This is the first time that the Knolly Estate has allowed the great man's memoirs to be published. What follows is the forty-first section of 'An African Adventure'.

Despite the promise of a good, refreshing sleep in those soft and downy beds, I had an awful night. My dreams seemed to be full of midgets and dwarfs who were dancing a can-can while pointing and laughing at me as I was tied up on a spit while still wearing a corset. Still, it seemed the ladies were true to their word and neither of us was disturbed. Well, when I say 'disturbed', I mean 'disturbed' in the physical sense, for — given my recounting of my dream — my mind was clearly disturbed in some way.

I believe it was about 7:30 when Bertie and I decided to sneak out and take the air before anyone else arose. There was no way on Earth that we wanted to face any questions. My head was still ringing to the to the strains of Offenbach's 'Orpheus in the Underworld'; did we really tap our feet to that with such gay abandon in l'Innuendo? Bertie, as usual, bemoaned the lack of breakfast, but I pointed out that this was a port and there were bound to be fellows about offering something to quiet the stomach. La Mer itself, thankfully, was extremely quiet compared with the gaiety that abounded during and after our arrival. It was rather eerie seeing those moving staircases so silent. Still, we found our way back to our own room without incident and grabbed anything we thought would be required for the day (including the envelope that had held the telegram), agreeing silently between us that it would be best if we stayed ashore as long as possible. Oh! Thankfully Bertie had remembered to pack Hobbes' 'Morning-After Pick-Me-Ups'. These pillules were invaluable for dispersing hangovers and Hobbes had also determined that a dissolved solution was — rather curiously — a very effective hair remover and was also — rather curiously — a very effective hair restorer and to boot — rather curiously — an effective primer for wooden surfaces prior to varnishing.

Once outside, we breathed deep the salty air. There was no sign of the rain; the heat of the early sun was taking care of any remaining puddles and an offshore wind tugged at our hair and caused our trousers to flap in a most comical manner. Alas, it was far too early to seek out the library, so we wandered further around the dockside and out along the mole, dodging inquisitive gliding gulls as we went. Bertie pulled up short and pointed, in the process narrowly missing losing a finger to an over-zealous bird who seemed to be attracted to our flapping flannels.

Over to our left we could see a much busier dockyard. This view brought back many memories of my younger days when I plied the seven seas as a young officer cadet. I had never visited this port, but I knew of it.

'That will be the Naval base at Simons Town,' I voiced loudly over the sounds of screaming sea birds and the wind whistling in my breeches.

'Quite a few boats about,' said Bertie as he flapped manically at the bird that seemed to have taken a dislike to him — or maybe it was simply trying to show affection in a particularly gully way. In any case, the bird was most persistent in its attention to my friend.

'Ships, Bertie! They are called ships! Please do not forget that these are ocean-going vessels, not pleasure craft on the Norfolk Broads!'

Bertie pulled a face that was half embarrassment at his faux-pas and half panic in his attempts to fend off the flying fiend that so harassed him.

'Sorry... Gerroff... ow!'

The bird, realising that Bertie was good for neither fodder nor fornication, flapped off. I pulled out my field glasses from their case and surveyed the base.

So, let's see who's at home... Magpie, Pheobe, Raccoon, Swallow, Widgeon, Penelope.'

'Not quite the names of ships you’d want to write home about, then,' muttered Bertie as he wrapped his pecked hand in a kerchief. He then tapped me on the shoulder and pointed once more. 'Look, Knolly! Coming in over there.'

I trained my glasses on the rising smoke. 'Well, there’s a pretty sight, I'll say. Certainly the largest ship running out of Good Hope Station, I would think.'

'Can you see its name, then?' asked Bertie.

'Not yet, but she's flying the Admiral's colours. Hmmm... I wonder who's in charge down here these days? Never thought to check that out before we left.'

'That's because we didn't really expect to be here, did we? Or for this long, come to think of it.'

Bertie picked up a pebble and absent-mindedly threw it at a gathering group of gulls. The projectile missed and it plinked sulkily into the water. The gulls, however, did not look best-pleased at being singled out for target practice and seemed set to retaliate. We quickened our stride and made ourselves scarce before they could deploy.

The twin-stacked cruiser drew nearer and nearer to us and then turned starboard and into port. We waved our hats at the local protector of the waves that was HMS St George, but there was no one on deck to wave back.

'Still hungry then, Bertie?' I inquired, noticing Bertie's current temperament as the ship disappeared around the bay.

'Famished! And I'd like to give this hand a wash too. Lord knows what and where that bird has been eating.'

'Come on, then! Onwards and upwards into Cape Town itself!' I called. Off we went, keeping a wary eye out for marauding gulls.

It was a much longer walk considering the cab journey the evening before, and for all of our current fitness we arrived quite puffed. The town was coming to life as we trudged our way up the hill towards the centre. We decided to head in the direction of the railway station and use that as our central point of reference until such time as we got our bearings or found a map to purchase. Despite the shenanigans of last night, there was one particular image, a brief encounter, that still bothered me. Bertie noticed my thoughtful nature and jumped to the wrong conclusion.

'Have you noticed anyone shadowing us this morning, Knolly?' he asked in hushed tones.

'Strangely, no. And I find that in itself rather disconcerting. After all, we are not exactly making it difficult for the coves to keep track of us, are we?'

Bertie agreed and then became rather distracted as he espied an open bakery across the road. He started off towards said establishment and was almost run down by a passing delivery wagon.

'One day, Bertie, your stomach will be the death of you!' I exclaimed as I pulled him to safety.

'Ah yes, but what a way to go! Death by overeating!'

'I could think of better ways,' I replied, raising my eyebrows.

'Oh... such as?' he inquired wistfully.

Here I will leave whoever reads this to think of their own preferred choice of demise; a gentleman never tells, after all.

Bertie was rather taken aback by the limited selection of offerings in the bakery, having been spoilt by recent fare served by Elpseth's Mrs T. In the end, we chose what resembled Kernow pasties, although we did not ask what meat was inside.

We searched for somewhere to sit and eventually found a couple of damp benches which overlooked the bay. I would like to say we sat in silence as we munched away at our breakfast, but unfortunately our mastication led to much grinding of the teeth and fingers probing inter-dental gaps. I had to put down my pastie on the bench, for it was too much like hard work. Bertie, stalwart yeoman that he was, continued on to the bitter end and then fought off the local wildlife from my crust.

While wresting a piece of (possibly) rhino gristle from between my canines, I suddenly had an epiphany regarding the brief encounter that so troubled me this morning. In my mind, the face of the painted lady from the moving staircase loomed large, her giggle echoed in my ears and those eyes... I now knew who she was. Someone we hadn't seen since arriving in Africa.

'Bertie? I think we have a problem...'

He looked up, licking his fingers. 'Well yes, rather. Staying in a brothel is a bit awkward and could take a bit of explaining when we try to get expenses sorted out. Hmmmm... you mean something else, don't you?'

I nodded. 'And this one goes to the top of the list. Do you remember the lass we blocked at the top of the moving staircase when we first boarded La Mer?'

'Oh yes! Quite so. Pretty, but a pity about the garish visage. Never did like clowns myself and we didn't get to see whatever show she and her friends were performing, did we? Knolly... why are you staring at me so?'

'Bertie, neither you nor I recognised her and you certainly should have. As for me, I'm an idiot.'

Bertie looked somewhat bemused. 'Should I know her? Oh! I know! Is she famous? Have we seen her on the stage in London?'

'Bertie, she's been in your bed!'

'Oh nonononono.' He waggled an admonishing finger. 'I think I'd know if I'd been with someone famous, especially one that looked like a clown.'

'Forget about the makeup! It was a disguise. Close your eyes and think about the way she laughed, the way she spoke.'

Bertie tried and then shook his head. 'Nope, sorry. You've got me there. Who is it then?'

By now we were both standing up looking at each other. I blinked in a cockney accent: IM A GOOD GEL I AM.

Bertie's hand shot to his mouth. 'Daphne! I mean Felicity! Here? My goodness! Did she follow us?'

'I don't think so, but I have a very uneasy feeling about the owner of our current lodgings.'

Realisation suddenly dawned on Bertie. 'Fred Kite! At last we have him.'

'Perhaps. But first, we must away to the telegraph office to see if we have a reply, and then on to the library.'

'Quite so,' said Bertie.'"And don't forget: you promised that I could alert the League about another Roux sighting.'

As we strode out for the telegraph office, my mind was awash with interconnecting images, none of them particularly pleasant. Our mission to Africa was a hotbed of international intrigue and now, a year to the day after we thought we had lost him, the net was about to close on another of our arch nemesises... nemesisi... oh, what the Devil is the plural of 'nemesis'?

'Knolly, you have a worried look about you.'

Hmm, yes. There is too much going on for my liking and currently I fear for Mr LeTang. Also, I cannot think of the plural of "nemesis".'

'Oh come now, Knolly! If LeTang has a modicum of sense, he'll be tucked up in bed. As he said yesterday, he'll not be back in the office until four this afternoon. And as for your grammatical conundrum? Well, we need to go to a library at some point, so we can pluralise "nemesis" all we want there.'

I smiled as I realised that even under stress we both shared the same level of concern regarding the use of the Queen's English.

'Bertie, do you remember that I said we were being watched? Well, what I did not mention to you was that the watcher entered the telegraph office after us. Add to that the fact that we know that Kite is abroad, too...'

'Oh Lord!'

'Yes, I know. It's too frightening to imagine!'

No... well, yes... but I have just thought of something else. The boys with Eugenie and Lillian... don't you see?' said Bertie.

I shook my head. 'I only saw them from a distance. You were the one who was introduced to them and you considered them to be "fine young gents", as I remember.'

'Knolly, if Kite is here, then what about all the rest of the troupe, eh? The two midgets that made up the font and rear of Henry the Horse!'

My dream of last night — spits and corsets and diabolical diminutives — hove once more into view.

'Come on man, we need answers. To the telegraph office, post-haste!'

Bertie held me back. 'Knolly, if they are Henry the Horse, then who on Earth are Lillian and Eugenie?'

'I have no doubt we will find out in due course, but not by dithering about here.'

On arrival, we bundled energetically inside and were at once confronted by an orderly queue. Cape Town was awake and it was business as usual. Or so it seemed...

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