Once again we are beholden to the current executors of the Knolly estate for letting us publish this, the second package of the great man's journals and memoirs.

'Hold fast there, John, you're telling us that Her Majesty's Government!' exclaimed Bertie, leaping to his feet.

'His Majesty's,' I interjected, slowing down Bertie's outburst for a few seconds.

'What! Oh yes... His Her Majesty's Government is playing God just in case we have a war with Germany based on information you have from some American who apparently breathes fire and has a huge chip on his shoulder against anyone vaguely normal.'

'Bertie, sit down and be quiet for a moment. John, what are your initial thoughts on this? Do you believe him?'

'Unfortunately, yes I do. Sechs has sworn to protect, you know, 'odd folk', so something's brought him to these shores and you turn up a day or so later with a job for the ALA... too many coincidences.'

Bertie looked up from his empty drink a with a hurt face. 'Please let me apologise for that outburst. It's just that... well, what if Sechs is spinning you a line? What if it's him that caused the disappearances in that report you read, Knolly?'

'Quite so. There seems to be an absence of facts to go on. Bertie, start up your 'tool'. Let's sort out a team to go North. Merrick can gather them together and while he's doing that, we shall visit Hobbes.'

Bertie seemed to wince at my mention of visiting Hobbes, but I let it go.

'I assume you would like me to visit the patient upstairs, too?'

'If you could, John, that would save us some time. I'm sure you know where he is being kept?'

Bertie walked over to a table on which sat something resembling a sowing machine and then sat himself down on a stool. He instantly began fiddling under the table; he gave the large wheel a spin and began operating the foot treadle to keep its momentum going. Small tubes similar to those found in department stores of the day for conveying money began to whiz about on wires above their heads. With his feet still thumping away on the treadle, he turned to a typewriter.

'Ready, Knolly.'

'Right then, Bertie, put in today's date and add the date in two months' time and let's see who gets spat out.'

Bertie flexed his fingers like a concert pianist and then set them dancing over the keys. The machine began to whiz and whirr and then a small index card arrived in a pigeonhole just to the left of Bertie head — then another and then another until a pile of about seven cards lay there. Merrick reached up and began to sift through them; he put four back in another pigeonhole and they were instantly whisked away.

'Well, that's jolly good news, at least we three and Hobbes are available,' snorted Merrick.

Bertie looked up at him. 'Yes, well, one day Halogen and I will finish writing the special code to define its hunt facility... who else did it turn up, then?'

Merrick looked through the cards. 'Let's see... Wells, Verne — a bit unlikely as he's getting on a bit now, but I'll wire him — Conan Doyle, although I'm sure he's off to Norfolk in the next couple of months.'

'Yes, that's true,' I added. 'He's off playing golf and drafting out his next Holmes book, something about a big dog. Hasn't got 'bestseller' written over it if you ask me, but what do I know?'

'So, we seem to be all right for literary minds,' said Bertie, 'although HG is bound to blame men from Mars for the umpteenth time and Verne will have a field day with the place being on the Loch... it'll be giant squid all over again.'

I smiled at the thought of a monster in Loch Ness and took the remaining cards from Merrick. 'Who else have we got then? Oh dear.'

'I know that tone, Knolly. It's pulled out Docteur Roux!'

'Indeed yes, but I don't think we'll make use of his services this time around. And like you said earlier, Bertie, little military muscle available, not even, God forbid, Captain Holiday. We seem to have plenty of brains but not much brawn.'

'Um, I rather think that this might be a wee bit more dangerous than our literary colleagues are used to. I'd hate to be the one to have to explain any of their untimely demises to their publishers.'

'Yes, Bertie, you could be right. Still it wont hurt to ask 'em, eh? What do you think, John?'

Merrick was just about to offer a suggestion when there was a blood-curdling scream from the adjoining room. We looked up at him. He shrugged and loped off. 'Fi's most likely got a pigeon again,' he called over his shoulder as we followed behind him, keeping a careful distance.

The room was full of feathers drifting slowly to the ground and there on the bed sat Miss Lyon, with what was once one of Trafalgar Square's finest limp in her mouth. On seeing Bertie she got up, walked over to him, spat the bird out at his feet and returned to the bed, where she began washing in a way only cats can.

Bertie looked down at his present.

'It would seem that she likes you,' said Merrick, scooping up the dead bird. 'What I was about to say before the interruption is that I may be able to find you some additional skills should another run of the "tool" not turn up anyone useful. Now, time's marching on and you'll need to get a train down to Hobbes. I'll wire those selected and we'll see what we get back. Now, I must clean up her ladyship's mess, and if you're quick I think you'll make Charing Cross before it rains again. Oh and Knolly, Happy birthday.'

'Thank you, John. We'll pop round in couple of days' time.'

By mutual agreement we decided to walk to Charing Cross station to catch a train to St Johns Village and Hobbes' abode. We soon found ourselves at the top end of St Martin's Lane, where, chance would have it, was a favourite watering hole of ours.

'Who do you think John has in mind for this trip then, Knolly? The information held in the Tool's central index is pretty up-to-date. I know Hobbes and I have yet to finish off the 'Woolly Thinking' calculations and bolt them on, but even that will only apply itself to the cards it currently holds. Ha, it can't create people from nowhere!'

'Oh, I think I know who he has in mind. He thinks I don't and I know you have no idea, but let's play along with John's little game.'

'So you know what he knows even though he thinks you don't but he knows I know nothing.'

'Yes, that sounds about right. But Bertie, you are not stupid, before you even say it.'

'Ah, so if I knew what he knows I don't know, I'd know a lot.... Fancy a birthday drink then, Knolly?'

I took out my pocket watch. 'I think we have time. Hobbes wouldn't want to see us too early, after all.'

'And I need to oil the cogs in my head!' Bertie held the door to the saloon bar open for me. 'After you.'

As soon as I entered there was a thunderous chorus of 'Happy birthday, Knolly!' I must confess that I was taken aback, and it takes quite a lot to surprise me, as you know. I looked behind at Bertie, who just swaggered past, grinned and then pointed. I turned to look across the crowded room and there was Elspeth in all her pregnant glory, striding purposely towards me — or at least, as much as her hobble skirt would let her.

She kissed me on the cheek. 'Don't blame Bertie, dear. It's nothing to do with him. However, we had expected you earlier.' She gave Bertie one of her withering looks. Bertie went scarlet, muttered something about work and then went to the bar. 'Darling, you are a most difficult man to buy a present for, you know, so I thought a surprise party would be just the ticket.'

'Elspeth, I'm overwhelmed, but surely you should be resting?'

'Poppycock, you of all people should know my views on that subject. Now come and see who we managed to round up on your behalf.'

The Great Knolly Archive

The Shepherd and
huzzah4knolly

19.04.07 Front Page

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