just as we were both coming to the conclusion that this was not such a good idea and that we ought to just go home, I got a hearty slap on the back.

" Let me buy you a drink Dr Watson." The voice came from behind me.

I turned round to find myself staring right into face of Sherlock Holmes. It took me a few moments to collect my thoughts, then realised why this Mr Holmes had mistaken me for Dr Watson. I was dressed for once in my double breasted suit and was carrying a gladstone bag. What he did not know was the bag contained all my camera equipment. I had been using that bag for years.

Without getting any chance to protest me and Joe found ourselves in the bar of The Smugglers and Flatmen drinking the health of Moriarty, who ever he was. From that moment we seemed to have entered another world, things started to get odd, or should I say rather strange. No sooner had I taken a sip of my drink, when from other side of the bar Napoleon Bonaparte came round and stood in front of me.

" Has your mission been successful." he ask.

I stared at him open mouthed, or rather I stared at his hat open mouthed. Partly because he was only four foot six tall and I did not know what he was talking about, but mostly because at the sight of a four foot six man dressed from head to toe as a french officer of the eighteen century was even to me rather strange.

Joe poked his head around the other side of Sherlock Holmes stating we were not allowed to say.

" Quite right." said Napoleon. "Quite right, I shouldn't have ask."

I tried to stop this conversation saying I thought there was a case of mistaken identity as we were not here to play games, we were looking for the chap who wears the long black cloak. Napoleon looked indignant at the word games. I was Holmes who said we were looking for The Count of Monte Cristo. It just had to be did it not. Holmes went on to say it appeared I was one step ahead of them all, I was a shrewd player indeed. I looked at him in amazement, then he handed me an envelope saying the Count told him to give me this, I was to fallow the instructions to the letter.

" I'm not a..." I started.

" Susssh.." said Holmes. " You know the rules."

" Look I thought I'd explained, this is..." I said, but Holmes was suddenly gone. Napoleon was looking at me, he raised his glass.

" Success." he said. " Who ever you are."

Joe could not resist the invitation and rased his glass. Success whispered Joe, then Napoleon slipped away into the shadows and was gone.

Well this is another fine mess we had got into, Joe commented it could be worse I ask him how, I could be dressed as Nanook of the North said Joe I pointed out he was.

We were on the tram rattling and clanking our way back to reality and looking at the brown envelope. We were over half way home before I plucked up enough courage to even think about opening it the letter. It was a plain rectangular envelope with the words ' To Dr Watson ' written on the front in a very ornate script. I was very reluctant to open it. Joe was urging me to open it up but if we opened it who knows what we were committing our selves to, we were not part of these stupid games, if they are games and if there not well I just did not want to know. Joe said he did not care if I never opened it but I was dyeing of curiosity as mush as he was.

I pushed my finger along inside the flap slitting the envelope open, there were several bits of paper in it, I pulled them out.

" Good grief." I said.

" One two three four five." said Joe counting.

" They can't be real." I said, holding one up to the light of the tram window.

" Certainly looks real." said Joe. " Although I've never seen one before."

The letter contained a hand written note to Dr Watson and five one hundred pound notes. I had never seen a one hundred pound note before, in fact I had not known such things existed, I read the note. I read the not quietly to myself then Joe ask me what it said, but to be honest I did not know and I did not think Joe really wanted to know. That guaranteed that Joe wanted to know even more. It was brief, Dear Watson, imperative we meet, matter of great urgency, be in Boston the usual place by the stump. Noon twenty seventh.

We sat in silence contemplating the meaning of the note. I struck us both that Boston was in America isn't it, Massachusetts or some where like that, at least it was in America last time I did geography at school, Boston tea party and all that, I took it that was why the money is in there, for the tickets. Joe ask when we were going, he fancied going to America.

I told him not to be so daft, meeting some half brained twit playing games in a pub just round the corner is one thing, sailing half way round the world is quite another. I put the money and note back in the envelope as Joe accused me of being no fun.I was surprised at Joe even contemplating the idea and said we would post the money back to the Smugglers and Flatmen with a letter explaining that it has all just been a case of mistaken identity. For all we knew the real Dr Watson is probably waiting for this very message. Joe reluctantly agreed I was right, boring but right.

We were back at the Puffin and Spyglass with Boating and trying desperately to compose a suitable letter to send back to Mr Homes at the Smugglers and Flatmen. After all our effort it did seem that we destined not to find the man in the black cape. Boating was quite disappointed and offered to go to Boston in our place. I screwed up another letter and threw it in the waste paper basket. Sprag and Spotty came in for a lunchtime drink and ask us what we were doing. Joe related the adventure about looking for the man in black. Somehow when Joe told stories they always seemed more exciting that it actually was. Spotty started laughing.

We told him it was no laughing matter as we could be getting mixed up in something weird, but he was not laughing at that. It seems we had jumped to the wrong conclusion about the note. Spotty said the note we got was not taking about Boston in America it was Boston Lincolnshire. That is the flat bit just before you fall into the north sea he explained. I told him rather indigently I did know where Lincolnshire was, what I could not understand was how he knew where the meeting was, after all the message was given to me. It seemed that the Stump is a well known landmark in Boston, it was the tower of the church by the river. Spotty was an expert on Boston as his aunty lived there.

Joe was all for going now but I did not see that anything had changed, although a couple of hours on a bus was slightly different to six weeks on a paddle steamer and the four months in a waggon train. Spotty wondered where I had got my information about America but there was not much I did not know about America I had seen all the cowboy films going.

Screwing up yet another draft of the letter trying to explain our situation to the Mr Holmes character I began to suppose it might be easier to go than write the letter.

Joe decided to take a vote and all those in favour of Dr Watson going to Boston were to rase their left hand. Everyones hand went up except mine, Spotty put his right hand up. As I was the one who was involved I pointed out that I would decide if we went or not and I was definitely not going.

Me and Joe arrived in Boston at three o clock in the afternoon after a particularly harrowing journey. This involved a bus driver who did not know the route and got lost, a diversion avoiding a collapsed bridge, one bus that broke its back axel and another bus that had to take an emergency diversion to hospital because a lady on board was having a baby.

We decided to stay in a rather strange looking hotel called The Dark Dyke and Dowser, it seemed appropriately sinister for our mission. We had decided for some reason to go in disguise, I think Joe had decided this, Joes disguise was an ordinary suit he had borrowed form Sprag, even I hardly recognised Joe in this. I was wearing a rather natty Yellow and red striped boating jacket borrowed from Spotty. I thought we were being very successful in our not being recognised ploy until we went to get a couple of pints in the small beam infested bar.

" Hello what are you doing here." the girl behind the bar smiled at us.

" Pardon." I said.

" What are you two doing way out in this part of the woods, a bit off your beaten track isn't it." she said.

" Good heavens." said Joe. " Jasmine Wainfleet."

Bang went our cover as two swiss clock makers.

" Of all the bars in all the ports on the coast we had to pick on this one." I said. It was a sort of joke but no one responded. Jasmine has been in our class at school, it was she who was personally responsible for the loss of my trousers during a nature ramble, the circumstances of which are particularly painful to recall.

Jasmine ask why we were dressed up so weird looking at me and Joe rather oddly. I told her nobody was supposed to recognise us as we were in disguise. She did not think they were very good disguises, and who were we hiding from.

We told her all about The Griffin and Three Fingers and about the way the owners has suddenly disappeared. I explained about the strange man in the black cloak and how I was mistaken for Dr Watson at the Puffin and Spyglass. How this then lead to us here to meet the man in the black cloak tomorrow, below the stump.

Jasmines response was to tell us that we always were a daft pair and that if it was any one else telling her a story like that she would not believe a word of it but it was just the sort of thing me and Joe would get ourselves involved in. I was surprised she would even think it sounded plausible I could not see any reason why she should believe it. I did not believe it myself and I was right up to our necks in it.

Jasmine probably would not have believed it at all except that our friend in the black cloak was right in the next room. I thought she was joking but she said he was in the dining room right now having dinner, sitting in a particularly dark corner all on his own. Jasmine had seen him come in and she said if we thought we were dressed weird he beats us hands down.

I finished my glass of beer and told Joe I thought we should go and have a little talk to our Count of Monte Cristo. Joe wondered if we should. But there was not much point in waiting until tomorrow to talk to someone who was sitting less than ten feet away. Joe thought we might loose points or something.

I coughed and quietly whispered excuse me as I leaned over the table, and ask the solitary diner if he was by any chance the Count of Monte Cristo. If he was not it was going to seem like rather a silly question. The man slowly looked up from his coffee and gave us both a long questioning look.

" You, I take it, must be Dr Watson." said the man.

" How on earth did you know that." I said. " We're in disguise."

" Elementary dear Watson." said the man. " There are only three people in the country who would address me by that name and I know where the other two are. Sit down and have a coffee."

He called the waiter over and ordered coffee for us all. I decided to make the opening move before we got embroiled in any more intrigue and try to explain the rather odd circumstances that found us here.

I explained about the mix up in The Griffin and Three Fingers, the money and how we did not really want to get involved in the goings on of the Snittering club. I give him the message that was meant for the real Dr Watson and the money we had been given.

" Hmm." Hummed the Count or who ever he was. He said it was a good story and he liked it, it was well told and they could do me in the club he said I could join if I liked.

I told him my life is complicated enough without any additional games like that. He said that was a pity but the got down to business. He took one of the bank notes out of the envelope I had just given him. He offered the note out in my direction. Hear you must be out of pocket already and a night in this place is not cheap, he told me not to protest and refuse it as the club was awash with money and we deserved a good dinner for a story like ours. I did not know what to say so just murmured as I took the money. The Count told me not to say anything it was he who should say something after we had chased all over the country to find him. I ask him if he know about the people from the Griffin and Three Fingers.

He told me that he did not know as much I would like, the Count sipped some of his coffee. It seems the Griffin and Three Fingers was owned by a man called Dackerty, but it was run by a nice husband and wife couple called the Bothcarts. All these three were from somewhere Africa, the Bothcart family apparently had a large estate somewhere out there. The three of them got stranded here when world war two broke out, they set up this club for ex-patriots like themselves who were too old to fight but were stuck here, the place generally became known as the Griffin and Three Fingers. The place was named apparently after an old sailing ship called the Griffin that Dackerty taken to Dunkirk, on his third trip it got sunk, the three fingers referred to three fingers of rum which was the first thing Dackerty was given on being rescued from the sunken Griffin. After the war the tree of them were quite settled so they stayed on in England, that was until about two years ago when Dackerty suddenly disappeared.

" Another disappearance." I said. " Is that place really spooked."

" Not in the slightest." said the Count. " Through various members of the Snittering club I found out that Dackerty was in fact a spy, who he was working for was not very clear."

Me and Joe pulled our chairs closer to the table as the plot thickened. Apparently, the Count continued, there was a rather dangerous man who Dackerty had double crossed at some time during his spying activities and as a result this man was put in jail. I seems this man was out of jail was now looking Dackerty, with what in mind one can only guess, but ir would not one would imagine be to thank him. Hence Dackertys sudden disappearance. The Count paused, I wondered if this man got to him, but apparently not. The Snittering Club had found that much out the Count thought that Dackerty would have made plans to disappear if necessary.

I did not see how all that would explain why the Bothcarts suddenly disappeared from the Griffin and Three Fingers. It was related, as Count was one of the very few people who know where the Bothcarts had come from and having found out about the man looking for Dackerty, he went to visit the Bothcarts at the Griffin and Three Fingers. That was night the barman had seen him. The Count explained what he knew of Dackerty, it seems they had never known about any of this. However on hearing the story they thought, quite rightly thought the Count, that the man looking for Dackerty would not believe that they knew nothing about Dackertys spying activities. They decided that they should disappear also and finally go back to Africa before this nutcase turns up looking for Dackerty.

" Hence the midnight flit with no forwarding address." I said.

" Precisely." said the Count.

" Who actually owns the Griffin and Fingers then." I said.

" As far as I know Dackerty still does." said the Count.

" I cant see him coaming back to sign a deed of sale." I said.

" I doubt it." said the Count.

" Well I don't think we will tell Mrs Jabody about this one." I said. " Its far too complicated."

" Who's Mrs Jabody." said the Count.

" We're not allowed to say." said Joe winking at me over his coffee cup.

" Quite right." said the Count. "Quite right, I shouldn't have ask."