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.

It took a more than a few minutes of forward momentum and stomach-wrenching jerks to get the better of the new gear ratios and the amount of power that both vehicle and I now had at our disposal. It was certainly different to drive in comparison to the vehicle which I had been driving only mere weeks ago. The upgraded wheels and associated tyres had no difficulty whatsoever with the banked and uneven terrain that lay alongside the railway tracks. The Maxim trailer, too, was coping well and not bouncing around as much as Bertie had feared.

Bertie was rootling around in a small compartment that opened as a flap in the binnacle beneath the wind cheating glass. With a chuckle of success he pulled out and brandished two brand spanking new pairs of leather gauntlets. I glanced at him and quickly focused back on the way ahead.

"Hobbes called it a "glove box", so what better use, I thought," chortled Bertie, and he plopped a pair of them down in my lap.

"Driving here, Bertie, I'll put them on later if that's fine by you?" I said hastily. (How could it have escaped his notice?)

The rain was still coming down and I mentioned to Bertie, that even though it was morning, some form of extra illumination might be useful to help avoid some of the larger lumps and bumps that littered the way ahead.

Bertie held up a now gloved finger, reached over towards me and flicked a switch alongside the brass steering column, at once the view ahead was bathed in a yellowish light and then it returned to its current gloom.

"Oh, that's not supposed to happen!" exclaimed Bertie.

"I rather thought not. Shall I stop?"

"No, no, keep going, I can fix this on the move, just go a little slower and keep a good look out ahead." He removed his gloves, wriggled his fingers and opened up the "glove box" once more.

"Must be a loose wiring connection," He muttered. "All the wiring for all the uprated mechanicals runs behind here; soon have the way lit up again."

I eased back on the throttle mechanism whilst Bertie rummaged and grunted beside me. The lights flickered and then stayed on, which was very useful as at allowed me to break and deftly steer around some discarded rail ties.

"Oh well done Bertie, that was excellent timing and see over there, over the track, an engine shed. Should save us a bit of time if someone is at home and getting ready to start their day."

"Ummm?" Came the rather non-committal tone alongside me.

"No, I really mean it; we could have come a right cropper just then."

"Knolly, I seem to be stuck; I cannot get my hand out."

"How can that be, you got it in there?"

"I know that, Knolly, but now I am wedged, my signet ring seems to be catching." All this said with a rather strained voice.

We lurched as I suddenly thought to look ahead rather than at Bertie, who was now seated in a rather uncomfortable position. With one hand on the steering wheel, I leant over and tried to pull him free.

"Owww, steady on there Knolly! I really would like to keep my fingers, if that's all right with you?"

"Can't you move your hand at all? How about pushing your hand further in and then pulling back?"

"Don't you think I've already tried that?" He replied rather irately.

I pushed the throttle back to its idling position, the engine noise eased back to its steady thrumming, and I heaved on the brakes.

"Look here, Bertie, it's not my fault you are wearing that ring, is it, just because it was a gift, no one actually said you had to wear such a gewgaw?"

The ring in question had been given to Bertie by Bismarck himself back '84 when the pair of us had our first encounter with the Kronenbourgs in Berlin. During said escapade they had tried to use Berties' resemblance to one of the smaller German states' young princes and thus challenge the Chancellor's power within the new unified Germany. It did of not course go according to their plan, thanks to a certain someone's intervention. The ring itself was of sold silver and was emblazoned with a stylised eagle (hardly surprising). Had it been mine, I would have just displayed it, but that was not Berties way – rather like dear departed Oscar, if he had something, he had to flaunt it.

(Please note dear reader that the Trustees of the Knolly Estate have yet to find any written evidence of this encounter thus far, but there are many brown paper parcels for our team of experts to unwrap and in some cases decode.)

Bertie sighed "You've never liked it, have you? I'd just like to remind you that it has had its uses."

"Well, as a knuckle-duster, yes. There's many a cove or ruffian who has suffered with a black eye or broken nose thanks to Germanic silversmiths. Now shall we see if between us we can get your hand out in one piece and be on our way?"

"Please do, my hand seems to be suffering from lack of blood at the moment."

I'll come round to your side, it will be easier than leaning over you, keep wriggling the fingers, all the time you do that there is no chance of them falling off."

"You've said that before, and look what happened to those poor chaps' digits we rescued with Greely."

"Frost-bite is a different condition entirely, as we now know," I said as I rolled up the damp canvas "door" to get to Bertie. "Now let's see if we can extricate you."

Standing firmly on the running board, I leant in and grasped Bertie's lower arm as close to the trapped hand as possible.

"This is going to hurt, isn't it?" He mumbled.

"Possibly now, just relax. One, two..."

On "two" I pushed Bertie's arm forward further into the "glove box", then feeling his surprise and hearing him gasp, quickly pulled back hard. Suddenly there was the tinkling sound of a piano striking up and that popular tune "Only a bird in a gilded cage" rent the air, which, while not a tune I would have chosen did drown out some of Berties howling. I made a quick mental note to find out what other songs Bertie had installed, and see if there was way in which only those I liked would be offered as some kind of play-list.

"Well, that got you free, now can we turn the music off?"

"Oww, Knolly...Owww!" He waved his now freed fingers at me to make a point. Owwww!"

"Yes, yes..Oww, it hurts, never mind. Turn the music off before we attract attention from the locals."

Bertie reached over turned it off but continued to sing along as the chorus was about to start... "She's only a bird in a gilded cage, a beautiful sight to see, you may think she's happy and free from care, she's not, though she seems to be...."

I rolled my eyes and the flapped the door back down and made my way back to the driver's seat. I looked over towards the engine shed I'd spied earlier, the dark clouds had started to move off now and with the rain easing off to mere spitting it was easier to discern. Then I saw someone moving around the building, busying himself with whatever railway folk did at this time of day to get the day underway. Something though didn't seem quite right. I pondered on this, and then I realised what it was, the fellow's gait. It was a way of walking that I'd seen all too often; the walk of a man who spent much of his life at sea and only recently had come ashore.

I positively bounced into the driver's seat, engaged the throttle and pointed the nose of the Talbot toward the engine shed. The engine roared as I worked my way up the gears, Bettie winced at every change.

" Knolly, why the hurry?"

"Bertie, It is my belief that our ride further North lies within that engine shed, and I want to stop whatever is in there from leaving in order prove my suspicion."

"Oh, and what exactly do you suspect this time?"

I grinned. "That every now and again Lady Luck smiles upon you and me."

"Pshaw! Luck indeed, I believe you are up to something?"

"Me, no, I'm not up to anything at all, but others in there may well be." I pointed at the building that now lay alongside, then eased back on the throttle, and engaged the brake and switched off the engine.

Strangely, our approach had not brought anyone running, and once our own engine had ceased, and I understood why. There was the sound of a steam engine making ready underway.

"Quickly now Bertie, follow me, no one has heard us."

"But.." was all I heard as I ran alongside the engine shed to where the locomotive was soon to appear. I rounded the corner of the building and slid to a halt on the wet gravel and then had to regain my balance as Bertie barrelled in to me.

I waved some pieces of paper that I had pulled out of my pocket "Good morning!" I called to the fellows milling about the two engines within the shed. "I'd like to commandeer one of the engines on behalf of His Majesty's Government".

"Oh, that was subtle." Whispered Bertie in my ear.

There was the sound of more than one rifle bolt being pulled back somewhere in the gloom, and everyone else turned to face us. Bertie and I put our hands up in the air to show we meant no harm.

"As I said we are on Government business, my name is Stapleton and this is my colleague, Mr Barrymore."

Bertie said good day in is accent of the day, it had not improved by any stretch of the imagination and then muttered, "Has this proven your suspicions?"

An overall-clad fellow stepped forward from the assemble group. "I'm afraid, gentlemen that these are already spoken for." It was a voice that Bertie and I knew, though we had not heard it for many a year, nor could instantly place.

"Put down your weapons, men, these fellows offer no threat except for Mr Harrison-Harrison assaulting the English language with that appalling accent."

Bertie at this went into "outraged Yorkshire-man" which only brought guffaws of laughter from the man before us, whose face was still in the shadows.

"You seem to have us at a disadvantage, Mister ...?

"That will be Captain Ladybouy, at your service, Commander Knolly". He said as he stepped in to the light of the doorway and smartly saluted.

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