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.

And so we sped along the iron road towards Waterloo Station. With the elephant gun propped up on the seat opposite, we were quite secure in the knowledge that we would not be disturbed ... though I am sure we had some very interesting glances from alighting passengers looking for a comfy and dry spot.

We barely glanced at the countryside that flew along beside us, so enthralled were we by the words set out before us in Uncle Monty's diary. Elspeth was fascinated by the intricacies of some of the diagrams and by the cryptic nature of most of the textual entries. Even with my having some prior knowledge of the general subject matter of which Monty wrote, I also could not make sense of much of what was written in the journal. Still wishing not to upset Elspeth with the true nature of the subject matter contained therein, I had to show restraint in my responses to her queries. For example:

'Knolly ... Monty refers often to 'LITS'. What does he mean?'

Knowing full-well that this referred to Uncle Monty's nickname for his Rothwell assignment - 'Lights In The Sky' - I provided an answer that was sprinkled in fairy dust :

'My dear, that - I believe - is something to do with my uncle's penchant for French beds.'

Fortunately, she seemed satisfied with my response, mainly because she was engrossed with something that Monty had written on the inside cover.

'How lovely!' she said. 'It's a nursery rhyme and he's dedicated it to Aunt Lettice ... '

The rhyme was transcribed thus :

I had a little nut tree, nothing would it bear

But a silver nutmeg and a golden pear.



The King of Sweden's daughter came to visit me,

And all for the sake of my little nut tree.



I skipped over water, I danced over sea,

And all the birds in the air couldn't catch me.

'Oh!' said Elspeth. 'It's wrong! It should be 'The King of Spain's daughter', not 'The King of Sweden's daughter'.'

Well, I rather imagine that Monty had more on his mind than a nursery rhyme when he wrote that,' I replied.

Before Elspeth could ask any further questions, the door of our carriage was (rather abruptly) opened. This was a first, for even the conductor had not bothered us, except to wave from the window once we'd held our tickets up to him.

I glanced out of the window to see where we were; the rain was lashing down and impairing visibility, but I could still determine quite a lot of uniformed fellows; so I surmised that we could not be far from Aldershot.

'Is this seat taken by any chance?' said a deep voice with a distinct American drawl.

Elspeth snapped shut the journal holding it firmly against her bosom and with her other hand tightly gripped mine; I knew what she was thinking. I looked at the gun and so did our guest.

This American had very long hair for a man (longer than Elspeth's) and a heavily waxed moustache. On his head was a well-beaten stetson of a style worn by myself many years ago.

'Very nice', he drawled with a smile, 'but it won't scare me off, I'm afraid. Permit me to introduce myself. The name's Cody, Samuel Franklin Cody.

He picked up the gun from the seat and handed it to me.

'You're a long way from home, Mr Cody', interjected Elspeth.

'Indeed, yes, he is, my dear. All the way from Texas, I do believe?' I added.

'Sir, you have me at a disadvantage, but may I sit down first?'

'My apologies, Mr Cody. Please…' I said as I indicated the seat (a somewhat strange gesture - as he knew that it was a seat, he knew where it was, and he knew that it was available - but such are the rules of etiquette and manners).

Elspeth pulled at my sleeve and I looked down. She blinked : 'BUFFFFLO BILLY?'

I smiled, patted her and blinked back: 'NO. GOOD TRY THOUGH.'

'Mr Cody, permit me to introduce myself. My name is Knolly and this is my wife Elspeth. I work out of the Admiralty for His Majesty's Navy, and so, of course, I have heard tell of your recent discussions with the War Office about your man-lifting kites.'

He settled back in his seat and crossed his long legs.

'Hmm ... news certainly gets about in the military', he mused. 'But it's true, and I'm bound for your War Office right now with an offer to persuade them to take my kite idea as a replacement for those observation balloons they've been using in South Africa. No good in the wind and they take too long to inflate.'

'Oh, Mr Cody! My husband knows all about ballooning in Africa', said Elspeth. I steeled myself for a rendition of the story of how Elspeth and I first met but she changed tack quite quickly. 'Surely the Navy would be interested in such kites, Knolly?'

I nodded, glad to see that like me she still was not ready to trust this man one hundred percent just yet.

'Indeed they might my dear. Tell me, Mr Cody, have you ever met Mr Samuel Pierpont Langley of Washington?'

A wry smile crossed Cody's face.

Sam's model flying machines are a joy to behold, sir.' He leaned toward me, his voice and manner becoming more conspiratorial. 'But what I'm about, sir, is manned, powered flight. The kites are just the beginning and even now, my fellow Americans are experimenting along these lines.' He sat back and pointed out of the window at the rain-lashed countryside. 'I love this country and though to-date I have done very little to shout loud about by my own high standards, I have still to accomplish one thing that I hope for very much, that is, to be the first man to fly in Great Britain.'

Goodness me, Mr Cody, you have such passion!' exclaimed Elspeth. 'Knolly, you must introduce him to Mr Hobbes and Bertie at the earliest opportunity.'

I smiled and she went on.

'So, with powered kites you would rain death down from the skies, perhaps?'

Cody and I were somewhat taken aback by this suggestion.

'Ma'am, your imagination puts you up with Jules Verne or H.G. Wells!' laughed Cody, his moustache vibrating like some strange antenna.

Elspeth smiled and her eyes sparkled. She was itching to add something to Cody's observation at this point, but I managed to prevent this by a slight pressure on her leg.

'I was more thinking along the lines of replacing today's cavalry scout and spotting from a safe distance', he continued. 'Carrying weapons would add too much weight to get my flier off the ground.'

Dear Elspeth! Sometimes she was just so fickle; one minute she was as cold as anything, and the next she was chatting away with the fellow as if they had been friends for life. Needless to say, the diary was forgotten for now and conversations turned to Cody's travels, his style of dress, his own Wild West shows .... which in turn led to my tales of travelling around America and to the Chicago World Fair of 1893 where Bertie and I had seen his namesake's Wild West Show. Elspeth was enthralled at the stories he had to tell and about his dalliance with the theatre. Could this fellow really be such an aeronaut? Thankfully Elspeth did not ask and somehow avoided asking embarrassing questions that should have been directed to his namesake.

During a short pause in our trade of anecdotes, Cody uttered a strange word : Draycliuh

'Pardon?' we said as one.

'Your book. Draycliuh', he drawled. Cody indicated the disguised journal, which now sat on the armrest between Elspeth's seat and my seat.

I realised that he had committed the crime of over-pronunciation that is common to a lot of Americans and was trying to say 'Dracula.

'Oh! I said, grabbing the book and holding on tight.

'Is it a good read?' asked Cody, quizzically.

It is a fine book, Mr Cody', said Elspeth.

'... and what is it about?' he asked, leaning forward to get a closer look at the cover.

It's about 300 pages', I answered with a chuckle.

Elspeth biffed my knees and proceeded with a sensible answer that seemed to satisfy our guest.

'From what I have read thus far - and without giving too much away - it is a story of the supernatural, of how strangers and strangeness lurk amongst even the most innocuous of places.'

Little did Elspeth know that her description of the novel might also describe the contents of Monty's diary ....

Fortunately, there was not long left of our journey, and soon we were disembarking at a very busy Waterloo Station to go our separate ways.

I must thank you, Mr and Mrs Knolly, for making that journey all the more interesting. Tell me, Knolly, can I mention your name at the War Office?'

Before I could say anything Elspeth butted in.

'My husband is well connected, Mr Cody. Perhaps you would do better to see if he could get you in to see someone of influence at the Admiralty?'

'If that's possible, I would think that a mighty fine gesture.' He fumbled in his coat pocket and proffered me his card. 'You can get hold of me at this address.'

I nodded. 'I'll see what I can do, Cody.'

We shook hands and he was off in search of a cab, ambling in a style that I believe is colloquially in the Americas known as 'moseying'. (Bertie had tried to introduce this bandy-legged walk to London society on his return from Chicago. However, he succeeded only in damaging his knees as he kept banging into trees and bollards and suchlike. The walk is more appropriate in America where there are wider spaces for knees to freely roam. I digress ...)

I took Elspeth to one side. 'What on Earth are you thinking of, m'dear?'

'Do you think he's 'The Watcher'?'

'I don't know. Seems very coincidental though, doesn't it? Possibly being spied on by an alleged American and then one turns up on the train.'

Do you trust him?'

The fellow's a showman, difficult to tell with his kind. Although, I'd like to pursue some of his ideas and I'm sure Lady C would like to recruit him at some point.'

'Well don't you think it's good job he wont be bandying your name around at the War Office? At least you can now control any further introductions he has.'

I kissed her. 'Yes, well done. But next time can I do the talking, please?'

She smiled. 'I think, dear; we need to get a move on. The gun is attracting attention of the local constabulary .... who are heading this way, I might add ....'

I turned to see two blue uniformed gentlemen walking up the stairs. What to do next? Contact Hobbes and Bertie about the diary? Or head for home via Mr Maxim's?

It was Elspeth who took the lead. We ended up heading off to Merrick's to kill as many birds with as many stones as possible.

The Great Knolly Archive

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