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

So there we all sat. To any onlooker or passer-by, it would have seemed to be an amiable enough occasion, all jolly friends together sipping coffee and munching on hot toasted breaded products. Granted, Bertie and I had asked for tea and (under the circumstances) we were delighted that this had been dispatched from an adjacent kitchen with a minimum of fuss.

Kite seemed to be in his element, enjoying the fact that he was lording it over us — although he was at pains to constantly point out that we were his 'guests' and were not prisoners at all. Both of us had tried to move from our seats, but were hastily pushed back down by our appointed trans-sister.

Kite was obviously not in a hurry to move things along and Bertie, somewhat alarmed by the surroundings, began to fidget.

SO THIS IS HOW IT ALL ENDS? Bertie blinked loudly to me, his moustache adorned with a constellation of croissant crumbs.

I looked at the poor fellow and then around at our hosts. Ping and the Hendersons were hanging on to Kite's every word, Daphne had now snuggled up alongside Bertie, and the front and rears of Henry the Horse were busy clearing away the debris from the repast. None of them seemed to have noticed the increased motion of the moored vessel. I glanced at my pocket watch.

W8, I blinked back to Bertie with a smile and a wink.

An effusion of tea exploded from Bertie's nose as something drew alongside La Mer. Judging by the almighty crash, it was at a distance that we in the Navy used to describe as 'rather too close for comfort'. Kite and his entourage were understandably unsettled by this.

'My dear Knolly, it would seem we have some unexpected visitors. Please remain seated and finish your meal.'

'Ah, the condemned men and all that?' I replied. Kite just smiled.

The Trans-Sisters immediately moved into positions where they gripped Bertie and myself, forcing us to remain still in our chairs. As if this were not enough encouragement, something very pointy indeed found itself between my ribs. Kite and the Hendersons had leapt up and had run to the windows to see who or what had hit us; Daphne had fallen to the side and was now pulling herself back on to her seat. Outside, there were screams and much shouting as other patrons were rudely awakened.

The door to the stateroom flew open and Chief Steward Keith Steward rushed in. 'Prepare to repel borders, sir?' he enquired of Kite. But before he could get a response, he was quickly bundled out of the way by our cab driver plus a dozen or so armed 'bluejackets'.

'Hullo! What's this?' remarked Bertie as he held Daphne close by.

Lillian and Eugenie seemed to be at a loss as to what to do and looked to Kite for orders. Suddenly there was a crash of glass and through the window came a grappling iron attached to a length of stout rope. Ping grabbed this and tried to return it whence it came, but he was not quick enough. The line was quickly pulled taut, trapping the elastic felon between a chair and the wall. Kite and the others backed away hastily from the broken window. This was a canny move on their part, as they narrowly avoided being flattened by another heavily-armed squad of naval types that burst through the shattered frame.

The tableau froze for a moment. I carefully laid my hands on the table and motioned for Bertie to do the same. This was not our show, it seemed.

Through the mass of splinters that was formerly a window clambered an officer; he tried his best to affect an air of nonchalance, as though shipboard assaults were an everyday occurrence, but — alas — he was well out of practice.

He carefully untangled himself from the grapnel which had caught on his trousers and apologised to Ping, now looking decidedly uncomfortable as he looked around at the assembled people. He spotted us and, signalling to his men, he strode towards us. Eugenie and Lillian took up attack poses while all except Daphne ensured they were between Kite and any attack. The noise from outside had now calmed from a cacophony to a mere hubbub, but a pistol shot directed seaward ensured that total silence descended once more.

The officer saluted. 'Mr... sorry... Commander Knolly and Mr Harrison-Harrison. We have been expecting you. In fact, we have been waiting for your arrival for some months.'

I stood up to face the man, while carefully avoiding the oversized hatpin Lillian was currently brandishing.

'You have me at a disadvantage, sir,' I replied.

'I do beg your pardon, Commander,' he replied with a slight bow. 'I am Lieutenant Mungo Ladybuoy...'

There was a stifled laugh from Bertie. I looked around at him and gave him a glare.

'... of Royal Naval intelligence, currently serving on the fleet flagship HMS St George.'

'You must excuse my friend,' I said as Bertie continued to giggle. 'It has been a long morning. Please sit and join us. I am sure Mr Kite and his colleagues would be more than happy to entertain an extra guest or two.'

'I am sorry, sir, but I have my orders to deliver you and Mr Harrison-Harrison to Rear Admiral Rawson as soon as possible.'

'Oh, I don't think so!' I replied. 'We have only been here a day and have yet to see all the sights.'

Ladybuoy made a small motion with his hand, and suddenly both Bertie and I each had a swarthy matelot type at our elbows. Our elbows, it seemed, were very popular indeed, having been molested under several circumstances on several occasions by several people. Eugenie and Lillian — the prior elbow grippers — were pushed back in the process.

'Quite the run-around you two have given us since your arrival. I must admit, I would have thought that you might have chosen accommodation more befitting of your status. All part of the subterfuge, I assume? Very clever. Still, we knew that you would be making for the telegraph office.'

'This would be your button, then?' asked Bertie, tossing it towards the jolly Jack Tar.

I blinked to Bertie STAY CALM... MUST BE SOME MISTAKE

'There is no mistake, sir,' interjected Ladybuoy, 'and thank you for my button.'

I turned to face him, stunned. He knew the blinkage code!

Ladybuoy smiled. 'You should not be surprised, sir. We are taught the same code during our training. Now... my orders are to bring you to the base at Simons Town, using whatever methods necessary... sir.'

'What about our belongings?' enquired Bertie, still holding onto Daphne for (what I assume was) comfort and succour.

Ladybuoy nodded in the direction of the doors, through which sauntered another two armed tars carrying our bags between them. We avoided eye contact with one of them; he was the fellow who we had nearly broiled to death in the sauna. (He did not look the worse for wear; in fact, he had shed some weight and his skin appeared in good condition, so the extended steamy stay had done him the power of good.)

'All taken care of... sir,' said our ex-cab driver.

Ladybuoy nodded. 'Very good! Sergeant Spatchcock, you and your marines can tidy up here?'

The cabdriver — or rather, Royal Marine Sergeant — leered. 'It will be our pleasure, sir!' he said with a grin, sans-dents.

Kite had made no move during all this interaction. He just stood, smiling like a cat with the cream, hands by his sides. Ladybuoy motioned to his men to withdraw along with us but I stood my ground. Bertie and Daphne were extracted from each other by Spatchcock. Daphne seemed not to be disappointed by the rough manhandling from the Sergeant. Indeed, Bertie was slightly put out that she seemed to actually enjoy it too much.

'Excuse me, Lieutenant. What about this bunch of rogues? They are wanted criminals, after all...'

Ladybuoy stared directly at me. 'I have explicit orders, sir, which involve neither Mr Kite, nor his colleagues, nor this vessel. Indeed, it was impressed upon me from a high Government source that Mr Kite has not committed any crimes in this country and, as such, those crimes committed abroad would not apply at this juncture.'

He turned to face Kite, who was now helping Ping to his feet. 'I trust you will accept our apologies for any inconvenience this morning, Mr Kite? I will have the dockyard send some carpenters over to make good any damages.'

Bertie and I shook our heads in amazement as Kite walked over to us. 'Think nothing of it. Bit of high-spirited bravado, eh?'

The last word he pronounced as 'brawado', never having been a man to correctly enunciate the letter 'v'.

He looked from Bertie to me. 'Until next time, Knolly,' he said loudly. As he came closer, he whispered '... and next time there will be no meals.'

Bertie tried to catch Daphne's eye, but she was now in animated conversation with Spatchcock, ensuring that his hands were placed where she wanted them to be. Bertie gave her a wave and then turned his back to follow the sailors carrying our bags.

'Good day, Mr Kite, ladies...' I nodded to the Trans-Sisters. 'Thank you for last night's hospitality. We shall meet again, I assure you.'

On our way though the lounges and bars, Bertie pulled me to one side. 'Dash it all, Knolly, he's got away again! And this time, it seems he has been given a pardon. What the deuce is going on, and how can you be so calm about it all?'

I smiled in an understanding way at my friend's angst (and also at the crumbs that remained in his moustache). 'Let me assure you Bertie, it is only on the outside that I am calm. Inside, I feel that I want to start ripping the heads from certain individuals. However, now is not the time and here is not the place, but I do think that you should cover your ears when we get to meet this Admiral Rawlinson fellow.'

Ladybuoy had overheard this. 'Actually, it's "Rawson", sir. And let me assure you that none of this the Admiral's doing; it has all originated from high above him. I am sure that he will explain everything once we are aboard the St George.'

This last comment stopped us both in our tracks. 'Begging your pardon. Are you telling me that we are not meeting the Admiral at his residence?'

Ladybuoy stuttered. 'I... ah... seem to have said too much already. Um... this way please. We shall use the boarding party launch.'

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