Bertie and the Beast: We Don't Belong tae Glasgae

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A green and scary monster

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.

We don't belong to Glasgae

Chapter 10 Part 5

It seemed to me that EIspeth deliberated longer than normal in getting herself and Charlotte organised for the trip into the city itself, but then she did have a lot of hats to choose from. However, this millinery delay was not too much of a problem as it seemed that cabs and such like were not as easy to come by as I would have expected, what with being in such close proximity to a main line station.

Eventually we said our goodbyes to the little group and for some reason, young Mungo Ladybouy seemed rather put out as Bertie and I waved them off. I put this down to the fact that we were being left behind to get on with our "business" –
but Bertie, true to form, sensed that there was something else.

"It was very good of him to let us have the run of his office don't you think?" I asked.

"Hmm...not that we really need it. I mean we have all the equipment on the Train," replied Bertie, his eyes darting this way and that around the confines of the captain's office.

To be honest, it wasn't much of an office; two chairs, desk, filing cabinet, couple of shelves but it was obviously a secluded area for our old friend to shut himself away and deal with the paperwork of the day.

"Indeed, but he doesn't really know what we have at our disposal and this gives us the opportunity to have a rummage around and see what orders have been coming his way from the Admiralty."

"Pah! Are we really interested in what they are doing with those dashed submarines?" Bertie almost shouted.

"Umm…well now you put it like that, yes."

As is his wont, Bertie was fiddling with something. It was a desk ornament, one of many, though this one was not in the least ship-shaped and consisted of a set of balls hung in a line. It looked as though someone had seen a picture of a "Newton's Cradle" and had tried to improve upon it. "Arse upwards engineering", I believe was the term that I had heard Hobbes use regarding such artefacts. I watched in anticipation as a ball left Bertie's hand to connect with the next in line and make that soporific "click-clack" noise. Unfortunately, there was obviously something fundamentally wrong with the design, for as the ball hit its neighbour, it shattered, causing the rest of the device to collapse in a small heap.

We looked at each other and both shrugged. I quickly found a waste paper bin and Bertie deftly swept the strings and what was left of the balls into it.

"Knolly, I think Ladybouy is hiding something…"

"What do you mean? Other than a poor understanding of Newtonian principles and basic engineering?"

"You think he made it?"

"Possibly..."

"Regardless, that is not what I'm on about."

"Oh I'm sure he is hiding many things. In fact the poor chap is somewhat torn between our past friendship and his current orders, which is why I want to find what has recently been sent to him."

"No no, I don't mean that," interjected Bertie. He paused and took a deep breath. "Do you know what happened after we left him in South Africa?"

"Well, his Service record speaks for itself, and then there is his rapid rise in the ranks to Captain."

"Knolly, I mean after we sent him to rescue Elspeth. You know, has she ever mentioned anything about that?"

"Bertie, I'm not altogether sure where you are heading or where this line of thought is taking you, and I'm not sure now is the time or place for such a discussion…"

Bertie however did have a valid point, after all when we left the shores of Africa bound eventually for Washington, Elspeth was a single, divorced woman with no attachments other than her beloved regiment of horse, and she could have had any number of suitors. (Not the horses, I hasten to add, for that would just be too bizarre for even this new Century of marvels.) It was only after she sought me out a year or so later that we became romantically entangled, and it was not as if I had abstained from other dalliances in that time.

Bertie waved a hand in front of my eyes. "I see you have suspicions?"

I nodded. "Bertie, the past is a different country. Though should the moment or circumstances arise, I may mention it."

"Good Lord, Knolly I don't think that's a good idea at all ! Poor Ladybouy would go to pieces if you suspected any past dalliance. He seems far too wary around the pair of you, and if Elspeth ever found out she would certainly not speak to you for at least a year, possibly even longer."

I sighed and pulled a face, "Yes Bertie, you are probably right. Hullo ? What have we here?"

In sweeping the detritus off of the desk and into the wastepaper bin, a sheaf of telegrams had been dislodged. I picked one off the pile at random as did Bertie.

"Not very interesting. Reads like some sort of timetable. Your one?"

"It reads: 'Re: Missing Persons. Classified Investigations are underway.' Hmmm"

"Missing persons?" asked Bertie.

"Indeed. And even more interesting is that this is not signed by anyone in the Admiralty, least it is not a name that is known to me."

"Meaning…"

"Well, that's what we need to find out isn't it? But it does tell us that Ladybouy knows more than he's let on and is either doing some poking around the Loch on his own, or worse case is working for someone else."

"Oh, surely not the latter!" Bertie exclaimed.

We continued to rifle though the remainder of the messages but found nothing more incriminating, which on the whole was a good sign. Bertie alas was rather alarmed at the apparent progress being made in the escalation of use of the submarine as a weapon of war and made his thoughts known every time he came across any paperwork that alluded to this. After an hour or so I could see it was time to move on before Bertie exploded with a mixture of rage and fear.

"Come on Bertie, I don't think we'll find anything else here. It's past time for us to see what Merrick has been up to and also see what is happening in the world. A copy of the Times is called for and if at all possible this far North, a Stiltonian."

"To the Train, then?"

"No, I don't want to rig up the telegraphy system. We'll find the central post office in town instead. Ladybouy's men may be ordinary seamen, but who knows what additional orders they may have been given in our friends' absence."

Bertie nodded, tapped his nose and tried to wink conspiratorially, and I made a mental note to send him on that refresher course I'd seen on a flyer a while back regarding "Back to Basic Fieldwork Signals" once we were back in London.

We tidied up as best we could given the circumstances, closed the door behind us and made our way out with the minimum of fuss. No one challenged us, so one must assume that Ladybouy had given them strict orders to leave us well alone, coupled with the fact that these men were as superstitious as the train driver when it came to women on board a naval vessel or establishment.

The fact that it had taken so long for a cab to be obtained led Bertie to believe that we would naturally be taking the automobile with us, but I decided against this; we did not after all want to draw too much attention to ourselves, and besides we could see station in the distance and a good walk would do us the world of good and work up a healthy appetite. Bertie strangely was not over keen on this idea and continued to tell me so as we walked alongside the tracks which offered the most direct route.

My plan was thus: we would wait at the end of the platform out of sight until a train pulled in, and then we would mix in with the alighting passengers. On the face of it, it was quite a good plan, the only flaw being that we did not know when the next train would arrive and consequently we did not know how long we would have to wait.

"YOU LET ME DO THE TALKING" I blinked as we were hustled towards the platform exit after having had to wait a good long cold twenty minutes until a train pulled in and it's happy passengers on their way to work disembarked.

The chappy at the gate never gave us a second glance as we were ejected onto the station concourse. We moved quickly away from any likely looking figures of authority and then I spied a newsagents stand.

Yesterday's London version of the Times was available, but alas, there was no Stilotonian. Apparently, there was little call for it in these parts …. at least that is what I imagine that the fellow behind the counter said when I requested the rag. I instead settled for a Herald to get a feel for the locale, the vox populi and to see if there was any mention of "strange goings on".

The Herald still had yet to move on from the funeral of Her Majesty it seemed, but there was an article about a local factory explosion where three young girls had been killed. I filed this away for future reference.

The Times was making much fuss about the first opening of Parliament under the new King, in colonial matters a new province was being set up in the Punjab, so trouble was bound to follow in Afghanistan. In the United States it seemed that that President McKinley was set for a second term in office.

Bertie spent some time searching for I-know-not-what and was looking quite disappointed.

"Can't find what you're after?" I asked. "Can I help?"

Bertie went an interesting colour, and I left him alone.

"I must say," said Bertie, "after we had obtained the necessary directions from the newsagent they don't look much different to us really do they? The locals, I mean. Bit difficult to understand sometimes but…"

"But Bertie, you have been to Scotland before..."

" …yes well I know but that was Edinburgh and this is Glasgow. You do hear tales you know and who knows what we'll find as we go further North? You know damned well the family have never been forgiven for the "Highland Clearances"."

As we moved further and further along St Vincent Street in the general direction of the Exhibition site, it was quite noticeable amongst the people going to work that there were a lot of foreign visitors already in the city. Granted they didn't wave their national flag above themselves, but the trained eye could pick out a German, Russian or Turkman. Then there were those that flaunted their nationality regardless like the Egyptians in their fezzes and the Americans with their silly hats too. There was a Zouve bugle band too, but I was unsure as to whether they were French or American military. It did seem to me that although the opening was not until later in the year, it had the makings of a splendid international occasion.

What was very odd was the fair number of women dressed head to toe in black. They seemed to be watching everything and everyone – especially the tourists. Bertie and I stopped to look in a store window and I mentioned this to him. The reflection in the window gave us the chance to observe whilst obscuring the fact that we were spying. Sure enough, on the opposite side of the road and obviously keeping a watchful eye on us, was one of these dark-robed ladies.

"Seems we are under observation too?" I mumbled.

"It does indeed," whispered Bertie. "The locals don't seem to take much notice though do they ? It's as if they can't see them, isn't it?"

"Or more to the point ….. they don't want to see them?"

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