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

'Bertie!'

'Knolly!'

Our shouts resounded in unison as I slid over the counter once more and Bertie flung open the door to the main telegraphy office.

'We have a problem,' we said as one as we faced each other.

I showed him the button; he showed me a telegram. It was an interesting swap.

'This is the message that came back from London...' he explained. "And you appear to have given me a nice shiny button?' He was nonplussed.

I read the message. It said simply: DO0. W8.

'Is there a transcription error?' I asked.

'I am afraid not. It is a new type of shorthand that is being tested by the Colonial Office. "Textual Massaging", I believe the coding clever-sticks are calling it. It will never catch on.'

'Very well. But what does it mean?'

'Oh right. Sorry.' He paused to peer over my shoulder. 'I see that you found Mr LeTang. He looks rather pale.'

'Yes. His blanched appearance is due to a mixture of the effects of extreme terror and airborne paper dust. Now, please help me to interpret the telegram.'

'Certainly. It reads, "Do nothing. Wait." See? That's the letters "D-O" and then a nought, not another O. Next letter W followed by the numeral eight. W-eight. Wait. See? Clever, but it won't last.'

The meaning of the message finally registered. 'Do nothing. Wait!' I exploded. 'Bertie, someone wants us out of the way. The copy of the message we wanted to see is gone, and the button in your hand also speaks volumes.'

'Does it, by Jove? Whatever will they think of next?' said Bertie, holding the button to an ear.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. And then after opening them and seeing Bertie casually spinning the button on the counter, I counted a further ten.

'My friend, it is a clue,' I sighed, 'so please do not lose it. Mr LeTang acquired it whilst being pushed into a crawlspace down in the cellar. It is from the jacket of an officer of the Royal Navy, and it tells me that someone high up in Her Majesty's Government is pulling the strings.'

Bertie was most uncomfortable with my interpretation of events this far. He was also not a little saddened that my reference to the button "speaking volumes" was metaphorical and not did not mean that the button could actually talk.

'But Knolly, we don't work like that. It's not cricket, is it? We abide by the rules and all that.'

'I am afraid that the rules by which we have played for so long are being rewritten. It is all getting political these days, and people like you and me are either going to have to adjust to the new world order or get out quick.'

Bertie was about to interject, but I stopped him. 'Let us turn our attention back to the button. It is not a great surprise to me that we should find such a thing in this place. It proves that someone has used the most local arm of British armed forces to do their dirty work — and by that, I mean ensuring that no connection exists between His Majesty's Government and Rhodes' latest escapades.'

Bertie looked at the floor. 'Shall we go home, then?'

'We most certainly shall not. We should still do what we can to stop Rhodes' expansionist plans and as we have been asked to W-8, we shall see what we can do about Mr Kite and La Mer. What is more, we can find out who — or what — Eugenie and Lillian are.'

Bertie took a breath. 'So you still want to send an encrypted message home?'

'I think that we should prepare one. But before we go to the library, can I assume that in your short time here you have acquired the skills to send a telegraph message yourself?'

Bertie nodded. 'Oh yes... quite simple, really.'

'Good! Then I suggest you send your message to Hobbes about the latest Roux sighting. I am going to pen a letter to Elspeth.'

'Is this really the time for sending une lettre d'amour, Knolly?' asked Bertie with a wink as he took evasive manoeuvres.

Half an hour later, we were escorting Mr LeTang back to his lodgings. The poor chap looked tuckered out after his ordeal, but he offered to ensure my letter got to Elspeth via the quickest means possible and he did not charge Bertie for his message.

As we were walking along, I could sense that we were being followed once more. This person, though, was better-trained and, not wanting to upset our friend any further, I blinked my thoughts to Bertie. At his door, LeTang bid us good day, wished us luck in whatever venture we were in and saw us off with a jolly little tap dance on his stoop. We had passed the library on the way from the telegraph office and knew that it would now be open for business.

The South African Public library was an imposing white building, built in the classic Greek style and not at all what we had expected to find in this corner of the world. A plaque near the door mentioned Lord Somerset as its original benefactor and 1818 as its founding date. Our footsteps boomed as we entered the hallowed halls.

'Reminds me of a morgue,' said Bertie rather too loudly, the last syllables echoing into the distance.

Heads turned from behind various bookcases. There was a loud 'Shush!' and fingers from all around the library pointed to a central desk where a sign read: SILENCE PLEASE. Bertie attempted to hide behind me from this onslaught; I just grinned and nodded to one-and-all with an air of certain nonchalance.

Behind the desk sat an official-looking woman who was repairing a book. She curtailed her activities and watched our approach with interest.

'CARPETS WOULD HELP,' I blinked to Bertie as we made our painstakingly slow progress across the floor. Bertie just nodded in concurrence, wanting not even the faintest fluttering of eyelids to break his concentration and — more importantly — break the silence.

Gentle reader, answer me this. Why is it an irrefutable fact of life that the quieter one wishes to be, the more noise one makes? We tiptoed as carefully and precisely as we could, yet still it seemed that every footfall managed to find either a creaking joist or a moaning board or an area of floor that squeaked on account of a recent and thorough polishing.

Our target achieved, the lady book-repairer looked us up and down over her pince-nez. We were both fearful of a severe dressing-down and stood with heads bowed like guilty schoolboys before a headmistress.

'Good morning to you, gentlemen,' she uttered sotto voce.

'Good morning, ma'am,' we mumbled quietly, aware of the need to keep our voices down.

The headmistress continued. 'I have only one thing to say to you both....'

We quaked accordingly.

'Welcome to our town library,' she said, and then continued with her repairs. Bertie and I were relieved that we were not being reprimanded and then in the next instant, we were frightened out of our wits by a deep, rumbling cough that seemingly came from nowhere. The voice then said 'Can we help?'

We looked around for the owner of the voice, and all that we could see was a shock of red hair that was level with the desktop. We then looked around for the owner of the hair. We peered across the desk and saw that the hair crowned an elderly but amiable-looking face that was peering up at us from a height of about three feet.

'Hello!' said the small fellow with a smile. 'Can we help?'

Bertie looked at me and blinked: 'ONLY IF THE BOOK WE WANT IS ON THE BOTTOM SHELVES.'

I hid a smile behind a cough, which brought out the other souls with their chorus of shushing. I spoke in a hushed tone that would have been audible only to professional librarians. 'Yes, I believe you may be able to help us. My friend and I are, as you have surmised, from out of town and have two literary searches to conduct.'

The small red-haired man and the headmistress-woman became very attentive, as if today was the nirvana sought by librarians the world over.

'I am looking for Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Do you have a copy?' added Bertie.

Then came another surprise. The man whom we had thought was only slightly higher than the desk stood up to his full height, which must have been going on for seven foot tall. He rolled up his sleeves to reveal long, rangy arms that were covered in even more red hair.

'Ah! That will be Miss Scarlett's territory. One of her favourites, I believe. Please show the gentleman to the shelves, my dear.'

The young woman stepped out from behind the desk and blushed the colour of her surname. 'This way please, but do remember to keep as quiet as possible.'

Bertie bowed to her and then they headed off towards what was presumably the romantic fiction section. I then turned to the fellow in charge, who thankfully was now sitting down and so appeared quite a normal height.

'I'm looking for the ætiology of a specific word. Do you think that you can help?'

The librarian pursed his lips, relishing the challenge. 'And that word would be...?'

'Nemesis.'

'Hmmm. Not a word used by anybody in the everyday, I must say.'

'I agree. But then again, I am not just anyone and I am most certainly not in the middle of an everyday situation.'

From another area of the library, there was a sound of books being dropped.

'One of our more clumsy patrons, no doubt,' said the giant quite calmly. 'Now — this word 'nemesis'... where best to start our search?' He drummed giant fingers on a desk in deep thought.

'A dictionary or lexicon, perhaps?' I suggested.

'Quite so, quite so!' he replied, appearing quite happy that someone had shown an interest in words and books. 'I had in mind the authoritative Brockley-Peckham Thesaurus and I was wondering whether to begin with French's 1835 edition or the 1852 edition by Hunt. In any case, let us proceed this way, please.' The giant strode off and I was stepping twice to his once just to keep up.

From the depths of romantic fiction, there came a scream. Damn and blast! I clear forgot that we were being followed! Once again there was a chorus of 'shush' as the librarian and I dashed over to the bookcases. A crowd had quickly gathered; I noticed amongst their number a man wearing a dog collar and a Colonel of the Guards. I was stunned to find Bertie prostrate on the floor. Miss Scarlett was next to him and was trying to extricate his head from a space on the shelf that had been vacated by Austen's lesser-known works. On the floor next to Bertie was a piece of lead pipe; I noticed with rising horror that it glistened red at one end.

The librarian was the first to speak. 'My goodness! What has happened here?'

Miss Scarlett turned to face us, tears welling in her eyes. The Colonel made to pick up the lead pipe.

'Please don’t touch that. I must examine it first,' I said as I bent forward to offer a hand to the distressed young woman and to check on my friend.

Bertie groaned loudly. I nodded to the clergyman, 'Would you and the Colonel be so kind as to help my friend?'

As the minister and the military man attended to Bertie, the librarian enveloped his assistant in his great gangly arms to try to quell her shaking.

'Can you tell us what happened, Miss Scarlett?' I asked.

She nodded and sniffed and gratefully took the handkerchief from her protector. She blew her nose in a rather noisy manner. 'Well, your friend and I came round to this area where I showed him our two copies of Pride and Prejudice. And then Reverend Green came by and asked me if the book he had reserved was available. I said that I would have to check for him. Your friend said that he would be fine on his own and took out a notebook and pencil — I rather hoped that he was not going to write in any of our books — and then I went with the Reverend. When I came back, I found him lying like this... and that's when the Reverend screamed.'

I turned to the clergyman and raised an eyebrow. The man of the cloth grinned sheepishly.

'Neither of you saw Bertie's assailant? Or heard anything odd?'

They shook their heads as one. And then came a voice from the floor.

'No, Knolly... but I did!'

I looked down. 'Bertie! Back with the living, eh? Good show!'

The Reverend fell to the ground in a swoon.

'He's always like this,' said Miss Scarlett as she and the librarian went to his aid.

'So Bertie, who was it?'

'I didn't see his face, old man... but I saw his arms and his tattoos. Oh yes, and he was wearing gloves, so the lead pipe won't give us any clues.'

The Colonel spoke up. 'What about the blood, man? Where's your injury? Has it healed already?'

Bertie looked up and brandished the hand that had been damaged earlier by the seagull-pecking incident. 'Opened the wound again, I'm afraid. Books took a bit of bashin' too.'

Miss Scarlett and the librarian left the Reverend Green in a comfortable position and were now assessing the damage to the books and the shelf. The Colonel was making calming noises to the rest of the assembled patrons, some of whom were in frenzied shushing.

'I am afraid both copies of the novel were taken too,' said Bertie rather sullenly. 'Don't know how we're going to decipher the code now....'

I picked up the lead pipe and tested its weight. 'Think yourself fortunate. This would have done a lot of damage to your head.' And then I noticed the tiny stamp imprinted in the lead. 'Come on, Bertie! Back to the docks. I believe that it is time we paid a visit to the Royal Navy,' I said as loudly as possible.

There was a noise of running feet and a slamming of doors.

'There goes our man!' Bertie and I called, only to be roundly greeted by the now familiar 'SHUSH!'

The Great Knolly Archive

The Shepherd and
huzzah4knolly

Front Page 30.11.06

Back Issue Page