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Benny Nutters: Secrets Under London

### Ann Michaels

Smashwords Edition  
copyright 2015, Ann Michaels

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Chapter 1. Ghost, Brooms and Secret Rooms

Chapter 2. Museums and Spice and All Things Nice

Chapter 3. Esmeralda down the Hole

Chapter 4. Deeper and Down

Chapter 5. Dog Soap and Unicorns

Chapter 6. Beastly Things and Wartime Secrets

Chapter 7. What Lies Beneath

Chapter 8. Seeking and Finding

Chapter 9. The Man Lion

Chapter 10. A Fan of Nelson's Words

### Chapter 1.

Ghost, Brooms and Secret Rooms.

### January, 15, 2002

I stumbled upon the secret room, one cold, sleeting day in the middle of winter. At this time, I had been living with my Great Uncle Crispin, in London, for ten years. Though, Uncle Crispy is not really my uncle at all; he is my grandad's twin brother, and my legal guardian.

My grandad, Phineas, who had become an anthropologist, because he believed that he would be involved in something rather ground breaking (ha, ha), actually disappeared during an anthropology expedition, out in Africa, in 1989.

At the time, he was following in the footsteps of the great archaeologists', Mary and Louis Leakey, who had discovered the skull of some ancient, human-like creature, that they called 'Dear Boy'; even though most other people called him, 'Nutcracker man'. What really blew my mind, when I eventually heard about this nut-eating gent, was that, he had last breathed a few million years back!

I was a mere rug rat when my grandfather disappeared, being only one year old at the time. So I don't remember him at all. But there is a large photo in the album of him, standing next to his brother, Crispin. They are aged about seventeen in the photo, with a couple of horsey looking heads, on top of their gangling bodies. Both are attired in matching safari suits. Not a good look, even back then. Crispin is holding a butterfly net, whilst looking at something beyond the frame, and Phineas, has a lopsided smile on his face, like he didn't agree with having his picture taken, but he is putting up with it. They were an off-beat looking pair. That is for sure.

The only thing that I really have belonging to my grandfather, is, a gold necklace, which was put around my neck at my birth, with the instruction that I must always wear it. And I do, but I keep it hidden under my clothes, as it is a bit corny looking; with its roaring lion's head stuck on a cross. I don't think I've ever told anyone about it, but I might someday.

The Georgian terrace, in which I now live with Uncle Crispy, is located in an unexceptional part of London called, Bayswater. There are various stories which tell how this area came by its mellifluous name; but the one I like the most, tells how a man, by the name of Mr Bays, used to own a public-house around here. Supposedly, members of the public would breeze in to Mr Bays' establishment, to water their horses. This may or may not be true.

We happen to live a very short hop, skip and a jump from Hyde Park, and so, I often ramble about that pasture after my tutor has left for the day. Yes! I spilled this bit of biography rather early that, I don't go to an actual school at all. My schooling takes place every weekday until 2 p.m., in the small library (as we sometimes call it), which can be found in the basement of the terrace. The main library belongs to Uncle Crispy and it occupies part of the third floor, at the back of the building. It is a wonderful, gruesome, yet interesting place; but more about that later.

Mr Osborne my tutor is a potty old fellow, and as ancient as dirt. If you look hard enough, you can even see the grey dust in the creases of his carrot-shaped, craggy face.

In my studies, this esteemed pedagogue insists that, I learn Latin and Greek, and that I study what he calls 'natural philosophy' (what I understand to be science). We also cover: mathematics, philosophy (ordinary), literature, poetry and history. But what I will be equipped to do in this modern world is anyone's guess.

It was late afternoon on this cold, dark day, and I toiling away like miner at the coalface, on my homework, in the small library. There I was, busily writing an essay, titled: 'Is an Honest Politician Possible?' when I vaulted up from the chair to search for a particular learned tome about the Emperor, Marcus Aurelius, who had lived in the times of ancient Rome, as I had noticed a book about this philosopher politician, on the shelf a few weeks ago. But now, I couldn't find it.

I started to puck out books, one by one. Soon, a whole row of leather volumes was lying topsy-turvy, on the walnut table. There was, however, to my surprise, another row of books behind the first one, and some of these books looked very interesting indeed. One book was called, Memoirs of an Old Wig. Another, The History of a Dog. Written by Himself, and Published by a Gentleman of His Acquaintance. Translated From The French. I put those aside, with the intention of reading them later. Then, I noticed a small, round, ball-like shape, attached to the bookcase, which I decided to pull. This caused a small section of the bookcase to swing open, as though released, and I could dimly see some squalid looking stairs, leading downwards into darkness.

All thoughts of my essay were forgotten, as I ran about like a demented mammal. I was heading toward my bedroom, in the attic, to get my torch, when I remembered having recently clapped my eyes on one of those gigantic, silly looking torches, in the laundry, which was located in another part of the basement. Strangely, this laundry, although underground, also has access to the back garden. I think this is because we are sitting on a bit of slopping land.

I galloped into the damp smelling, laundry room, pulled the cord of the lion's head wall sconce, grabbed the ridiculously enormous torch from the haunted cupboard, and scrambled back to gawp at that mysterious staircase. Luckily, I didn't disturb the ill-tempered ghost, who has lived in that laundry for over a hundred years.

The laundry ghost's name is Edgar and according to Uncle Crispy, Edgar, also used to live in this very house, back in the 1800's, while he was still in the land of the living. But Edgar, it seems, fell terribly in love with the laundry maid named Bessie, whilst still a young chap. Edgar's parent's, a pallid pair of social climbers, were completely scandalized and driven bonkers by the idea, of their son, romancing a washer woman. So, Edgar was shipped off to Australia, where an adventurous relative, lording over a gold mine, stood ready to take the errant young Edgar in hand. It was some weeks after Edgar had been despatched to the antipodes, to learn his place, and his lesson, that the ship he was on, sunk in the Southern Ocean. And so, the love-sick Edgar was lost at sea. Edgar's ghost, however, managed to make it back to the laundry room, of Inverness Terrace, Bayswater, London, where happily, he was able to haunt the object of his affection, for some years. He still resides here.

I directed the beam of light down the stairs into the darkness, where I could see about ten steps, and a begrimed, red, brick floor. I moved the light around and I saw that there was a queer looking light switch, stuck to the side of this wall. I ventured downward, noting the frigid air and deplorable smells, and flicked on the overhead light. It spluttered to life.

Looking about in the orange glow, I could see a kind of study room, with a moth-eaten, Persian rug on the floor, a tall bookshelf, and desk of some very dark and depressing timber. There were also a lot of antique looking, storage boxes, stacked about, haphazardly.

I felt excited about finding this secret room, but I was also puzzled, what purpose did this room serve? And why was it hidden? So, I trotted down the stairs and immediately started to rummage about in some of the dusty and disagreeable boxes. In one box, I found a fragile, cobwebby old Morse code machine. In another, there were reams of yellowing papers, some featuring nausea-inducing poems (just reading them made me feel somewhat seasick!). Other papers had the words 'Statistical Analysis' typed importantly at the top. And others were covered with letters and numbers: what appeared to be an attempt to decipher code.

I noticed then, a huge rectangular, box-like thingy in a corner, covered with a mass of decaying valves and crumbling knobs. And it suddenly occurred to me that, this room had probably been used during World War II, by a spy or code breaker. And the strange looking machine, which looked like it had been whipped straight out of a superannuated Dr Who TV series, may have been an early computer, used for cryptanalysis. Fancy That!

It was probably about supper time, so I skedaddled back up the stairs and closed the bookshelf door; it clicked neatly into place. I would ask Uncle Crispy about this secret room, over the soup.

A short time later, Uncle Crispy and I were seated at one end of the Hepplewhite dining table, slurping our onion soup. I had just told my uncle about the secret room that, I had discovered in his house and he had leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. I waited patiently, as he remembered days of yore.

'Well, my young chap, you do bring back the memories! I don't suppose that, I ever told you about how Phineas, your grandfather and I, were radio spies back during World War II?'

I shook my head like a febrile basset hound; my mouth agape.

We were very green, young fellows at the time, only about twenty as I recall. In our prime, though! when we were recruited by M18, to intercept secret codes being broadcast by the Nazis', during the early part of the war.' Uncle Crispy looked at me from under his snow, white, caterpillar-like eyebrows, to check that I was interested. I was enthralled.

'Phineas and I proved ourselves to be dashed good at intercepting the Nazi secret codes' and so, we were trained up to undertake an extremely covert operation. That is, we were dropped into occupied France, with suitcase radios!' Uncle Crispy beamed happily and explained further; 'radio transmitters and receivers hidden inside ordinary suitcases.'

I must have been looking rather pie-eyed, because, Uncle Crispy chortled like an iron kettle coming to the boil, before he continued. 'Phineas had an excellent grasp on the French lingo, but I was a bit of a bumbler in comparison.' I knew this was mere modesty; however, I smiled, hoping that he would continue.

'It was called Operation Pork Chop. And it began when we were dropped into occupied France by parachute, one murky, mournful night,' he shuddered like an electric eel. 'We had to recruit resistance fighters and provide reports about German activities. Then, send this intelligence information to Algiers.' He glared at me and paused for a moment. 'We were able to obtain a map showing all the German retreat positions in southern France and this helped greatly with the organisation of the Allied landings....I don't really wish to revisit some of those experiences, but let me just say that, if we were caught by the Jerry, we would have been burnt toast. Yes, burnt toast, indeed!'

'Uncle Crispy tell me about that prehistoric-looking computer that, I saw in the secret room?'

'That, my young buck, is actually a reconstruction of one of the Colossus computers made from dismantled components. The actual Colossus was used, you know, to break the codes, used by Hitler's top brass.......I should donate the dashed thing to some museum, what?

'I should think so. Yes! That would be an excellent idea'. I said.

'I'll look into it. In the meantime, you could clear out that humble nest, and make it into your headquarters'.

'Sounds jolly good to me Uncle!'

'Splendid! Splendid!'

After supper, I wandered back to the secret room with a selection of mops, cleaning cloths and a bucket of water. Edgar, however, did not make things easy for me, this time, as I fossicked about in the laundry room. He caused a collection of feather dusters to rain down upon my noggin, as I opened a cupboard. And he forced me into an impromptu tap-dance, when the brooms fell about me, like giant toothpicks. However, I managed to survive.

For the next hour, I sorted things into piles and swept and cleaned. I was feeling quite pleased with myself. Then, I opened a small cardboard box, covered with pictures of frolicking unicorns, with a tightly fitting lid. Inside, were some photos tied with a faded, blue, silk ribbon. I took them out.

Most of the photos were of exotic places in various parts of the world, featuring my grandfather, Phineas, wearing his safari suit and glaring about importantly. But there were other photos, which were intensely interesting to me.

In one faded black and white photo, there was an elephant in the background, shooting water all over itself. In front of this noble animal, however, I could see my grandmother, Clementine, holding my father; a fat pudding of a baby.

Nanny Clementine had lived here on the second floor, until two years ago. But she had been an inveterate hoarder and the entire wing that she occupied, had been stuffed with newspapers, and all kinds of flotsam and jetsam. Unfortunately, one Wednesday evening, as she toddled past to make her nightly cocoa, a towering stack of The London Evening News, fell upon her person, and she was crushed.

I do miss her.

Another photo is marked on the back, India 1988, in fading blue pen. In it, my parents are standing in the middle of a field of yellow, wild flowers. Father is smiling in a hair-brained manner, apparelled in a cloak of feathers, and mother, or, mataji, as I call her, is looking radiant, but silly, in a similar, but much smaller feather cape.

It is a long and strange story, but my father was born out in Indian, whilst my grandfather was working out there as an anthropologist. And although, father may not have had any memories of the fair land of India, having moved to London at the age of 6 months, he became convinced that, India was his true home.

Father later met mataji, at the age of 23, one sunny afternoon, before the beginning of the monsoon season, at the Temple of Rats.

At this time, Father had only recently abandoned his university studies, after declaring such knowledge to be 'concocted' and 'fraudulent'. And with great purpose, he instead, had decided to embark on a spiritual quest, which involved travelling back to India. So it happened that, my father met my mother, when their eyes locked over a room of 1000 holy rats, feeding happily.

My parents fell in love and soon married. I should mention that, my father is a very tall, thin and pale gentleman, with hair so translucent that, it resembles a deep sea creature. And mataji is very small and dark, with long, lovely hair, which goes past her sari clad posterior; almost to her feet, in fact.

The wedding, my grandmother told me, was attended by about 1000 people, and just about as many rats. My mother travelled to that occasion in style, in a 'garish' carriage, pulled by a team of snow-white horses. And there was so much food, granny said, for people and for rats. It was a day, redolent of the wonderful spicy smells of: samosas, daal, rotti with butter, biryani, and more and of vivid colours, enchanting sounds, the crush of bodies, and memories of the softness of silk.

Immediately after they married, my parents began to travel about seeking enlightenment. However, between them, they did not possess a brass razoo, so they took to asking for alms on the street. One night, after the still love-struck pair had not eaten for several days and had fallen asleep on the dirt floor, of a village marketplace, my father, in the deepest part of the night, experienced a dream about a phoenix: a mythical bird which bursts into flame, and is then reborn.

Soon after having this dream, my father became convinced that, this legendary bird was sending him a special message; that he must start a society, based on the Truth of the Phoenix. So, he started to scribble down laws and rules, that he believed had been sent to him by the Great Bird. And believe it or not, the group soon had followers.

When I was born into that commune of phoenix followers, in a rural part of India, in 1988, my Granny Clementine, who was living back in London, was hit between the eyebrows with worry.

But I was about five years old, by the time granny managed to journey out to India, to collect me (She had to get her newspaper piles into order first!). And my parents, who were busy feathering their own nests at the time, (pardon the pun) were somewhat grateful, to be relived of the responsibility of a small son, who kept incessantly asking, when he could actually see the sainted Phoenix.

By all accounts, I was an odd sort of chappie, and so, it was decided that a tutor would be procured for me, when I arrived in London, in 1993; it was thought that, I may well come to grief, at a school. Uncle Crispy told me once that, he had never recovered from his own experience, at the hallowed halls of ivy, and so, he had no wish to foist such agony on me.

The problem was that, I knew no one of my own age. That is, until I met Owen, and his runty sister, Alice.

### Chapter 2.

Museums and Spice and All Things Nice

I was rambling about Hyde Park one Saturday morning, about one month after finding the secret room, when I thought I might go and have a gander at the Natural History Museum. So, off I set at a brisk pace, in the direction of that august institution.

One hour later, I stood panting at the gates, gaping at that great cathedral of science, on Cromwell Road, Kensington. But I simply stood for a moment, taking in the massive edifice, which glinted in the weak sunshine and felt the bloom of my good fortune. How privileged I was, to have such a palace of wonders in walking distance, which I could visit. Especially, since I had not a penny on me.

I cantered inside and after recovering from the magnificence of the grand and glorious main hall, I wandered over to take a closer view of Dippy the dinosaur.

The original Dippy was actually a Diplodocus dinosaur, or more correctly, its fossilised bones, which were uncovered in Wyoming, USA in 1898. A millionaire named Andrew Carnegie, hearing about these bones, decided he was going to procure them for his museum in Pittsburgh. Further evidence of the wonders and honours money can bring, was demonstrated, when the dinosaur was named Diplodocus carnegii, after its owner. I prefer Dippy myself.

I was staring at Dippy most intently, when I became aware of a pair of boiling, blue eyes, blistering my very marrow. I looked about, and then down, and saw a small, yet appealing young creature, of the girl variety.

'Hello', she said in an odd nasal tone, 'I'm Alice and this here is my brother, Owen. I looked at Alice and then at Owen, and smiled. Alice grinned back, toothily, but Owen smiled, in a hesitant sort of manner. Then I stuck out my hand, in the way that my grandmother had once taught me, and said, 'how do you do?'

Alice bent over and started to whoop with laughter, drawing every eye in the place upon us. Owen flushed slightly, taking on a slightly pink appearance, and hissed loudly in her ear, 'belt up Alice, or we'll be tossed out'.

Immediately, Alice stood up, opened her eyes very wide, and shut her mouth firmly. 'Sorry', she said to her brother, who looked exactly like her, except, he was somewhat bigger, and in a boy form.

'It's just that I knew he'd be beaut as soon as I saw him, and he is! I was just so wrapped', said Alice, hopping about like a bunny needing some lithium.

Owen pressed his fingers onto his eyes, and shook his head. Then, he turned to me and said; 'G'day, I hope you're not too upset by the antics of my sister here?' he didn't wait for me to reply, but rushed on, 'It seems that she has taken a fancy to you. She does that sometimes.' He sighed, and then continued, 'mostly it works out alright, but it can be heaps embarrassing!'

I smiled at the pair and assured them both that, I was not upset. I even had to stop myself from wanting to bow to them, over and over again: so few people actually take any interest in me, at all, other than Uncle Crispy.

'Usually, when I am out and about, I wonder if I am invisible, or have a bad smell', I found myself thinking and saying, much to my amazement. Owen and Alice both looked grim and began to nod their heads, 'Yes, we feel pretty much the same, don't we Alice?'

'It's because we are from Australia', said Alice. 'They call us colonials and convicts, sometimes. And, we can't really say anything, because, we do actually have two convicts in the family tree, don't we Owen?'

'Yep, so dad says. But who cares! That was a long time ago. What's it got to do with us, now?'

'Of course,' continued Alice, 'it took me a while to realise that, they hate us. I thought at first when, people said, 'you Australians are so interesting', that they liked us. They didn't. They didn't' at all. Mostly, though, they ignore us'.

'Aaah, they're a bunch of snobs!' growled Owen....well, not all of them, of course. But at my school, I never feel like I ever say, or do the right thing'.

There was a loud silence for a moment, as we just stood there thinking about our own situations. Then, Alice asked me, 'What's your name?'

'I am called Benroy, by my parent's, but my Uncle Crispy calls me Benedict'.

'Alice looked serious. 'Yeah... Nah. I will call you Benny. You look like a Benny, doesn't he Owen?'

Owen grinned suddenly and his face transformed. It was like the sun had suddenly come out from behind a grey cloud; I felt like I needed a pair of sun glasses, but instead, I grinned back.

'Come on, let's go and have a look around at some of the old and gross stuff in here', said Alice, as she grabbed Owen and me by the shirt sleeves. 'We have to be home by 3 o clock, cos Rhonda and Bruce are going to the theatre to see Cats. Again!'

We started to walk toward the open doorway, which led into the museum, and I felt absurdly happy. I suddenly had company; perhaps even friends!

For the next hour, we trundled past a kaleidoscope of insects skewered onto boards; we eyeballed interesting rocks and minerals, learning how they were made millions of years ago; we ogled odd creatures, floating in jars of alcohol, and looked upon the remains' of huge, strange animals, long since extinct. And we talked.

I told Owen and Alice about my parents' in India and how they worshipped The Phoenix. Alice started to laugh loudly, and said, 'but this bird doesn't actually exist, right? Does it?'

Owen glared at his sister and she pretended to be contrite, except that she kept sniggering. I wasn't upset, though, because I agreed with her. I also thought that it was absurd to devote your life to a bird, which only appeared to exist in folk tales. But, they were my parents, and so, I simply smiled.

Our Parent's, Rhonda and Bruce, are big show-offs', stated Alice matter-a-factly.

'You call your parents, Rhonda and Bruce!' I exclaimed in amazement.

'Yeah, they prefer being called Rhonda and Bruce. They both decided before they had us, that, having children wouldn't change anything', stated Owen flatly.

I was puzzled.

'Bruce is in sales and Rhonda is a personal trainer', Owen paused, and then shifted his focus. 'We were pretty happy back in Sydney, but we had to move over here for their careers. Now, we have to live in this shoe-box sized place in Knightsbridge, because Bruce says that, it gives the right impression.'

We came upon a room filled with taxidermied animals. 'How creepy!' shivered Alice, 'I don't like it'. I gazed upon the beady, glass eyes of some type of mountain goat, and said, 'my Uncle Crispy has lots of these in his library on the third floor'. Alice and Owen's mouth's dropped open, and they gaped at me like a couple of ninnies'.

'Please tell us that we will be invited to this place', Alice cried, evidently forgetting her dislike of the stuffed beasts, but a second before.

'Yes, you may visit tomorrow if you wish', I declared.

'Are you dinky-di? I mean, really?' Spluttered Owen.

I nodded, like a demented horse.

'We'll be there tomorrow arvo, with bells on!' Owen pronounced, as Alice smiled and slipped her arm through mine.

I was sad when my new friends had to bid me farewell, a short time later. But I stood and watched them for a while, as they walked down the road, waving and smiling, and then, as they broke into a run. I continued to watch, until they were swallowed up, by the growing darkness of the winter afternoon, and by people scurrying like lab animals, toward home.

### Chapter 3.

Esmeralda down the Hole

As I ventured down the staircase, from my room in the attic, attired in my green, velvet suit, the next morning, I was greeted by a most becoming and novel aroma. As I nudged the old onion through the door of the kitchen, I saw Uncle Crispy togged out in a frilly, pink apron, skittering about with a tray of dainty cakes.

'Good morn Uncle! What nourishing handiwork is this? I asked, pointing to the fruits' of his cooking labour.

'Oh! My dear boy! I have been stoking the home fires, so that your chums may have a morsel to eat, when they come to tea today'.

'Thank you, Uncle Crispy! That is thoughtful and most kind!' I replied. I really was quite overcome. Few fellows could possess a greater, great uncle.

It was not long after Uncle Crispy and I had finished luncheon, that, the doorbell chimed and as Mrs Pollard had returned last night, from a holiday with her sister, in Blackpool, it was she, who waddled down the stairs, and made her way to the front door.

As I am sure you are wondering, who, this Mrs Pollard is. I will tell you. As two, relatively helpless, male creatures, rattling about in a rather large abode, my uncle and I, require a person to keep us in some order. Therefore, Mrs Pollard has been entrusted with this role. With a snug little nest on the ground floor, overlooking the back garden, Mrs Pollard is well set up. And, as she believes herself to be the Queen, and head honcho here, she is just about as happy, as a pig after rain.

Alice and Owen entered the door, as Mrs Pollard swung it open, and I greeted them most happily upon the stair, as I descended. Alice was unashamedly rubbernecking about her, whilst Owen, was taking a gander about, with a look of great caution.

'Howdy-do!' I called. Uncle Crispy, who was skipping down behind me, like a great, American whooping crane, also called out his hellos. I could see Alice grinning, wickedly with glee, and Owen, swallowing hard, almost like he was alarmed or rattled in some way.

Then, Uncle Crispy led us upstairs again, but this time, to his library on the third floor. He pushed the heavy, mahogany door open, and we entered a large room, with a towering ceiling, lined with timber bookcases, carrying oodles of books, standing straight like soldiers on parade. One wall, however, was completely given over to the heads' of stuffed animals. It was a horrible sight to behold. There was a screaming baboon; a wolf with its fangs barred; a fox looking resigned to its horrible fate, and even a hammer-headed bat. A badger looked down upon us, with a malignant smirk, and, a very old, moth-eaten lion's head, added to the assembly of terror.

'Crikey! Is this for real!' shrieked Alice. 'Just so you know: I've just decided that I'm a vegetarian. I really don't approve of this ghoulish layout. At all'.

'Lay off Alice. You're a visitor here!' whispered Owen in a strangulated voice.

'No. No. No, my dear boy! This young possum here is quite right,' exclaimed Uncle Crispy, looking down at wee Alice.

'I inherited this horrid exhibition from an uncle. But, I just haven't had the heart to throw the poor, injured creatures away. In fact, they have become very dear friends, after all these years'. He pointed to the lion, 'I consult Cecil here, in regard to many a conundrum'. He then waved his hand at the bat, whose mouth was drawn back in a revolting, rictus of horror, 'And Beatrice, is a great comfort. I wouldn't part with her, for all the world.'

'You're all right Pops!' giggled Alice. But I have to admit that, I was rather overcome with jealousy, when Alice then threaded her arm through Uncle Crispy's. However, as he is somewhat tall, and she dashed short, it appeared like, she was trying to post a letter.

Just then, Mrs Pollard brought in the tea and dainty cakes, and so, we sat upon the elephantine, leather arm chairs and stuffed our faces, as Uncle Crispy told us a tale about his expedition to Australia, in the 1970's.

'It was damn hot; January as I recall, and there I was in cane toad country,' began Uncle Crispy in an odd sepulchral voice.

'Ha, ha' chortled Alice, 'banana bender land!'

'I had been invited to a very thought-provoking event, that night: a Queensland barbeque and I had gorged rather liberally on the victuals, and the liquid refreshments. Anyway, I retired to my house in the small hours of the morning, to catch a bit of shut eye. And so, it was a damned shock, when I awoke sometime later, to find myself still in the old crib, and the house gone.'

'What? How?' asked Owen, forgetting to flush like a partially blanched lobster this time.

'Well, it seems that there had been a very vigorous cyclone during the night, which had spirited the house away. But don't despair, it was found floating happily in a nearby lake next day. I, however, had merely been lifted up in my bed and deposited inside the chicken house next door. When I awoke, with the morning sunshine on my dial, I also found a freshly laid egg, under my right arm. Breakfast in fact! Most opportune.'

Alice fell on the floor laughing, cake spilling from her mouth. Owen smiled, his rare and winning smile, and all was well.

After Owen and I had peeled Alice off the floor, we shuffled downstairs to the secret room. As we tripped along, Alice ran a running commentary about all the things that caught her eye, as though she had never clapped her peepers on a bronze horse in a suit of armour, or a human skeleton in a 19th century kimono, before! Though, I must admit that, the painting sent by my father, of the phoenix bursting into flames, is not for the faint hearted.

As I opened the bookcase, which led to the secret room, Alice fell quiet for the first time. I switched on the light, and one by one, we descended the staircase, and felt the air temperature grow cooler, and the dampness rise up, and enter our nostrils.

'Ok', announced Alice taking charge, 'if this is going to be our clubhouse, then we have to get organised. Righty-oh?'

Outclassed, Owen and I merely nodded like a couple of performing monkeys, and began to follow directions.

Firstly, we had to muster all our muscle powers and manoeuvre the desk about. However, Alice couldn't decide exactly where the desk should go, so, she had us sliding it about like a dodgem car at the carnival.

Finally, Alice was happy with the positioning of the desk, and we turned our attention to the bookshelf. But it was extremely heavy. Then it was time to roll up the dusty, old Persian carpet. By this time, though, Owen was looking mutinous.

'I reckon it's about time that you did something, instead of just giving out the orders', he said, glaring at Alice, with eyes as mad as a lacerated snake.

Alice said nothing; she pursed her lips; her nose rose in the air and she walked toward the carpet with great dignity, and began to roll the asthma inducing carpet, with great care.

'Fair suck of the sav!' squawked Alice. 'Get an eye-full of this!'

Owen and I hurdled over to when Alice was kneeled on the brick floor, staring at the lid of a trap-door. 'What do you reckon is under this?' asked Alice quizzingly.

'Maybe it's a door to another world, like Narnia', Owen bubbled excitedly.

'Or, there might be some treasure down there that will make us filthy rich', said Alice thoughtfully; 'although Rhonda and Bruce might try to claim our share', she added doubtfully.

Just then, Esmeralda, my batty, yet divine cat, marched down the stairs, with a deceased mouse in her mouth.

'No!' moaned Alice, 'not another dead animal!'

'A thousand apologies Alice', I babbled, 'but Esmeralda becomes somewhat spiritless on Sundays, because, Edgar visits his love, at the Globe Fields Burial Ground.'

'Who's Edgar?

'He's the ghost who lives in the laundry room. Esmeralda here, delights at teasing him on most days, but, as I said, on Sunday she is deprived of this sport, and so, she must look for her amusements elsewhere'

'This is a crazy house. I like it!' pronounced Alice, as she lifted the wooden trap-door and revealed an opening in the floor, from which dank smells arose, from a bottomless looking darkness. But before any of us could say a word, Esmeralda plunged into the void and disappeared.

### Chapter 4.

Deeper and Down

I whizzed upstairs and grabbed the giant torch from the laundry room, noting how quiet and serene it was in there, without Edgar. I returned, but before I could even say a word, Alice seized the torch, and shone it down the hole.

'She's real bossy sometimes', Owen said, in a deadpan voice.

I scrambled over to survey the black hole, which led to unknown subterranean regions, but all I could see, was some gruesome, metal stairs.

Without another word, Alice, clutching the torch, leapt down into the hole and began to descend the stairs into the darkness, and Owen, silently followed. I, however, had no intention of going down there with one measly torch.

'I'll just toddle off and purloin another two more torches', I bellowed, like a halfwit into the square of blackness, where I could see two fading figures, and a quavering light moving down the spiral staircase.

'Right-o', yelled the disembodied voice of Alice, followed by the dim sound of Owen yelling, 'make it fast'.

And I did. I scudded along to the kitchen, and opened the cupboard where Mrs Pollard kept such paraphernalia. I snagged a small back pack, threw three torches in (having read all the Famous Five books, I knew how a torch could be broken) and snared some batteries. Then, off I skittered back to the new, secret stairs.

I stood looking into the hole before descending and noticed that, the light of Alice's torch looked very small and far down, indeed. How very strange.

'Oh well. Here goes nothing', I bawled. And down I went.

By the time I got to the bottom, I thought that my three score years and ten were up. It had felt like an eternity upon that stair, especially, as I was trying to avoid pendants of old spider webs and dry husks of lifeless insect bodies......and the smells!

Anyway, I joined Alice and Owen, who were standing upon what appeared to be an underground train station, with a long since abandoned single train line. Alice was vibrating with excitement, directing the beam of her torch here and there, with noted vigour, until she noticed a stream of rats slinking away into the darkness.

Directly next to us, there was a building of very heavy stone, which had only a few windows on the second floor, and a single door, which looked thick and impenetrable. It was all very odd. Although, this place appeared to be part of the underground tube network, it did not have the appearance of having ever been used by the public.

'I don't really think we should be here', Owen blurted.

'That's why it's fun', Alice added, obviously revelling in her Nancy Drew moment. She then, strode over toward the heavyweight door, and simply pushed it open. It was not locked. Before I too followed Alice and Owen, into the unknown room, I noted that there was a huge jumble of what looked to be old telephone and electrical wires, secured to the stone wall, going into the building. And, as I flapped my torch around some more, I spied a huge generator, similar to one that, we had on our land out in India.

Inside, Owen and Alice were running about a room, which appeared to serve as a canteen. They cantered about tables, which held old glass bottles of HP Sauce and trays stacked with an assortment of white crockery and tarnished cutlery. I picked up a book which lay neglected and dirty under a Formica table; it was, Animal Farm, by George Orwell. The printing date on the inside of the cover said 1945.

We then trooped into a kitchen room, where a strange silence and sadness hung about. The dated fridges had their doors leering open, revealing empty innards. A huge, rusting old stove sat in one corner, with a corroded and empty pie tray, still in the oven.

Owen, more confident now, spotted a stack of yellowing papers on the serving bench, and whipped over to have a squiz. 'Just food orders', he said, before adding, 'black pudding: gross!'

Another door led out of the kitchen and so we turned the stiff lock, and traipsed through it, into a huge, silent room.

'Look at that old telephone switchboard', Alice exclaimed, confirming what I was thinking.

'It's a long one, though!' Owen added, as he swept his torch from side to side. And it was.

In front of the switchboard, which had wires and plugs spilling from it, were a row of cracked chairs on wheels. About twenty of them!

'What a set up!' Owen said. And it was.

I swivelled about and trained the light of my torch onto the other side of this room, where I could see a long bench, and piles of letters. I bounced over there and lifted up a few of the brittle missives, which had been chewed, and eaten about the edges. The ones that I could read were addressed to people in England, with stamps dated from 1945. These were letters that had never been delivered.

We began to walk again, noting the odd assortment of junk that had been left behind: on chairs, on tables and on the floor. I saw a single shoe of an antiquated mode; a tea pot and a tea cup featuring a bucolic scene; a black, woollen coat, encrusted with dust, and punctuated with holes, draped across a chair. We moved on.

At the end of this long room, we came upon another door; we went through, and saw a timber staircase going upwards to another floor, into the darkness. Without a word, we moved some disintegrating piles of old newspapers' (which made me think of dear Granny Clementine) and boxes out of the way, and began to climb the stairs.

It was very quiet down here and the air was cool, with only the sound of our breathing to disturb the peace, but it was not a spooky place. It was a forgotten, mysterious and neglected world, which lay quietly under London.

On the second floor, there were three doors. Alice pushed the first one open, and shone the torch into a long and thin room, where about ten iron beds were lined up; the mattresses' were sagging on wire bases and kapok stuffing was spilling from holes in the stained, blue and white striped covers. Alice moved into the room, to take a closer peep, and was startled, as a family of mice, babies and all, flew through the air like trapeze artists.

'Crikey! My heart almost stopped!' she cried.

The next door revealed a room which was almost exactly the same, but there was an old fashioned, brown suitcase, left on one of the beds. This time, Alice hung back, not wanting to encounter any more acrobatic mice. So I strode forward, like Saint George beading the dragon, in its lair, and unclipped the corroded locks. Inside, I found a rusty tin containing a small sewing kit and a collection of buttons; a tin of tooth powder; a container of Yardley Shaving Soap; a tortoiseshell clothes brush, and a decaying war ration book. I could find no name anywhere.

'Look here Benny! Called Owen, from out in the hall. I hared out and saw Owen and Alice staring hard at the third door. Upon the door, was a small brass, name plate which said Operation Double-cross and underneath, the name Phineas Nutters: my grandfather!

My brain exploded for a moment, but then, I was able to follow Alice and Owen into the small office, where a large, timber desk, with a leather top dominated the room. On the corner of this desk, was a weird and creepy statue of a bat, with an egg-like device strapped to it. Looking closer, I could also see a deflated parachute attached to the bat's body, also made of the black, metal-like material.

'Your family has a very strange relationship with animals', announced Owen, looking from me to the statue, and back again.

'You are not wrong', Alice added.

What could I say?

We shone our torches around, and noted various odd and interesting things. On one wall, there was a photo, in a polished timber frame, of a dog with something strapped cunningly onto its body, facing an army tank. It was an irregular and strangely disturbing image.

Looking on the dusty shelf next to the desk, I found a stack of crumbling papers'. On one of these papers, was a drawing of a dead rat, with a pencil-like object within it. At the top of the paper, the words, 'Rat Explosives' was typed. Outlined below, it explained how these dead rats would be filled with explosives, and left around in weapons factories, near a furnace. Workers finding these dead rats would then, likely throw them in the fire and then, kapow! On another paper, it said, 'Rat Pathogens'; followed by lots of writing about how rats can deliver deadly diseases, behind enemy lines.

'I think that I may have a bit of a notion about all this, I said slowly, as I picked up another piece of paper, which said, 'The Military Poodle'.

'I'd say that, this office, was investigating the use of animals for weapons, and war work!'

'I think you've got that right', said Owen handing me a small pottery figurine of a poodle with accusing eyes, which had a brass plaque attached. It said: 'The poodle serves to keep our country free, working toward victory.'

'Diabolical!' Alice exploded.

"Animals have been used for war purposes since ancient times', I said. Then, I hurriedly added, 'Of course, that doesn't make it the honourable thing to do. I mean, it's not like they can give their consent'.

'You're right there Sunshine', Alice sarcastically added.

'But I have read how the ancient Greeks used wild boars to frighten war elephants and Attila the Hun, and even the Spanish conquistadors used dog soldiers'.

Perhaps, I was trying to excuse my grandfather, who appeared to have been very much involved, with the stomach-curdling use of animals for war.

Owen, who had been wandering about, opened another door, on the far wall, that we had not noticed before. He shone his torch into a room, containing many huge box-like pieces of equipment, with lots of tube and circuit-like thingies, hanging off them. They reminded me of those cryptanalysis computers that, I had found in the secret room. However, right next to these mammoth contrivances, we could see two turntables, like the one on Uncle Crispy's old gramophone. There was even a Beethoven record sitting on one turntable. And on the wall, directly over these turntables, hung an old rotary-dial telephone, in a polished timber case.

'Obviously, this was some sort of setup for sending telephone messages and using music in some way to scramble or disguise the information', said Alice with a tone of great importance.

'Come on', she added, 'let's go outside and explore, cos I reckon that there's more to this story'.

We walked back out into the room with the desk, but I wanted to lurk about here for a moment, as I wanted to take a last look around, before I followed Owen and Alice, who were already clumping noisily down the stairs.

I got down on my hands and knees and began to crawl about on the floor, because, I always think it helps to look at matters from a different point of view.

I crawled under the big, old desk, where my attention was initially hijacked by a mummified rat body. I turned my head away, to avoid looking at the frightful piece of biological goods, and noticed, what appeared to be a small, thin drawer on the underside of the desk, which was set well back from the front, and so, not easily visible.

I crawled back out, stood up, and bent down to take a closer look. From the front, what I thought was a drawer, just looked to be part of the desk, and there was no handle. However, I pushed the thin strip of timber, and the secret compartment popped open. Inside, it looked empty, but I pushed my hand toward the back, all the while thinking about hairy, black spiders (see how brave I am) and my finger touched something hard and cold. I pulled out an antique looking key, with a fancy end, which had a lion, in the centre of the bow. I thrust the key into my pocket and ran out of there, lickety-split, and down the stairs.

'Come on!' yelled Owen and Alice, as though from a distance. I could make out their bobbing torches in the darkness, a good way away, in the opposite direction, to the stairs of the secret room. I bounded after them, at a flying pace.

'Let's just follow this train line and see where it leads', Alice said. I could tell that Alice was having the time of her life and was not even fazed now, by the glittering eyes of the many rats that swept past us.

We trotted along for some time in silence, as the darkness and the damp underground feeling, was not very conducive to a talk-fest. However, after a while, it's hard to tell how long, as none of us had a watch or one of those newfangled mobile phones, we came upon a lonesome train carriage, which sat silently, dark and deserted, on the single train line. Owen ran in front and was already trying the doors, by the time Alice, and I caught up.

Then, Owen leapt inside and Alice and I followed.

The carriage was old and dusty, but at one time, it must have been almost beautiful, with its polished timber walls and green, leather seats. We walked up and down the aisle, but it was empty, except for a sort of tea chest sitting in the luggage area.

Alice, who had recovered now from the gymnastic mice, steamrolled her way through, and pulled the lid off the tea chest, in a forceful fashion.

The first thing she pulled out was, a small timber box, which had the words, 'Cyanide Cigarettes' emblazoned on the lid, in red. Sure enough, we found packets of innocuous looking cigarette packets, lined up inside. Owen then pulled out a wine bottle, which had a slip of paper attached to its neck. I bent down to read it, 'Beware Exploding Wine Bottle'. Owen shoved the wine back quickly into the box, and wiped his forehead. 'I almost dropped it', he said, in an odd, high, quavering voice.

Alice whipped out a grey, cardboard box, which had the single word 'Microphones', scrawled on the lid, in pencil. On opening the box, however, we found a collection of old watches, and fountain pens.

'Gosh!' said Alice, 'These are spying devices. They probably make recordings too'.

On the bottom of the tea chest, there was a mouldy collection of wigs, and clothing items, and a solitary miniature camera.

'It's so cute!' Alice declared.

We jumped out of the carriage and continued walking along the platform, even though I was itching to see a bit of sunlight at this stage (yes, I do realise that this is England!). As we shambled along, we did pass a few curious doors set into the stone sides of the tunnel, but thus far, all were locked. Then, we came upon a door which gaped open; it hung off its hinges, in fact!

Shining our torches inside the room, we could see a quite a few benches.

'It looks like our science lab at school', Owen intoned. Then, we all tried to walk through the door at once, but Owen and I became stuck, while Alice ducked underneath.

'She always has to be first'. Owen complained, pushing through.

'Looks like they were making radios here', Alice called out, stating the obvious, as there were various dismantled radios and scattered parts, sitting on some of the benches. On one bench, I found a box of Rowntree Chocolates. But there were no chocolates inside, only some pieces of folded paper. I picked up the first one. It was written in Ancient Greek, so I read it out. Then, I noticed that, Alice and Owen were eyeballing me strangely.

'What is that gobbledygook? And what does it mean?

'These wise sayings are written in ancient Greek', I said, as I flipped through some of the other pieces of paper. 'The one I just read out, was by Aristotle'.

'Yes, but what does it mean?' Owen persisted.

'We make war that we may live in peace'. I said.

'Tell us some of the others', Alice demanded, as she grabbed the box and some of the papers from me, and looked intensely at the strange characters.

'This looks like a chook walked across it', was her verdict.

I began to read:

'It is never right to do wrong or to requite wrong with wrong, or when we suffer evil to defend ourselves by doing evil in return'.

'Good people do not need laws to tell them to act responsibly, while bad people will find a way around the laws.'

'There is nothing permanent except change'.

I stopped. There was only a single piece of paper remaining.

'But what does it all mean? I mean, it all sounds contradictory, and why is this box here?' Owen asked, puzzled.

I lifted the last piece of folded paper out of the chocolate box and a key slipped out, and dropped onto the floor with a clang: a key with a lion in the bow. I took out the key that, I had found in the secret drawer of the desk, from my pocket, and compared it with this new key. They were identical.

I now told Alice and Owen, about how; I had found the key in the secret drawer of the desk.

'So, why didn't you tell us before, then?' Alice asked suspiciously.

'I do not know', I replied. 'I think, I just wanted to keep the key to myself for a while....because it must have belonged to my grandfather'. This was the right thing to say, because, Alice smiled and slipped her arm through mine. Owen smiled too, and began to do a bit of a tap dance around the benches.

We continued on our way, walking along the platform. This time, though, Owen was tap dancing and singing a song which appeared to be called, 'Can't Get You Out of my Head'. It wasn't bad. But it wasn't exactly Mozart, either. I realised suddenly, that I was feeling strange. Then I realised that, the feeling was happiness.

### Chapter 5

Dog Soap and Unicorns

We continued walking (and dancing) along the platform for some time, until we came upon two humongous creatures, which appeared to be guarding a huge studded door.

'Cool as!' yelped Owen, as he began to run toward the massive beasts. Alice and I followed, but we soon became aware that, these sentinels were statues: a lion and a unicorn, which were standing up and forming an archway to the imperial looking doorway.

Owen had his arms around the leg of the unicorn, and was gazing up at it, like some sort of milksop in love.

'He's always loved unicorns', whispered Alice, 'but don't say anything about it, because, he used to get teased about it back at home'.

I nodded my head like one of the pigeons that loiter about in Hyde Park, but, I couldn't help but think, how, unicorns, like the phoenix, don't actually exist. And there are so many live animals, whose very existence is threatened, and yet, they do not arouse the same paroxysms of adoration.

We were just standing about gaping, at the rather regal statues, when a light came on, and the imposing door began creaking open.

'Oh, no', whimpered Owen, 'It's probably some evil terrorists or gangsters, who will torture us for weeks, and we will never be seen again'.

Out popped the head of a lady, who reminded me of my Aunt Agatha, from Dorking.

'How do you do?' she asked smilingly.

'Yeah, we're pretty good', Alice said, speaking for all of us.

'Would you like to come in, and have a spot of tea?

We nodded dumbly, and walked toward the door.

'Before we have tea, I was wondering if you young people would help me find some dog soap that, I was given in the Australian mining town of Ballarat last year. I know it was put down here somewhere, but I am unsure exactly, where. I need it for the corgis', as they are simply burdened with fleas!'

'Owen, my brother, and me, are from Australia', Alice interjected with confidence. 'We used to wash our dog, Rex, with a few drops of tea tree oil, in the water'.

We were through the door now, in a room full of lots of shelves and boxes. The lady turned around.

'Is that so my dear. I have visited that country a number of times'.

'Beauty!' Alice replied, and added, 'I hope you got to visit Sydney. That's where we lived'.

'Oh, yes, I did dear. Now come along and help me have a look for this pooch soap, and then, we'll have some tea.'

Firstly, I had to adjust myself to the very bright fluorescent lights, which were illuminating this basement. This was a shock after the darkness of the tunnel, but, then, I noticed a rather large security camera, which was mounted on the wall and aimed right at us. Also, I was beginning to think that this lady looked somewhat familiar. But I couldn't quite place her.

'Now dears, just get some of those boxes down, and have a look for a package that says Tilley's 'Timid Joe' Dog Soap.'

There were some of the strangest things in these boxes. Owen pulled out a small book called: The Little Book of Chavspeak, and he looked really chuffed. 'This would help me at school, I reckon', he announced.

''Where do you go to school, dear', asked the lady.

'In Knightsbridge', he replied grumpily.

The lady put her finger in the air, and said, 'I have just the book for you dearie'. She shuffled off to an interesting old wardrobe, which had a large dragon's head in the centre and swung both doors open. Inside, there was a whole stack of books, which appeared to be all the same. She selected three copies, and trundled back and handed out a copy to each of us. Owen looked down and read in a puzzled manner:

'The Official Sloane Ranger Handbook.'

'They're heading for extinction dear and we must bolster the numbers', the lady pronounced, and added, 'and, stay away from Hampstead; there are too many dangerous ideas, floating in the ether around there!'

I don't know why, but again, we merely nodded like hair-brained ponies, and continued to rummage through the various boxes. But every now and again, I would glance up at the camera on the wall, and wonder, if the presence of such surveillance should make me feel afraid, or safe. Certainly, though, I didn't feel comfortable, or, free.

'Oh look in here!' bellowed Alice, as she pulled a long, blonde wig; silver, platform shoes, and a colorful kaftan out of a box, and dumped them on the floor. 'These look like dressing-up clothes!'

'Yes, they are dear. Sometimes I like stroll down and do a spot of shopping, incognito, at Harvey Nichols or Harrods. Or, take in a midnight walk'.

'What fun', Alice shrieked, putting the blonde wig on her head, and looking completely ridiculous.

Eventually, after going through boxes of, clogs, crocodile teeth, jars of peanut butter, shell necklaces, chandeliers, crowns and a few ceremonial masks, we found the dog soap. The lady clapped her hands with glee, and said, 'now, let's go upstairs and have some tea'.

We all trooped down a narrow passageway, which led to a lift. The button was duly pressed and we hurtled upwards to the second floor, where we came out in a hallway of fresh, blood-red carpet, and gilt frame mirrors, on white walls. But soon, we entered a sitting room with a migraine inducing, yellow, chequered carpet. On a separate, red, Turkey carpet, however, there camped a whole load of fat, vacuous looking corgis'.

'Ha, ha! Imagine if that was a magic carpet, and all those silly dogs flew out the window', snorted Alice. Luckily, the lady did not appear to have heard this soliloquy of silliness, as she was over by a small, yellowish timber table, where a large teapot sat, with four tea cups and saucers. I did find it very strange, however, to find that, cups were already set out for us, but such thoughts were whooshed away, by the sight of a three-layer, cake stand, which displayed an assortment of delish, sweet dainties.

We sat down on the assorted chairs and patted the corgis', which came snuffling about for a cake and biscuit. The lady smiled at us happily, and took out her rather long knitting. Owen immediately sped over and sat at her knee, and watched, as she clicked and clacked the needles. 'I've always wanted to knit', he said dreamily.

As the lady explained the ins and outs of knitting to Owen: casting on and off and purl and plain, Alice and I frolicked about with a base guitar, which had been propped next-to a chintz chair. 'Careful with that instrument now dears', as it belongs to my grandsons'.

After tea, the lady said that, she would show us a secret door, which would take us outside. We followed her out of the cosy sitting room (the corgis didn't even move: the indolent creatures!) and like a conga line, proceeded down the red carpeted hallway. The lady stopped in front of a tall and thin mirror, and pressed a button on the wall. It sprung open and we stepped through sideways and entered an old room, with a large four poster bed, which had some very ancient looking tapestry hangings on it. The room had the appearance of not having been used for a hundred years, and I thought that, there must be at least one spook haunting it.

We moved along and came out on another hallway, which had some moth-eaten old carpet on the floor, and rows of spooky old portraits, with eyes which appeared to be following us. Some of the men in these photos were wearing, white, long, curling wigs, high heeled shoes, and some odd, striped, puffy shorts.

'I saw a bloke wearing something like that, down on Old Compton Street last week', announced Alice, as we sailed past.

We came to a grand, carved staircase, and down we went. Then, it was a mind bewildering expedition, through rooms and rooms, and corridors, until we came to another mirror. The lady turned to us and said, 'I am so pleased to have met you all.' She then, pressed a button, and we found ourselves tumbling out onto the street.

The air outside was cold, and the sun was going down; it would soon be getting dark.

'You know', said Owen tentatively, squinting up at the building that we had just fallen out of, 'that lady looked a bit like The Queen, but the pink tracksuit threw me a bit'.

'I had that thought myself', I agreed. 'But I was confused by those rabbit slippers; although, the tracksuit, also, had me befuddled'.

Alice, however, was marching ahead, and yelled, 'we better get home, Owen, as Rhonda and Bruce will have a cow'. Then, she ran back toward me, gave me a hug and said, 'thanks for having us over. Can we visit next week?' I nodded (again) and off they ran, waving and dancing a jig.

I took off, in the growing cold darkness, toward home.

I was speeding through Hyde Park and getting close to home, thinking about fire places, hot water bottles and steaming cups of coffee, when a small man stepped into my path. He had a pointed schnoz, long, grisly, grey hair, and an overcoat which was way too large for him. And none too clean.

'Hello me young sir', he said, as stood before me, like a badly dressed gnome.

'Good evening', I replied, perhaps, with some hesitation.

'Careful of that there pavement pizza', he blurted, pushing me suddenly. I looked down, and indeed, someone had recently lost their lunch. Then, he came over altogether serious.

'I heard tell from one of the old snouts that, you might have been involved in some underground dealings?'

'What! I say; what are you implying?' I countered with outrage.

The gnome-man appeared a bit crestfallen. Then he looked around quickly, to the left and then to the right and said out of the side of his mouth, 'Come over to me digs and we'll have a bit of a chin-wag'.

'I was somewhat puzzled. However, I bowed and said, 'after you good sir'.

He scurried into the darkness, and I followed, like a fully-fledged, nocturnal marsupial.

He led me to a wooded, damp bit of the park, where he suddenly fell down on his hands and knees, and rushed forward like a canine creature after a bone. Bemoaning the damage to my green, velvet breeches, I followed.

Beyond the ring of herbage, there was a small, green, plastic tent. Gnome man beckoned me inside, and I followed, all the while thinking that, I was being a silly nincompoop.

I sat with gnome man, upon a rather smelly, green, sleeping bag, and waited as he switched on a large portable lamp.

'Look 'ere chum, I don't know how you came to find yourself underfoot like, but that there underground nook is a classified secret. Get it?'

I didn't 'get it', at all. But I did understand that, he was telling me that, we shouldn't have been anywhere near the subterranean train station. How he knew about it, though, was a mystery!

'I would say that, it is none of your concern, actually'. I spluttered, indignantly.

'None of my concern! None of my concern!' He chanted like a broken record. He, then, stood up, drew himself up to his full height (which wasn't much at all) and muttered, 'I was entrusted, I'll have you know; you young scallywag'.

Then I noticed an odd thing. As gnome man was making this incoherent speech, he was groping a shiny object around his neck. I peered closer. It was a key, and that key appeared to have a lion in the bow!

### Chapter 6.

Beastly Things and Wartime Secrets

I took the two keys from my pocket, and held them up, showing them to gnome man. I saw his jaw fall open, and he dropped to his knees.

'Blimey!' he said, 'where in the heck did you crib those?

'One of them', I replied, 'I found in a secret drawer in my grandfather's desk. And the other, was inside a chocolate box'.

'It did come to me mind before, that, you had the look of him in the eye. Him, that was Phineas Nutters, that is. He was a rare man your grandfather. A rare man. And the key in the chocy box, well now, that one must have belonged to Millie.'

'Who pray is Millie', I asked.

'Ah, well now, Millie is Millie. A right clever filly that one. She was a spy in war time, you know. Infiltrated the enemy back in 1942, when she woz sniffing around for the Die Glocke UFO, a kind of flying saucer, wot was supposed to run on a mercury-like substance. Code-named Xerum 525, or, some such thing. Who'd credit it!' He laughed uproariously for a moment.

'But what was my grandfather doing and how was he connected to Millie, and these keys', I said, holding them up. 'And who are you?' I added.

'Just call me Cogwhistle; it does me. If you please'. He said this with an almost imperial incline of the old scone.

'Nutters, your oldster, and Millie and me, we woz part of a covert, secret unit, called Operation Bonksproket which woz connected to Operation Double-cross. Cogwhistle looked thoughtful for a moment, then continued. 'We wos trying to win the war. We wos working on ways to infiltrate the enemy like, and dreaming up many a hair-brained scheme.'

'I am feeling most confused'. I admitted, as I sat shivering in the dark, in a green plastic tent, in a thicket in Hyde Park, hearing these strange tales.

'Blimy! Something else just whacked me in the noggin,' Cogwhistle said, as he thumped his forehead. Millie, she was your grandad's main squeeze'.

'What! What, do you mean?' I fairly shrieked.

'Keep ya pants on matie. He got hitched up with er when he was dropped into France, in the early part of the war'.

'You mean my grandmother was his second wife?'

'Something like it', he said, scratching his oily head.

'So Millie is French?'

'That's what I said didn't I? He half growled, then, looked deeply apologetic.

'It is the first time that I am hearing about all this, so you must excuse me', I added. I was feeling most discombobulated, I can tell you.

'Lookie here young gent, the strife is long over, and we won. Now we're living in the pink. But you got to realise that, you can't go blabber-mouthing anything about that there downstairs neighbourhood to anyone'. Cogwhistle froze for a moment and then, scampered on his hands and knees, to take a gander outside the tent. He returned and continued, but his eye balls, had not yet retracted fully back to normal; he looked like he had a couple of snooker balls for peepers.

'The thing is small fry (I was almost twice as tall as him), your pop's is gone, and Mille, these days, is using her smarts to find missing treasures of the realm... and, she has her fingers in other strange doings.'

The bit about, 'missing treasures of the realm', sounded so stately, that I thought I must need my ears cleaning. However, Cogwhistle repeated the phrase and then said, 'we got to take these keys to Mille, cos it might help her clear your grandad's name'.

At this very point, I could feel a migraine coming on. There was a low buzz in my head, a stiffness of the neck, a blurring of the vision, and I was beginning to see flashing lights. However, I ploughed on. 'So what exactly is my grandfather, Phineas, accused of?'

'I hope you're not winding me up boy? Your gramps was responsible for some loot worth over three billion pounds. It was sent from Australia on a ship in 1942, and put into a vault for safe keeping. These keys', he pointed to the keys in my pocket, were held by only five bodies. One woz me', he held up his key, 'your pops, Clemy, Millie, and Rupert Bloodworth.'

My head was zinging at this point, but two thoughts crashed together. 'Why wasn't my Great Uncle Crispin involved in this business, and who, was Rupert Bloodworth?'

'Crispy wasn't involved cos he was an intelligence fella, who woz sent out to Singapore. It's funny ya know, the allies easily outnumbered the Japs, but our fellas didn't know squat about fighting in jungles. Crispy, he was nabbed as a prisoner of war and landed in Changi Prison. Then after, he and a load of other geezers were sent on a train out to Thailand. They couldn't even get a kip or take forty winks on that jaunt, cos there was not enough room to swing a cat. Phiny, did tell me that, Crispy had to leg it, for 200 miles through the jungle, with the wet stuff falling 24/7 and only a handful of rice to peck at'.

I was feeling seriously disorientated. 'I knew nothing about any of this', I moaned, half from the pain in my head, and half from the pain in my heart. I didn't know that Uncle Crispy had been through so much. He certainly had never told me any of this. And my brain, stuck in the world of today, could hardly conceive of such a thing as war.

'Now getting to old Rupert Bloodworth, he was some plant from Whitehall. A real snooty geezer, he was....is. He also went out to Frogland during the war, banished like, after some geezer fingered him as trying to kidnap The Regals and send em to the enemy. They never found anything on him, though, and so, Whitehall sent him to us, after. To keep an eye on him, like. I still sees him about now and then. Though, these days he is right matey.'

I got up and said, 'I'm expected at home, could we continue this conversation at some other time?'

Cogwhistle's face and body became immobile, like he wasn't sure what to do. Then, he scampered outside, and held the flap open for me, whilst he scanned the environment.

I bid Cogwhistle goodbye and I scurried home, as my head was full and ready to explode. It felt like the world was pressing in upon me, and I still had to get past Mrs Pollard.

Sure enough, old Polly was in battle mode, insisting that I eat my dinner and feed Esmeralda before I escaped to my room. I pretended to eat a few spoonful's of stew and then, grabbed the cat biscuits and went outside (from the laundry) to call Esmeralda. The sound of cars in the distance, mumbled an indistinct message, but she did not come. Then I remembered that she was probably somewhere underground. I did not worry, as she was probably having a wonderful time, with London's rat population.

\-------------------------

It took me a few days to recover from my migraine. They are such beastly things; like having a squeezing vice on your head. However, by Tuesday, I was much better, but then, I had to work full-throttle to catch up with the school work that, I had missed. I almost managed another migraine, when I found out that my tutor, Mr Osbourne, wanted me to read the Metamorphoses, by the Roman poet, Ovid, which comprises about fifteen books. It is a great epic; something between myth and history, which tells us how everything changes....except, his poetry of course. Not even the devouring ages can destroy that! A wee bit conceited, I thought.

\--------------------------------------------------------

If you peeped in the window, of my uncle's Bayswater house, late on the following Friday night, you would have seen me, lounging in The Fainting Room, on a rose-pink, chaise lounge, reading a book that, my dad had sent me, called, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Dad said that, I needed to read this book, as the next one to be published in the series, would be very important, indeed. Luckily, the book was first-class. I was just up to that part, when Harry finds out that he is famous, when I became aware of a scratching noise, outside the window.

I got up and padded over to the window, and peered out. A few flakes of snow were swirling about in the yellow light of the street lamp, and it looked cold. I retreated and went back near the fireplace, where a cheerful little flame was burning in the grate. I was just popping a pink marshmallow into my mouth, from a box that Mrs Pollard had received from one of her secret admirers, when I saw a face rise up in front of me, from the window.

I was about to scream, like an alarmed hamster, until, I realised that; it was just Cogwhisitle, beckoning me from a branch of the Slippery Elm Tree, in the front garden.

Racing back over to the window, I was just in time to see Cogwhistle, slip down the elm and fall into a heap on the ground, and land in a pile of slushy leaves.

Hurtling outside like a freight train with an urgent delivery, I helped Cogwhistle out of the leaf pile and into The Fainting Room, where he sat perched upon the pink velvet, chaise lounge. This was a sight which played strangely with the old brain cells.

'Sorry to drop in on you unannounced like, but I set it up with Mille that, we'll drop on her tomorrow, early bright'. Cogwhistle said, as lay down and made himself comfortable with a small patchwork rug; pulling it up to his chin.

But first, I had a few things I wanted to ask.

'So, where does Millie live then and why is it that, Uncle Crispy has never mentioned her?

'Lookie my young sir, this is not really my yarn to spill.....but I will.' He yawned widely, took a deep breath, and tucked the rug more tightly around him.

'Mostly, things woz going along tickety boo, until old Phiny went and disappeared himself in Africa back in 1989. Phiny, ya see, woz the oldest twin by a small bite, so he scored the ancestral pile, when his oldies dropped off the perch, back in the 1950s. But Phiny, he woz not interested in being lord of the manor, like. He and Crispy had long had the notion that, they would bring the wild plants and animals back to old Blighty and that's what Crispy was doing on the lands of Blackstock Hall, while Phiny was off looking at old bits of bones, around the globe. But then, Phiny goes and drops off the map, and Mille, who had nipped back to Frogland after the war, turned up again. And it turned out that, she was Phiny's legal wife, not Clemy, like we all believed. And so, the family shed fell into Millie's lap. And let me tell you: Crispy wasn't right pleased. He felt he got shafted.'

I did not say anything for the moment, because, there was so much to take in. 'But what about the missing loot?' I asked, feeling mightily confused.

'Ah well, the matter of the missing lolly, woz a tricky one. No one woz charged, but a dark cloud hung over Phiny, all the same. And the pickle of it woz that, when the lolly arrived in the Old Smoke, it woz just as the Krauts launched the Vengeance weapons. These woz pilotless bombs, and believe you me, everything woz a right shambles. The lolly woz in the vault. And then it wasn't'.

Uncle Crispy walked into the room and he spoke out as though making a speech in the town square. 'We wanted to bring back the nightingales, the kingfishes, the robins, the Purple Monarch butterflies, the beavers, the water birds and the red squirrels. We wanted to be part of restoring Britain's ecology. Now, Millie is the owner of Blackstock Hall, and our plans have come to nought. And let us not forget, dear Clementine, your grandmother, Benedict'. Uncle Crispy glared at me, as though I was to blame for the whole shambles. 'She married Phineas in good faith. Then, when he disappeared, Clementine, found out that she was never really his wife in the first place. Phineas had earlier been married in France, and so, she lost her home. Clementine had to come and live here, as her own family couldn't bear the shame. Or, so they said'. He snorted with disgust.

I really didn't know what to say at this point, so I remained quiet. Uncle Crispy, however, continued. 'Millie claims that she is engaged in trying to clear my brother's name, but she is also mixed up in some very blackish business. Developing things like remotely controlled armed, flying robots; cyber hacking, and even invisibility cloaks for nefarious purposes. I baulk at the idea of seeing her, and I cannot approve of her actions.

Mrs Pollard steamed into The Fainting Room, like a ship in full sail. She was pushing a tea trolley laden with piles of sandwiches, and a large tea pot with a cosy, embellished with lots of colourful pom poms.

'Put down those marshmallows young man', Polly ordered, like a general on the battle field, without even laying her eyeballs upon me. Not that this was unusual; Uncle Crispy and I had already agreed that, Polly had eyes in the back of her head, disguised under her iron, grey hair. Then, Polly appeared to become frozen in time and space. And Cogwhistle sat up, as if propelled by rocket fuel. What was going on?

'Bertha is that you luv?'

'Oh, I can't believe it! Bevis Cogwhistle, in the flesh!' Polly fairly swooned, causing Cogwhistle to leap up like a deer in springtime, and gently lower Polly onto the chaise lounge.

'So, how do you two characters know each other?' asked Uncle Crispy in a bewildered manner.

'Well, back afore the war, we woz stepping out together', Said Cogwhistle in a shy and pained kind of way. 'I wanted to hook up the ball and chain with this here dish, but her old man didn't think too highly of me'.

'I was only 16 at the time, and so, my pappy put the stopper on me, seeing Bevis'. Tears were spilling from Polly's eyes, as the pair spontaneously sought each other's hand.

Uncle Crispy's eyes rolled upward toward the pearly gates, and he muttered, 'please save me from the virus of love'.

However, I was still mightily puzzled. 'So Uncle Crispy, how come you didn't know that my grandfather was married to Millie? You were in France, were you not?'

I didn't know, because, Phineas stayed in France on assignment longer than me. I completed my mission and returned back to England. In early 1942, I was sent out the Pacific. I did not return until 1945,' explained Uncle Crispy, in a very clipped and dry manner, which was unlike his usual self. 'And Phineas never mentioned Millie to me, and neither did anyone else. Indeed, I did not meet Millie until after the disappearance of my brother, when she claimed our ancestral home.'

He continued.

'I had inherited this place in Bayswater, when I was a young whip of 18, from a relative who favoured me, dear Benedict', my uncle waved his hands about. 'Phineas had been living here with me, and as I related to you, we had both been involved in code breaking. However, after I was sent out to Singapore and Phineas stayed in France, he became involved with Millie, who was a member of the French Resistance. Phineas, supposedly brought Millie back to England with him, but she left soon after the war finished. Phineas never said that he was leg-shackled with the girl, in my hearing!'

'But, Uncle Crispy, did you not know what work my grandfather, your brother, was involved in, during the war?'

'We did not speak much about it Benedict. You see, I do know that, Phineas was responsible for a fair load of valuable loot, which had been designated for various undercover operations. This loot disappeared. Your grandfather was never charged. No evidence was found against him, but much suspicion remained. We did not speak directly of these things, and Phineas became immersed in his anthropology research, later. He spent many years out of the country, whilst I was concerned with rewilding Blackstock Manor '.

My mind was spinning like a merry go round, but I turned to Cogwhistle. 'How did you come to be involved with my grandfather and Operation Double-cross?'

Cogwhisle looked taken aback. 'Now you young tadpole, don't go speaking that name aloud.' He swallowed and continued. 'It was like this: I was drafted with the British Expeditionary Force in 1939, cos for the start, it woz just a Phoney War. But later, I chanced on Phiny, at Dunkirk, when Operation Dynamo was happening.' He closed his eyes briefly, as he cast his mind back into the past. 'There we woz.... surrounded by the Fritz, and bailing out of there fast, when I stumbled across Phiny and Millie; they woz trying to get a report back to HQ, quick sticks. I saved their necks that day, when I took the bullets meant for them. Later on, Phiny came looking for me personally, as he thought I'd be up to snuff for the job, he woz to set up in the Old Dart'.

'Are you saying, Mr Cogwhistle, that, you actually willing put yourself in the line of fire', I gasped.

'Probably wasn't the brightest thing I eva done, but when I saw that geezer aiming his burner at them there lovebirds, me body didn't listen to me brains. Of course, I woz in the sick bay for months. But then, afterwards, Phiny he came looking for me specially.'

'So', I said, 'what shall we do about tomorrow and seeing Millie?'

'We'll all go', pronounced Uncle Crispy, 'Cogwhistle you can kip down in the Potter Room on the second floor. We'll leave at sparrow fart'.

At first, I was confused by the name Potter Room, and I looked down at the book I was holding, confused. Then, I realised that, the Potter Room on the second floor, housed another taxidermy collection, which Uncle Crispy had also inherited with the house. However, these stuffed animals were set in various dioramas, engaged in normal human pursuits. There were anthropomorphised kittens, dressed in gowns celebrating a wedding; there was a school room of toads at their desks, attending to their slates, and a band of hamsters playing some instruments. It was fairly ghastly. I would have a nightmare in that room, for sure. However, as my mind churned over Cogwhistle's tent in that dank corner of Hyde Park, I decided that the Potter Room was, perhaps, a step up.

We drank our tea, and nibbled our sandwiches and then, said our good nights. Cogwhistle and Polly held hand for a moment, and then drew apart, like Heathcliff and Cathy, on the Yorkshire Moors.

'Until tomorrow then', declared Cogwhistle, most poetically. We separated, as we repaired to our respective bedchambers, wondering what the morrow would bring.

Chapter 7.

What Lies Beneath

Early the next morning, Polly, Cogwhistle and I, were crammed into Uncle Crispy's, Bond Minicar, roaring along on three wheels, with Uncle Crispy driving. For the occasion, Uncle Crispy was decked out in an ancient motoring coat, gloves and goggles and I noted that, we were attracting many strange and surprised looks, as we tooled along.

The car didn't have a radio, so we sang songs, like Row, Row, Row Your Boat and One Man Went to Mow. And before we knew it, we were driving down a bumpy road, surrounded by overhanging trees, which locked out the sky. Then, a tall, black wrought iron gate was upon us, and we stopped. Uncle Crispy hopped out and waved his hand for Cogwhistle to get out too.

'You better do the old chitchat Cogwhistle. I'm not too popular around here.'

'Okie dokie, that I will', replied Cogwhistle, blowing up like a puffer fish with pride.

Cogwhistle's long and bony finger pressed a button on an intercom and we waited, until a softly accented voice, blared out with an ear splitting crackle, 'hello, hello, who is there?'

'Hello me old china, it's me Cogwhistle, wots here....and a few other bodies'.

''Well, come in then', Millie's disembodied voice, piped out from the speaker.

The gates began to grind and grate, as they slowly opened and we drove through, along a bumpy roadway, surrounded by trees pushing in from all sides.

'Ah! it is wonderful to see all the vegetation that I planted all those years ago. It's all come along grandly.' Uncle Crispy sighed, with something between pride and sadness.

After we had been driving along for some minutes, the trees thinned out and we could see a great expanse of lush green parkland, with red deer feeding, and a pond, where ducks and swans seemed to chug along in slow motion. I rolled down the car window, and as the cold air rushed in; we were rewarded with the music of bird song and the delightful sight of small birds hopping about, and twittering on tree branches. It was really quite magical, until a rushing thought came into my mind that, my father should have inherited this place, which meant that, one day; this all could have been mine. I felt an inner hot feeling of intensity and pain, perhaps mixed with greed. Suddenly, I could understand, to a small extent, why people do unconscionable acts, in their desire for land.

We rounded a bend in the road, and suddenly, the imposing bulk of Blackstock Hall loomed over us; its Georgian exterior was cold and impassive, but as I became aware of the dark void of the windows, which gave the impression of eyes observing us, I felt like a powerless insect, at the mercy of a great and tremendous beast. But, perhaps, on reflection, my feelings may have stemmed from, the sudden awareness, of the beast that, might just reside within me.

All business, Cogwhistle rocketed out of the car and tore toward the formidable front door and thumped the hefty lion's head, brass knocker. As we waited, behind Cogwhistle, in the warm sunshine, I spied the pointed face and black nose of a hedgehog, as it appeared from a hedgerow, and disappeared again. Then, a small, red squirrel moved like an electric current, up the trunk of a graceful Elm tree; I turned, and watched Uncle Crispy, smiling in delight.

The door creaked opened and a bloodless, thin man, who would have made an excellent, old- timey, film vampire, materialised. He nodded his head, curtly as Cogwhistle spluttered, 'Rupert Bloodworth!' Uncle Crispy appeared to stagger backwards. Without another word, Bloodworth, clicked his ankles, and turned like a wind-up toy. We followed him along a dark hallway of black and white checkerboard tiles, and incongruous purple and yellow walls. Although, Uncle Crispy was at my rear, I could feel his discomfort.

A short time later, we entered a sun-filled room, filled with soft, floral lounges and lurid, yellow curtains. As my eyes adjusted, I became aware of a woman in a motorised wheelchair, speeding toward us. This was Millie!

With long, black hair, a slash of red lips and flowing chiffon robes, Millie, had a striking old time, movie-star glamour. But as she zoomed closer, I could see that she was as old as Uncle Crispy. And while Uncle Crispy looked soft and gentle, Mille looked hard, with tight leathery skin, stretched over the jutting bones of her skull. Then, she smiled.

When Mille smiled, that shrunken, taut face became bewitching. Suddenly you could see her character and strength and confidence come up to meet you. And her eyes flashed with a quick intelligence, and humour. But I also felt that, she was laughing at us, in some indefinable way.

'Welcome', Millie said, 'It's been a long time Crispin. I hope you have forgiven me for this house' she spread her delicate hands wide, and then continued. 'So much time has passed, why carry old grudges?'

Uncle Crispy merely bowed slightly and then glanced over to Cogwhistle. Taking his cue, Cogwhistle, stepped boldly forward, and cut straight to the heart of the matter.

'Good to see ya, Millie me gal. The thing is, as I told ya, the ankle biter here, found himself two of the lion's vault keys. My thought is that, one of 'em is likely yours, and the other, as might be Phiny's. Wot you say to that?'

The room hummed with silence for a moment. Then, Millie spoke. 'You say the second key was found in a chocolate box, which held a selection of ancient Greek writings?'

'That be so, eh, Benny me boy?' Cogwhistle asked, as he twisted around like a garden hose, to look at me.

'Yes, ma'am', I answered, as my brain fought a war with itself. It felt somehow traitorous to be dealing with this woman. And yet, I also felt the strength of this ancient queen bee, who sat before me, defying, with every ounce of her being, the decay of her earthly body, as she sought a stake in the future.

'The chocolate box and the poems actually belonged to Clementine, your grandmother', she said thoughtfully, as she nodded slowly toward me. 'Clementine was the classical scholar. That is how Phineas and Clementine first began their passion; through the ancient words of Euripides, Sophocles and Ovid.'

Forgetting my fine scruples, I blurted, 'And yet, you, Madame, were already married to my grandfather? Did you just stand aside and say nothing?

Millie eyeballed me intensely for a moment, and then, sighed heavily. 'Well, I suppose that I must admit it. The thing is: the marriage was one of mere convenience, a fake one in fact; part of our cover as intelligence operatives during the war. Phineas did not think that this marriage had any real legal weight. I am sure he thought no more about it after I returned to France in 1945, and when he courted and married your grandmother, Clementine'.

Again, I felt struggles within. One part of me was relieved that my grandfather was not the cad that, he had at first appeared. However, Millie's actions appeared devious and despicable. She had deprived my grandmother of a home and my grandfather, and especially, Uncle Crispy, of their dream to rewild this land, so that she could use this house, and work on her military technology.

However, Millie continued.

'It was your grandmother who wrote to me when your grandfather disappeared in Africa. It was she who wanted me to inherit this house and continue working on future military technologies. There was a catch of course. I had to will this place to you after my demise, Benedict, and I had to track down the lost shipment from Australia. And, of course, clear your grandfather's name in the process.'

Millie stared in to space for a while, as we waited for her to continue.

'We were good friends, your grandmother and I; we were both part of Operation Double-cross, you know, and so we spent many days and nights in the underground citadel, where we had time to talk and laugh about the fake marriage between Phineas and I. It was when Clementine returned to England from India, when your father was a baby that, she learned that the supposed fake marriage between Phineas and me was in fact legal. Realising that a scandal may erupt, however, she choose to remain tight-lipped...it was a different time, you know'

'But from what I have heard, this loot has never been found', I said somewhat defiantly, ignoring Millie's reasonable explanation.

'No. I will admit that I have been immersed in my work. I am close to creating an invisibly cloak, which can be used in combat. Such things as this have consumed me. However, now, it seems that we have all the keys, and so, we are somewhat closer to our target.'

'We have all the keys, but, we do not know where the vault is located?' I spluttered.

Your grandmother, Clementine, told me that your grandfather left her a poem, in his will. A single poem, by Lord Byron, called, The Siege of Corinth. She believed that this poem, contained clues to the where-a-bouts of the vault.'

'I was starting to become confused again.

But, why did my grandfather not reveal where the loot was hidden?' I demanded 'And why did he allow his reputation to be besmirched and risk going to jail if he knew where the shipment was hidden all the time?'

'Because, mon petit garcon, did you perhaps consider that, this loot was not gold, or money at all, but something else entirely?

Now I was really befuddled and bewildered.

Millie turned away and called out, 'Bloodworth, please call the kitchen and tell Françoise that, we are ready for the refreshments'. The silent and wraith-like, Bloodworth, who had been floating around like smoke, inclined his head slightly and left the room.

'Bloodworth has been such a great help to me, in my work', Millie stated, and then she turned back to me, but did not say anything immediately. Finally, she said slowly:

'Clementine mentioned certain things to me, when she contacted me in 1989: things that she believed were true, but which she could not prove. These beliefs were based on certain conversations that, she had had with Phineas and from putting two and two together'.

There was a loud eruption from Uncle Crispy, who had thus far been quiet and as meek, as a new born lamb. He launched into his diatribe. 'I have been listening to this fictional tale with great interest. Do you really expect us all to suspend our reason and logic, and accept this febrile fantasy from your imagination?

Millie did not move; she simply glared at Uncle Crispy with acute distaste, 'if you will allow me to finish, Monsieur'.

'Pray, please do, Madame'.

But the windows of the room were wide open and a sudden breeze whipped up and slapped the eye-watering, yellow curtains about in a sort of disco dance, as we waited. Then, the smell of crumpets and honey, mingling with the aroma of coffee, bloomed into the room, as the door opened and closed, accompanied by the squeak of wheels. And we waited. Finally, Millie continued.

'As I was saying, Clementine suspected that it was not gold that had been carried on that ship from Australia in 1944. She believed that it was uranium, which, as you know, can be used in the production of nuclear weapons.

An audible gasp filled the room. Cogwhistle stepped forward, 'I reckon you're right on the money, Millie. As I remember it, these backdoor bobby types, were sent out to rake Phiny over the coals, and all he kept saying, over and over, was, "I have no knowledge"'. I didn't swallow the line he woz throwing, but I thought he had his reasons'.

Millie nodded toward Cogwhistle, and then continued explaining. 'In essence, Clementine wanted this suspected uranium to be found and safely disposed of, and for Phineas to be cleared of any wrong doing. Clementine, you see, believed that Phineas and others were trying to save the world from ruin, when they hid the uranium, during the war. And, of course, Clementine had a great belief in my work, even though she knew that, in the wrong hands, these technologies could be used for evil. She believed that I was working for peace.'

Rupert Bloodworth floated about handing out cups of tea and crumpets. I was just biting into a scrumptious crumpet, spread with butter and oozing with heather honey, when I heard old Polly pipe up.

'Forgive me for butting in people, but I can't help wondering why, this Clementine person, who seemed to be a clever woman, didn't track down these keys herself. After all, her key was in her chocolate box, and surely, her husband had told her where he kept his key?'

The motorised wheel chair carrying Millie, suddenly zipped across the room and she closed the windows. Immediately, the curtains lost their life, and the room became unnaturally still.

'The reason, Madam, is related to a strange family history. You see, Clementine's mother, and her mother before her, had developed the same very strange and odd affliction, which began to take root when they were in their second decade of life. From what Clementine told me, this affliction involved collecting newspapers. However, this variety of newspaper collecting, would become an obsessive activity, almost to the exclusion of all else. It took Clementine a great deal of mental energy, to wrest her thoughts away from her newspaper piles, and do other things; like, collect her grandson from the other side of the world; or, apply her neurons to clearing her husband's name, and finding some hidden uranium. This is why she needed me.'

'So what do we do then?' asked Uncle Crispy, simply and directly. Although, I could see from his face that, he felt as confused and topsy-turvy inside, as I was.

'For a start', voiced the dirge like tones of Rupert Bloodworth, we can read and examine the poem, The Siege of Corinth, by Lord Byron, as it seems that, Phineas made a point of leaving a copy of it in his will. Within it, we will, perhaps, find a clue'.

'Of course', interjected Millie, 'there is an obvious clue, as you will soon see; the various references to lions, within the poem. However, this has not helped me, and it did not help Clementine, either. We searched everything in this house and your house, Crispin', she said, nodding toward him with a wry smile, 'which displayed a lion in any form'.

I watched Uncle Crispy, as he looked around at this room, in this house, where he had lived as a child, with a mournful, hangdog look. And then, he said, almost to himself:

'Oh the things that we do not know, that we do not know'.

Then, it was time to leave.

### Chapter 8

Seeking and Finding

In the afternoon, I read Lord Byron's poem over and over, but I kept coming back to the bit of the poem, which said, Within the "Lion's mouth". This had to be a clue, I thought. So then, I began to walk through the house, on a search for lions. There were plenty.

In Uncle Crispy's library, I climbed onto a chair and examined the lion's head on the wall. But I found nothing. But as I did so, I thought about how, I really could understand how Uncle Crispy felt about the gruesome animal remains', which filled this house. He found them sad and disturbing, but he could not bring himself to throw them away, as though, their lives had meant nothing. And Uncle Crispy, also, had tried to atone for the actions of his barbaric ancestors, in his desire to rewild the lands of Blackstock Manor, but in that, he had been thwarted.

I continued trotting around the library, searching for anything lion related. Near the window, hanging right over Uncle Crispy's wingback chair, there hung small a painting, in a timber frame, carved to look like bamboo, of one of the four lions which sat at the base of Nelson's Column in Trafalgar Square. I'd never really taken much interest in this artwork before.

I took the painting down. On the back, there were three lines of writing, written in a loopy black script:

Tis said the lion will turn and flee,

lions o'er the jackal sway,

vaults beneath the mosaic stone (?)

These words were from Byron's poem, The Siege of Corinth. But why did the last line have the question mark after it? I could find nothing else suspicious, or helpful, though. And it did occur to me to wonder, if it was possible that, the uranium, or whatever the missing shipment was, could be hidden under Trafalgar Square, in the centre of London. Perhaps one of the lion statues had a secret door in the side. It would be worth having a look, I thought.

The lion statues in Trafalgar Square were Barbary lions, which were native to North Africa. I thought that this fact would have appealed to my grandfather, who, had spent so much time in Africa, and who had disappeared there. Another thought came into my mind. I had recently read that, Hitler had planned to invade Britain during the last war, and take Nelson's Column and transport it to Berlin. As a place to hide something important and dangerous, Trafalgar Square could be seen as symbolic, but perhaps also, very risky.

I trundled along to Uncle Crispy's bedroom, which was on the same floor as his library, and pushed the heavy door open. It was dark and cold inside.

I tip-toed into the room and pushed back the heavy, peacock blue, velvet curtains and the weak sunlight rushed in. It was a simple and sparsely furnished room, with a three door wardrobe, on squat cabriole legs; a matching chest of drawers, and a single bed, accompanied by two bedside tables, all constructed of burr walnut. On the walls, however, I could see a suite of paintings, but only one featured a lion. I looked it over carefully, but there was nothing interesting there. I crept into the attached bathroom, and immediately noticed the lion's head tap head. Could that be a clue? I did not know, but it did not seem likely.

I continued looking about on the second floor, and then on the ground floor. I found various lion figurines, door handles, and pictures that had previously passed under my radar. It is funny how often, you only notice things, when you are actually looking for them, and yet, they were there all the time.

I was tired and hungry now, so I gave up and trundled into the kitchen to make a sandwich. Polly was working at the kitchen bench, up to her elbows in flour, making a huge bean and potato pie. Cogwhistle was seated at the kitchen table reading through the Lord Byron poem, searching for a clue, a code, or secret message. Or anything useful. I didn't tell Polly or Cogwhistle about what I had found, as I wanted to think on these clues for a while.

'Lawks, this here scribbling sets up me bristles!' Cogwhistle exclaimed loudly.

'Why is that?' I asked.

'If this gent had just listened to the Francesca dame, he could have avoided a shedload of to-do'.

'What are you nattering about Bevis me love? Asked Polly reasonably. 'Where's the romance in you? The Bevis Cogwhistle I knew, way back when, was a true romantic gentleman.'

'Aw, Edna, me luv, I know I'm carrying on like a pork chop....'

Polly toddled over to Cogwhistle, and patted him on the shoulder, with her floury hands; puffs of flour rose up like mushroom clouds, as Cogwhistle gazed adoringly, like a cane toad, in monsoon season, at Polly.

I set about assembling my favourite sandwich: curried egg and lettuce, on black, rye bread. None of those plastic hamburgers for me! I have always found it rather disturbing, (well since I can remember) to see people eating food which looks like it has come off an assembly line. I then drank a glass of milk, and I was just getting ready to continue my investigations, when Cogwhistle, released from his spell, addressed me:

'Benny, my boy, I been meaning to have a bit of a gab with you since the morning, coz Millie slipped me a pair of two way radios. She wanted you to 'ave 'em, she said. She reckons they might come in right handy'. He then shoved a small, shiny box at me, with a picture on the cover of what I called walkie talkies.' I felt excited. I wanted to tell Owen and Alice straight away, but I couldn't, as I didn't have their telephone number. It dawned on me then, that, with this equipment, we would be able to communicate easily. A tidal wave of pleasure and anticipation crashed within me.

Polly handed me a bag of batteries and smiled, her eyes as warm as toast, and off I went.

I decided then that, I might try and slip over to Earls Court and see Alice and give her one of the walkie talkies. I knew it was no good trying to see Owen, as he often had to spend Saturday with his father, learning to be a sales guru. He hated it. Today he was working as a sales spruiker at a discount shop in Brixton, where he had to say things like:

This is a liquidation sale; prices are cheap, cheap, cheap. Come in and get yourself a bargain.

I could imagine Owen squirming with discomfort, red as a lobster, and detesting every moment, wishing a hole would appear in the ground, so he could disappear.

Alice, however, said that she would be in Earls Court today, as her mother, Rhonda, worshipped Princess Diana; she would often drag Alice around with her, to take photos of places that Princess Diana used to go, or live. Alice's mother, also, had a collection of memorabilia and kitsch on one shelf of their microscopic apartment, dedicated to Princess Diana; Alice said that she usually tried to close her eyes, when she had to walk past it, because it just reminded her to be sad.

I scooted to my room and slipped on the Inverness cape and deerstalker hat that, I had found in a trunk in the attic. Uncle Crispy said that they had belonged to his father: my great-grandfather, who had been a great fan of Sherlock Holmes, back in the day. Except for a few moth holes, the cape and hat were in wonderful condition.

I slid out the front door and bolted down the road to the Bayswater Train Station. I soon hopped a train, which ran through Notting Hill; jumped off the packed sardine can at Kensington, and spent a moment catching my breath, after having had my nose crushed into the armpit of a very large and smelly tourist, fresh off a 16 hour flight; so he said. Then, I bounded onto another train to Earls Court, which was packed with a posse of Australian's, who were blathering on, with those strange drawn out, strangulated vowels, about lobbing down to the Swagman Pub and watching a bit of footy. Now I understood why Earls Court was often called kangaroo Valley!

Having reached Earls Court, I wasn't exactly sure of where to go, or what to do. So I took off running and tore down, street after street, looking out for Alice and her mother. I peered into shops, and scrutinised the cars, which passed me by. As I zipped along, I read the various plaques affixed to buildings, which told about the famous inhabitants, who once lived here; like, Harold Carter, who discovered Tutankhamen's tomb; Alfred Hitchcock, the famous film maker, and Princess Diana. Then, I caught sight of Alice and her mother.

With a face like a Cumulonimbus cloud, Alice, was moving behind her mother in a dragging-her-feet-kind-of-manner. She had two large black cameras hanging around her skinny neck, which seemed to weigh her down with great heaviness. However, as I jogged closer, I saw Alice's dull eyes come to life; she tore off the cameras at high speed, shoved them toward her mother, who was clopping along on gigantic, wooden, platform shoes and wearing a tight fitting t-shirt, plastered with an incongruous picture of Princess Diana, wearing a woolly jumper, emblazoned with a koala.

'Benny! Benny! It's grouse to see you......'

Alice was running around me in circles, whilst her mother stared at me with a flinty, dingo eye. I, however, said good Morning, in my most polite manner, but she merely held out her paw, and gave me a smile that, you may expect on a shark. I think that Alice's mother was angry with me for showing up, and disturbing her day.

Quickly, I told Alice all about what had happened at Millie's and how I wanted to search Trafalgar Square. Then, I fished one of the walkie talkies out of the pocket of my cape. Alice's eyes goggled and she grabbed out greedily, and whipped the device into a small backpack, shaped like a giant dog's bone. Meanwhile, her mother, Rhonda, had stomped off. But she soon turned around, and glared at Alice. Alice gave me a wink, and whispered, 'we'll talk soon'. Then she jogged off after her mother, whilst making rude gestures at me, behind her back.

I laughed like a flushing toilet for a moment, and then, I thought, what to do now? I was feeling a bit disappointed, if you want to know the truth, as I had hoped to spend the afternoon with Alice. I decided that, the only thing that I could do, at this point, was, go home. I walked slowly back to the train station, and this time, probably because I was walking slower and noticing things around me, I saw a police box, which looked exactly like the Tardis in Doctor Who, standing right outside the train station at Earls Court.

I pranced over to this lonesome looking Tardis and gently pushed the door; it opened, and I entered.

What seems to have happened after this was very strange, and decidingly, odd. However, as I actually woke up on the floor of the police box, sometime later, with a sore head and a metal pipe looming over me, it is likely that, I had just been hallucinating or dreaming, after knocking myself out. You see, a metal bar had been installed to strengthen the structure inside the police box, but I didn't see it, as my eyes had not adjusted to the darkness, as I stepped inside the box. Of course, probably, I was not supposed to be in there, anyway.

So, in this alternate reality, I had felt something snuffling on my leg. I looked down and saw k-9, that robotic dog from Doctor Who, wagging its tail; then it said in that happy, chipper voice, 'I have come from Gallifrey to help you find the Konami Code'. Next thing, I found myself with the 10th Doctor Who. The one that Alice said was a bit of a spunk, at the Acropolis in Athens, hundreds of years ago. But there were lions attacking us. I didn't feel afraid, though, as I was trying to have a good gander about, so, I could tell Uncle Crispy all about it, later. To cut a long story short, The Doctor saved us from the jaws of theses fairly ferocious lions, when he produced his sonic screwdriver and started to tickle the beasts, and we were able to get away. It all gets pretty weird after this (well, weirder), but we stopped some aliens from blowing up the Acropolis, but then confusingly, these aliens turned out to be space police. And then, we found some explosives in a cave. But all I can think about, was, how human history would have been very different, if we did not save Athens from being blown up.

In my mind, it was like, Athens and Greece, had come to represent freedom.

I was feeling a bit dizzy, as I picked myself off the floor, but I did manage to hop on the train, and head home. When I got there, it was time for dinner.

I sat down at the dining table with Uncle Crispy, Polly, and Cogwhistle, and we supped on bean and potato pie. Polly lit the giant candelabras, which sat on the table, and Cogwhistle began to tell us a short yarn, about his boyhood dreams:

'When I was a wee tiddler, me granny used to tell me tales about these blokes –they were always blokes in them days – who were the unofficial thief-takers of London Town. These blokes, who did patrol the streets and pinch the crooks, were called the Bow Street Runners. And becoming one of them, is what I had me heart set on, when I got shot with me days slaving over a slate. Well forward fast some years, and there I was, ready to march down to Bow Street, a young strapping lad of 15, when suddenly, I finds out that, the Runners had been given their marching orders back in 1839! And so, that was that. I had to wait me a few years more, and I goes into the army life.'

As Cogwhistle had told us this tale in a self-mocking way, we all started to laugh and Uncle Crispy banged the table, whilst he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. He said, between guffawing noises, 'it's like wanting to be a town crier, for crying out loud!'

Afterwards, we ate some cinnamon ice-cream with peaches, and then, we began to natter.

'We are not sure if this misplaced shipment is actually uranium; that is merely Millie's assumption', Uncle Crispy said, suddenly serious, after I asked him, what his thoughts were.

'If Millie says its uranium, then that's what it likely be', Cogwhistle added firmly.

'I have been searching this house, and inspecting anything to do with lions, I piped up.

'Oh, I doubt that you will find anything, Benedict. I have examined this house with a fine tooth comb......although, I did not find that secret trap door, to the underground citadel, so who knows,' added Uncle Crispy, thoughtfully.

After dinner, I read this most 'pucca' book, in the small library for an hour, which maji had sent along with the Harry Potter book. It was a thin volume, all about Narasimha, a 'man-lion', who came to save the world from great wickedness. Narasimha could not be killed, though, because he was half man and half animal. I really enjoyed this tale, but it was short, and I soon finished reading it. I yelled out good night to Edgar, and then, I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and fell into my soft and comfortable bed, and soon fell fast asleep.

### Chapter 9

The Man Lion

I was deep asleep, cocooned in my feather quilt, when I heard crackling sounds and the voice of the wee folk calling out to me. I felt myself swimming upwards, as though, through deep water. Then suddenly, I was awake and realising that, the voice was Alice, yelling out to me, on the walkie talkie.

'Benny, Benny, wakeup, wakeup, wakeup', she yelled.

I glanced at the nearby clock, which illuminated the time 12.30, in florescent green. I picked up the walkie talkie, which had been lying on my bedside table and put it to my ear, and said grumpily, 'what are you doing calling me in the middle of the night?'

'Hey Mister Grumpy Wumpy, get ya clobber on and we'll meet you outside in 10 minutes. We're going to Trafalgar Square, to look at those lions'.

'What now!' I shrieked.

'Get ya rear in gear, Benny!' She yelled. Then, her voice and the crackling suddenly cut off.

I was feeling woosy from sleep, and so, I didn't even change out of my striped pyjamas; I just threw my cape over the top and rammed the deerstalker hat onto the old bean and rocketed down the stairs, and out the front door, into the cold night.

I stood out on the lonely footpath, in the icy breeze. But I didn't have to wait very long, before I saw two figures, flying down Inverness road, at full throttle.

Owen and Alice, who had just run across Hyde Park, gathered me up, and set off again, to run back across the park, toward the city. And so, off we barrelled: a triumvirate of sleuths', out to solve a mystery.

'Let's keep away from the Princess Diana drain', yelled Alice, as we galloped along through the darkness, on the squishy, damp, acid smelling grass. 'Mum makes me go there with her, at least once a week, so that we can meditate'.

'Right ho', I answered and continued to run.

It took us close to an hour to make it to Trafalgar Square, which was strangely quiet, deserted, and spooky at this hour. A soft misty rain had begun to fall now, and I was half wishing that I was home in bed.

'Come along you pair', ordered Alice. And like a pair of performing seals, we followed her out from under an awning, where we had been huddling, and walked over to have a squiz at the four lion statues'.

Each of us picked a lion to investigate, and then, we climbed up onto the plinth on which the lions sat and began to climb all over them and examine the statue for a secret door, or anything else.

So there I was, lying down on the plinth, looking around the lion's metal mane and front legs, when I felt a tap on my shoulder, and heard the clearing of a baritone throat.

'Well, now, what do we have here?' said the rumbling voice. I looked up and saw an enormous policeman, with a head like an English bulldog, wearing glasses, and shining a torch at each of us, in turn. Not missing a beat, Alice replied, in a lazy, easy manner, 'We are doing a project for school, officer'.

'What! At this hour', replied the humongous man of the law, tapping his ginormous watch, menacingly.

But before any of us could add another word, a mature lady, with blonde wig, silver, platform shoes and a colorful kaftan, appeared out of the gloom, strolling along, swinging a Harrods bag. She called out to us, 'Come along now children, don't dilly and dally. The sooner you finish your measurements, the sooner you'll get back to your beds.'

The policeman looked at us strangely, tipped his hat, and plodded away; throwing only one, very particular glance, back at us, from over his meaty shoulder. The lady, however, merely waved a gloved hand in our direction, and continued on her way, back to the palace. We stood, on the top of our respective lion plinths': three gonks, left out in the rain, mouths open.

'Phew! That that was close.' breathed Owen.

'At least it helps to have friends in high places', added Alice happily, before hopping down onto the wet ground.

'You know', I said, in my usual swotish manner, 'that police officer is probably going back to what is, one of the world's smallest police stations. It is just over there, on that corner of Trafalgar Square'. I pointed into the hazy darkness. 'This police station looks like an overweight lamppost, with a door, and only one or two people, can fit in there, standing up. But the police station does have a direct phone line to Scotland Yard.' I added, nodding my head, donkey style.

'Struth!' bleated Owen. 'Crikey! You're a know-it-all! barked Alice.

We hadn't found anything interesting so far, but we did have one more lion to examine. So, as Owen trundled off to have a drink at a water bubbler and Alice wandered over to see if the policeman had really gone, I got down to work, examining the remaining lion.

As I climbed up onto the remaining metal beast, I thought about how, the brass metal, of which these huge lions were made, had come from melted down canons of captured French and Spanish ships, from bygone days. I pictured those ships in my mind's eye, as I sat upon the back of this last lion, which was cold and wet against the skin of my hands.

I slipped off the lion's back and manoeuvred around to the front, and looked up into the lion's snarling mouth; I poked my fingers in, and poked about inside the cold cavern. There's nothing here, I thought; as I gave one last press into the lion's palate. Then slowly, as though there was all the time in the world, a small door began to open. I was excited and yelled:

'Come over here, Alice, Owen, I've found something!'

They both came speeding toward me, from opposite directions, like galloping horses at the Spring Darby, on a collision course, as I pulled a small piece of paper from the small cavity.

'Hurry up! What does it say?' demanded Owen and Alice simultaneously. I read out the words:

'Lord Byron claimed that Nelson was 'Britannia's God of War.' I read.

'What? Is that it?' Owen said, deflated.

'This here is Nelson's Column', added Alice thoughtfully, gesturing to the soaring column, upon which the statue of Horatio Nelson stood, looking out toward Whitehall.

'Wait, I said', as I turned the paper over, 'there are some more words here.' I read out the cryptic words, 'Fan, fan' and 'drink, drink,'.

'That's plain weird', said Owen.

'It must be some kind of clue, though', I offered.

'Well, I just had a drink', Owen added.

We raced over to have a look at the closest drinking fountain, from which Owen had just sipped. The fountain had been installed in 1960, according to the words inscribed above it. This was long after the war had finished, but my grandfather, Phineas, was still about at this time.

'You know', said Owen, musingly, 'not only is this fountain a place to drink, but that design above the fountain, looks like a fan. Do you think that there could be a secret door here?'

I nodded, it seemed possible.

Then the rain stopped, and the clouds shifted; the illumined disk of the moon appeared overhead, and spread its reflected light around us, like a blessing. Alice began to jump up and down: 'It's a sign, to show that we are right!' she pronounced.

'Nah', replied Owen, 'that's bull dust Alice. You know it is. It's just a coincidence'.

Alice pouted, and with her lip out like a veranda, said, 'whatever'.

I ignored both of them, as they bickered and set about examining the drinking fountain, as I thought that Owen may have been right: secret doors, so far, had been a predominant theme. And, this fountain, did indeed look like it could be opened, but how?

We hung around for another half hour in the cold, inspecting, probing and exploring the fountain, as the clouds returned, and the misty rain fell off and on. But we could find nothing which looked like it would open a doorway. In the end, we had to give up. We decided to go home and get some sleep, and as tomorrow was Sunday, and Owen and Alice were coming over to visit, we would think about our next move, then.

Alice and Owen were lucky, they did not have too far to go, to return back home. I however, had to cross Hyde Park by myself, and I was not looking forward to it. So, what I did, as I entered the brooding, darkness of the park, was pretend that, I was Narasimha, the 'man-lion', who had come to save the world from great wickedness. I soon began to feel much braver.

Then I started thinking about how King Henry VIII, that, English king with the many wronged wives, confiscated the lands of Hyde Park, from the monks of Westminster Abbey, in the year 1536. The park was then fenced off, and became the king's hunting grounds, where he could stalk deer, whenever he chose. I wouldn't have been allowed here in those days.

As I plunged deeper into the heart of Hyde Park, my thoughts shifted, as it came to me that, the park becomes a very different world at night, when the sun has left. Not only is it so much quieter and drawn in upon itself, but different critters, rule this night world.

As I ran, I saw foxes, as I shot along the grass expanse; one was eating the remains of a discarded hamburger, and the other, slunk off shyly into the raw darkness. Various rabbits skipped by, their eyes glowing like laser beams, and an owl whooshed by on important business. Then there were the beetles, and other insects, which busily spun and buzzed, and got about their own employments and concerns.

However, the critters which caused the greatest concern to me were critters of the human variety. These I came upon, suddenly, as I neared the home stretch. There was about five of them, wearing baseball caps, slouching against a tree. As I flew past, I noticed that they appeared to be drinking some type of beverage, out of a large glass bottle.

As I thundered past them in the dark, one of the brutes struck out at me; this person, who I did not know, nor had ever met. He then began chasing after me, calling out abuse and threats and grabbing my shoulder; he tried to tackle me to the ground. I ducked down, and threw him off, as I struggled forward. I knew I was a goner, if the others in the group, caught up.

Then, I added turbo to my running power; I put every bit of my energy resources into getting away, as I heard the yelling and swearing, directed at me, fade into the distance. Without really thinking about it, my pounding feet led me toward Cogwhistle's tent, which was hidden in shrubbery, nearby.

Throwing more effort into my run, blood and breath thumping in my skull, and ears, I came to the familiar shrubs that, I had recently visited with Cogwhistle. I flung myself down, and catapulted through the scratching branches, and hurled myself into the tent. All was quiet. I sat there, on the smelly, sleeping bag, for some time, listening hard; body tense; adrenalin flowing. Finally, completely exhausted, I slipped inside the sleeping bag, and fell asleep on the hard ground.

The pounding of joggers' feet and the whizz of bicycle wheels, woke me early in the morning, before the sun had even got up. I rose stiffly and stumbled off back home, and went straight back to bed. It was late morning, before, I opened my eyes again, and Polly was at my door, garbling some message.

I got up, pulled some leaves out of my hair, which I noticed as I passed the mirror, on my way to open the door. And stood, half asleep still, as Polly informed me that Alice and Owen were in the kitchen, eating my carrot pancakes, with mango yoghurt, which she had made me for breakfast.

I flew into the bathroom, and had a quick shower. Then, I scanned the contents of my wardrobe. My eye fell upon the Kurta pyjama outfit, that my aunt, Aria, in India had recently sent me. It was red, with lots of embroidery and rather dashing; I had never worn it before. I plonked it on and brushed my hair. Then I sailed into the kitchen, and claimed back the remains of my breakfast.

'Where's Uncle Crispy?' I asked Polly, between mouthfuls of pancake.

'Oh, he's gone out to Blackstock Hall,' replied Polly, as she sipped a milky cup of tea. 'That woman, Millie, called late last night, and said that, as the air had cleared between them both, Mr. Crispin could resume restoring the land and animal populations there....he just couldn't wait'.

'That is wonderful!' I added. And it was.

We decided over breakfast that, we resume our search for the lost shipment, of what was possibly uranium, from under the city of London. We would go back through the trapdoor, in the secret room, and see if we could get to Trafalgar Square from underneath.

Firstly, we gathered together torches, snacks and a few bottles of water, and threw them into a backpack. Then we trundled down to the small library, opened the bookcase door, walked down the stairs, moved the mat and opened the trap door, and one by one, with Alice leading the way, we journeyed downwards.

As the stairs went down, frayed spider webs rushed our faces, and water dripped and ran more than it had done last time, lending the fetid air a funky, musty smell.

When we came to the bottom, we saw the building that we had explored before; it looked silent and abandoned, as though it now had nothing more to tell us. I thought about my grandfather's office in that building, and his desk where I had found the key; I thought of all those people who had spent years there, during those frightening times of the war, when everyone and everything you knew, and loved, was threatened. And I wondered, just for a moment, if all the people who lived on this planet could come together as one, if we were threatened by forces beyond our planet's shores.

We continued past this building, steadily walking. We swept past the abandoned train carriage, where we had found those disguises and spying devices; we proceeded past the room where the chocolate box was found, one leg going down after another. After a time, we saw the monumental statues of the lion and unicorn and Alice and I watched, as Owen swept ahead and hugged the unicorn's lower legs, as he had done once before. As Alice and I neared Owen, our eyes fell upon a wicker picnic basket, sitting near the unicorn, in front of the door that led to the basement, where we had searched for the dog soap.

Alice surged ahead, ignoring my protests and plucked the basket from the ground, and shone her torch upon it.

'It's really light', she said, 'I don't think that there is anything in it.'

Then she shook the basket and we could hear a rustling sound of something small, skidding along the wicker bottom of the basket. Owen swung around, grabbed the basket from Alice, and threw the lid open. Inside we could see a small envelope. Alice grabbed the envelope, and tore the paper in two. Out fell a key, with a lion and a unicorn in the bow.

None of us said anything, but I had this feeling that we were puppets and that there were others around us, who knew much more about what, was going on, than we did.

Alice handed the key to me and I slipped it into the pocket of my trousers, and zipped it closed. Then we kept walking.

'I was wondering if we have a plan?' asked Owen worriedly. 'I mean, what if we do find this uranium or whatever it is...I mean, who will we tell?'

'We'll tell Millie and she'll know what to do with it', stated Alice confidently.

'I'm not sure if I thrust her', returned Owen.

Just then, I noticed a type of vehicle, become visible in the spreading light of my torch. It was sitting patiently on the train track, as though waiting just for us. 'Look!' I said excitedly. We ran toward it, and then, just stood there on the platform, staring at an old railway handcar'

'It's a Kalamazoo!' Alice trumpeted happily. 'Let's get on it'.

We clambered on to the three-wheeled, railway car and stood there for a moment, trying to work out how to operate it.

'You get off for a tick, Owen, and me and Benny will push down on this see-saw thing, until we get it going. Then, you can run and jump back on.'

Owen with a hang-dog face, like he was going to the gallows, slid off. Alice and I got into position, and began to push down on the lever. Slowly we began to move, and pretty soon, Owen had hopped back on, and was helping out with the pump action, as we whooshed along.

Now we were travelling through the darkness much faster, but we couldn't really hold our torches too well, because we had to push the see-saw lever, to keep the railcar moving along. It was exhausting work!

'I'm not really enjoying myself', stated Owen flatly, as Alice laughed wildly, in a bushy-tailed manner.

After a time, we saw a few random rays of sunlight, cutting into the darkness, like laser pointers from up above, and then we came to a dead-end; a brick wall. A very high, brick wall, which, had obviously been designed to keep people like us out.

'What we need is a sledgehammer to break down this here wall', Alice pronounced, as she ran her torch around the place.

'Settle down Al!' responded Owen. 'We don't know why this wall is here. Maybe it is holding up the roof or something'.

Alice wasn't really listening, as she was busy looking about. But there was nothing to see. It was plain empty.

'Look, I'm hungry', Owen said; 'let's have something to eat and then we can have another look about, or just go home'.

'What! are you nuts?' Alice shrieked. 'I'm not going anywhere, until we find out what is really going on here.'

As we ate, sitting on the hard seats of the railcar, I shone my torch up along the walls and up toward the ceiling, where I noticed flashes of glass, glinting here and there. What these glass things might have been, I did not know, as they were too high up for me to see properly in the dark.

I jumped down and went toward the wall, to examine it more closely.

'What if this key from the basket, opens a door in this wall? It could be a skeleton key' I said, thinking out loud. 'A key that can do the job of all those other keys combined.'

Owen and Alice must have liked that idea, as they came stampeding toward me and demanded that I take the key from my pocket. Which I did. Then we all examined the wall, finding many small holes, which could have served as key holes; except that, they didn't.

Then we found it. The key hole was almost indistinguishable from other small holes and pits on the brickwork, but when I slipped the key in, and turned it around, a narrow doorway opened and we slipped through into a room, which smelt of fossilised air and dust, and which contained a mammoth sized safe, on the far wall.

But it was a strange room, with a decaying desk and a chair in one corner, and a tall, thin, carved wardrobe, standing quietly at attention, against the wall. I opened this wardrobe, but all I could see, was a coil of thick rope, resting on the bottom. I turned around, and saw that the room also contained two floor lamps. I watched, as Alice and Owen moved forward, as though on wheels, and switched on the lamps. And the room was suddenly flooded with an orange glow.

I rushed over to the desk and found a stack of files with my grandfather's name written at the top. But then, I noticed a map, which had Trafalgar Square circled. I squinted more closely and I could see another pencilled mark, where Nelson's Column stands. I could also, just make out, some small, handwritten words:

Nelson's Column is of the Corinthian Order.

I had to believe that we were in the right place; the place that, my grandfather had intended that I find, all those years ago.

'Well, well, well. What do we have here?'

We swung around; standing there, like a creature from a nightmare, was a man blocking the doorway, which we had just entered. He was dressed in a black suit, and had a familiar, unpleasant voice. My brain cells fired, and I realised that it was Rupert Bloodworth.

'Thank you children for performing this small service for me', Bloodworth said, in his oddly grating voice. 'I found out some years ago that, the uranium had been stored here, but I could not get through the door, as all five keys we needed to do that. Those five keys only became available recently, but I thought, I would just bide my time, and see what your next move was. After all, there are cameras everywhere about.' Bloodworth taunted, in a greasy, friendly, but sinister manner.

'But we don't have all the keys', Alice countered.

'You seemed to have acquired the only skeleton. I see you have friends in high places', replied Bloodworth.

He then looked about the room and his gimlet eye fell on the huge safe. His face darkened. I hope that you know how to get in there boy', Bloodworth growled at me.

'No I don't', I replied coolly. I didn't like the way he called me boy. It was insulting and sneering, in its manner of delivery.

'Get over here, all of you', Bloodworth ordered.

'What if I don't feel like?' Alice challenged, cheekily.

'Now! Girl!' Bloodworth thundered.

Not knowing what else we could do, we all shuffled closer to the old vampire, moving as slowly as possible.

'Now', he said, aiming his soulless eyes at me, 'I want you to open the safe. But I warn you, it might be booby trapped. However, as I do believe that, I have the combination, things should go smoothly'. He shoved a paper at me, with a few numbers on it: 4, 29, 5, 30, 18, 62.

'But where did you get these numbers?' I asked, in puzzlement.

'Your grandfather, as it happened, gave the same book to Clementine, Crispin, and Millie; a slim volume about a particular battle of the American Civil War, known as the First Battle of Corinth. This battle was fought from April 29 to May 30, 1862, in Corinth, Mississippi. When I found these volumes: two of them at your uncle's house, in fact, I noticed that these dates had been underlined in pencil. Later, after much searching, I found Millie's copy, and the same dates were marked. Phineas was most helpful in providing the lock combination, you see.

'What I want to know', I said, forcefully, surprising myself, 'is what you intend to do with this uranium?'

'Well boy, there is a very lucrative black market for the stuff, you know. Riches that you never dreamed about will soon be mine'.

'But you will be caught. You yourself said that there are cameras here and many people know your name, and what you look like.' I put to him.

'It is true that we should, perhaps, hurry, but I am not worried about being caught. I know a very good plastic surgeon, and I already have a few false passports set up. Now hurry up'.

The last bit was hurled toward me with great aggression, so I made a few steps toward the door of the safe. What could I do?

Slowly as I could, I walked toward the safe, slow as slug full of cement, and set about dialling the numbers, into the old combination lock, as he barked the numbers out into the room.

I cracked the massive door open, slowly. Inside I saw two gold cylinders. I have to admit I was scared and very troubled by how all this had turned out. Also, I didn't know much about uranium, or its storage, so, I hoped that we were not in danger from radiation.

'Get a move on boy!' Bloodworth shrieked.

So I picked up the two cylinders, which were marked U-235 on the side and handed them to bloodworth, who had produced a leather bag from somewhere, and placed the cylinders in it.

'I have waited a long time for this day. Since the war in fact. You see, I was posted to a manor house near Cambridge, where I was sent to set up microphones and a surveillance system, to listen into the conversations of German scientists detained there. Our top brass wanted to know how close their lot were to creating nuclear weapons. I already knew that we had uranium squirrelled away somewhere, and I was even one of the agents who held a membership key to the nuclear operation. But I did not know, how, I could get my hands on the stuff. But, you know, I never give up and I have always kept up contacts with those who are willing to buy. Those groups have changed significantly over the years, of course. That, however, is another story. In the intervening years, I have kept busy, selling off Millie's ideas, before she gets a chance to sell them herself. She never understands, why, no one wants to buy her discoveries, the fool.'

He laughed dryly and then he turned to leave. We had failed to stop him. It looked like Bloodworth would get away and make his fortune and perhaps bring great disaster and destruction. I shuddered when I thought about this uranium falling into the wrong hands. I didn't dare think.

As Blood worth raised his foot to step outside, like a bat out of hell, through the doorway, with a rat in her mouth, flew my lost cat, Esmeralda. She jetted, rocket style, through Bloodworth's legs, causing him to stumble.

Like a flash, Owen whipped the bag from Bloodworth's hands and I dashed to shut the door, to stop Bloodworth from making his escape. Meanwhile, Alice had fetched the rope from the wardrobe. And Before Bloodworth could even work out what had happened to him, the three of us, pounced on top of the bony old geezer and threw him into the chair. Alice first tied his hands behind his back, as Owen and I held the kicking old skeleton down, as she finished the job. It was at this point that, I realised how old Bloodworth, actually was. He was old and frail and crazy, and if he had got away, he would not, I am sure, have many years, to enjoy his riches.

After we had secured Bloodworth to the chair, we stood back and tried to get our breath back, as Bloodworth, simply glared at us, like a malevolent Prince of Darkness.

Esmeralda meanwhile, gingerly emerged out from under the carved wardrobe and minced toward Bloodworth, and dropped the half chewed rat at his feet. I like to think that, she was telling him something about himself.

'So, what do we do now?' Owen asked.

'One of us should go and tell someone, don't you think?' I said with great uncertainty, and then added, 'though, maybe the police are already outside, after all, we all must have been seen on the cameras'.

'There are cameras, that is for sure, but who will be viewing the film from them?' Bloodworth snarled. 'Very few people know about this place under London; certainly the general police no nothing of it. Someone, perhaps from Scotland Yard, will look at that film, but when? After some weeks, I would hazard a guess.'

'But someone very high up left us a key in a basket', Owen countered loudly.

'Ah, yes, but they cannot interfere directly', Bloodworth muttered.

Alice dashed toward the closed doorway, in the brick wall. It was locked.

'Give me that key, Benny and I'll see if I can open it'.

But we could not find a key hole from this side; it looked like we were locked in here.

'Let's search the room', Alice suggested.

We went over the room carefully; all the while, I was wishing that we had at least thought to bring the walkie talkies. But we didn't. Finally, we came to the wardrobe, where Esmeralda the cat was resting, with her head on her paws, looking at us with one eye.

'There is a strange carving in the back of this wardrobe', Owen pronounced.

I looked over his shoulder and stared at the shape, which looked a bit like a cross with a rose shape on it. It then dawned on me that, this carved shape, looked very much like the medallion, on the necklace, I was wearing around my neck; the one from my grandfather, with the medallion of a lion's head, on a cross.

I unclipped the necklace from around my neck and pressed the medallion into the carved cavity, at the back of the wardrobe. Immediately, an electronic beep sounded and the back of the wardrobe swung open. We could see a spiral staircase twirling upwards.

I scooped up Esmeralda, as Alice checked if the ropes tying Bloodworth were secure. They were, as back in Australia, Alice had been in the Brownies, where she had learned to tie very good knots.

We took out our torches and began to climb the staircase, which shuddered and shook, as we stepped upon its dusty steps. And even though rats scampered by us now and then, Esmeralda, remained calmly in my arms.

By the time we came to the top of the staircase we were really beginning to puff and pant. Then we noticed two things. The first was a carved lion and unicorn, surrounding a crown, stuck on the cement wall, with the words, And fell the statues from their niche, written over the top. The second thing was that, there was a corridor, leading in the opposite direction, which went who knows where.

'The lion and the unicorn are kind of like statues', Owen said, as he looked at the strange looking coat of arms closely.

'Let's see what happens if I try to push one down', Alice said gleefully, as she put her hand behind the statue and tried to push it over. My mouth dropped to the floor, as a door opened in the wall, making a beeping sound, as though on a timer.

On the other side, we could see the strange painted face of a lion, on the white tiles.

'See ya', Alice called, as she flew through the opening, which immediately swung closed behind her.

Owen and I looked at each other with eyes like poached eggs. 'You better have a go at the other statue', Owen whispered in a choking manner.

'No, you should go', I replied, as I put my hand on Owen's shoulder and gave him a gentle push. I had noticed that there were only two statues and I did not like to think about Owen being stuck here alone, looking for another way to get out.

Owens face was strained and white as he walked forward and pushed the unicorn over. The door again beeped and flew open, and as neither of us had any words, at this moment, I just gave Owen a smile of confidence, which I did not feel. Owen flipped his hand, in a funny little wave. Then he was gone, and the door closed.

I hung about for a bit, fiddling with the statues and pushing the place where the door had opened in the wall, but the wall did not move. Time to move on I decided. So I turned around and looked down the black tunnel of the corridor, and shone my torch down there. After swallowing hard, and trying to breathe slowly, I put one foot in front of the other, and began to walk down that passage.

### Chapter 10.

A Fan of Nelson's Words

Now that I was alone, everything felt different. My breathing sounded louder and my heart seemed to beat faster, like a drum was being played within me. Even my thoughts felt like they were booming within my head and the odours and smells of this place were more strident and overwhelming, than they had been before. But at least, I still had Esmeralda, who was resting heavily in my arms, purring happily.

I kept walking, down the endless, perspiring and dark passageway, not knowing where I was going. I just kept walking.

Then I came to a dead end.

I flashed the torch about, and saw a door which was shaped like a short column, with a fan on top and the words, Through the massy column to turn and fly, carved on the cement wall above.

But how to open this door?

I peered closer and saw some very small words written on the door: As those thin fingers, long and white, and a thing that looked like a handle. I pulled this and the door opened; sounding and feeling, like the door of the refrigerator.

I slithered through the thin space and I found myself standing in windy and cold Trafalgar square, under a lead sky, looking into the eyes of a small child with a gaping mouth.

I quickly pushed the drinking fountain closed and as I did so, I saw Alice and Owen bounding toward me.

'Owen thought you might be here', Alice beamed.

'Let's go and report old Bloodworth at that tiny police station, near here that, you were talking about last night', Owen added, already leaping away.

So off we tumbled, toward the southeast corner of Trafalgar Square: three teenagers and one cat, to report, what was a very strange and long story; which had resulted in an old man being tied up, after attempting to pinch some World War Two uranium, from a secret place under London. As I thought about it, I wouldn't blame anyone, upon hearing our tale, for wanting to lock us up!

'I couldn't believe where we came out. It was in a tunnel leading to an underground train station', Alice remarked, as she walked beside me and stroked the soft fur of Esmeralda, who had her head, and ears hidden in the crook of my arm.

'That hidden door was very different from all the others', I mused. 'I think someone other than my grandfather, must have been involved with designing that one'.

'Someone who likes disguises I would say', Owen wryly said, as he came alongside me, and also began stroking Esmeralda.

'The door in the wardrobe was more modern too. It was based on some kind of electronic recognition system', Alice added.

'My brain is beginning to hurt', I pleaded.

We soon came to the miniature police station, which looked like a fat post with a door; inside, we could see the same policeman, who had come upon us only last night, as we searched the lion statues' in Trafalgar Square.

'Well, now, It's you lot again', the officer boomed, as he opened the door to glare at us.

'We need to make a special phone call', I stuttered, 'to Whitehall'.

The officer stood there like a statue himself for a moment, and then, said, 'righto, only one of you, though'.

And, as I slipped into the room, which could have belonged to a gnome, but presently housed a giant, the police officer turned around and flipped a picture of our regal friend aside, which was hanging on the wall, and a small orange telephone popped out.

'It's never been used, this one', rumbled the officer darkly. 'But this must be the occasion for it'.

I picked up the old fashioned receiver and immediately, a female voice asked, 'how can I help you?'

So I garbled and stumbled over the whole strange story, which finally led to the fact that, Rupert Bloodworth, was presently tied up with a rope, under London, with some uranium cylinders in a leather bag.

'Oh, yes, I did see the whole thing unfold on the monitor', the woman replied in a chatty, friendly manner, 'but we couldn't get down there fast enough, you see, as Bloodworth blocked our entry from Whitehall. There are other entries, of course, like number 10 and the Palace, but it takes us a bit longer to gain access. Anyway, I can assure you that, Bloodworth, has now been apprehended and is presently walking down Dead Man's Walk, according to my other monitor; getting his last glimpse of sky, on his way to a secret holding cell in the Old Baily.....Oh by the way, the underground citadel and this whole episode with bloodworth, is top secret. None of you must breathe a word to anyone outside your immediate group. Secrets of the realm and all that, you know. You can of course discuss the case with Crispin, Millie and Cogwhistle... and good work, well done, we'll talk again'. The phone clicked off.

I put the phone back and the telephone zipped backwards into its compartment, behind the surface of the wall, and the picture flipped into place.

The police officer towered over me expectantly, but I simply shrugged and stepped outside into the cooling air, to join Owen and Alice.

I repeated what the nameless woman on the phone had told me, and for once, Alice had nothing to say, other than, 'I'm fried. Gotta get some sleep, but how will you get home?'

'I don't reckon Esmeralda will like the train much', Owen said, staring at my feline friend, with limpid, cow eyes.

I looked up and down the street and watched, as the thin crowd of people, snaked along the footpath, hunched over as they were buffeted by the icy wind. The day was already growing dark, but none of this I had noticed until now. It was like, I had just landed in my spaceship, and I was looking around for the first time. I had been so absorbed, and simply hadn't noticed my surroundings, until now.

As I stood there with Alice, pondering how to get home from the middle of London with a cat, Owen whipped off, but soon retuned with three cups of steaming coffee. So we stood there and slowly sipped the nutty, milky brew, locked in our world, in the middle of one of the greatest and busiest cities in the world.

Then, for some reason, I was inspired to break into a soliloquy, 'I regard you all as kinsmen, familiars, and fellow-citizens — by nature and not by convention....'

'What in the holy heck are you going on about Benny?' asked Alice.

'I was thinking about what the Sophist Hippias said to Athenians, that's all; that our relationship to the rest of humanity, should be greater than any other loyalty'.

'Sometimes, Benny, you lose me! Alice giggled.

'And other animals too, 'cos we're all related', Owen added, as he stroked Esmeralda's velvety ears.

'You do realise that we share 70% of our DNA with slugs', Alice taunted, as she looked at me, contrary as always.

Then, the screech of tyres caused us to turn our heads and we saw Uncle Crispy, rolling up the road, in his Bond Minicar. He screamed to a halt beside us, to the tune of tooting horns all around. With great relief, we jumped into the cosy interior and Uncle Crispy sailed away on three wheels. Almost immediately, Esmeralda, came to life and took her nose out of the crook of my elbow, and began to wash herself.

'Scotland Yard called and said that, you lot, were waiting to be collected from the police station near Trafalgar Square. Almost caused me an apoplexy, I can tell you. Until they conveyed that, the situation with Bloodworth, was finally resolved,' Uncle Crispy said, as he manoeuvred the car through traffic.

'I thought he was creepy, and he smelt like mud', added Alice.

'Quite so, quite so', Uncle Crispy agreed, looking somewhat confused. 'There have been suspicions swirling about that fellow for many a year, but nobody could actually pin anything on him. My main objection to the brute was that, he began courting your grandmother, Clementine', he said nodding in my direction, 'not long after your grandfather disappeared in Africa. He was hanging about like a bad smell a lot, and then, I found him one afternoon in the laundry room, unconscious, clutching a piece of paper.'

'What happened?' I asked in puzzlement.

'Well the lion's head sconce in that room was dismantled and the door of the clothes dryer was hanging open. It seems the old reprobate was looking about for clues to the whereabouts of the uranium left by Phineas, and he found one. In his fossicking about, he must have left the door of the dryer open and then knocked himself out on it. It is one of those old, heavy duty ones.'

'Or, it could have been Edgar, the ghost', I offered.

'Possibly', Uncle Cripsy murmured. 'But before I called for medical assistance, I did take the time to read the note'.

'So, yeah, what did it say?' Alice demanded.

'It was just a line from that odious poem, The Siege of Corinth. It said, I have pass'd the guards, the gate, the wall. Bloodworth obviously felt he had gained a sufficient clue, and he soon dispensed with wooing Clementine. He transferred his affections to Millie after that'.

'I'm glad he's locked up', Owen piped up. 'But I have to wonder why Benny's grandfather had to leave all these clues, a poem, and secret passages, all about the place?'

'It is my view, my young friend that, this whole charade is the result of Phineas' interest in Greek mythology. He was enamoured, since he had a young whippersnapper, with the ancient labyrinth built by Daedalus, for the King of Crete, to capture the Minotaur. I think that was Phineas' initial inspiration, anyway'.

We were almost at Knightsbridge now, close to where we would drop off Alice and Owen, who were yawning widely, when I thought to ask the reason why, the uranium was being stored under London.

'That my lad is a complicated and long story', Uncle Crispy sighed. 'But it seems that the uranium did indeed arrive during the war, from Australia, and your grandfather did indeed, help it to go missing, an operation he called Prometheus. You see, there was a clandestine development program going on at the time, called Pipe Alloy. It was aimed at developing nuclear weapons. But Phineas and many others thought that, dabbling in such things, may bring about the end of the world, as we know it.

'Prometheus was the Titan in Greek mythology, who tricked Zeus and stole the fire from the gods', said the muffled voice of Owen, as he nuzzled Esmeralda's fur.

'That's right, dear boy', affirmed Uncle Crispy.

'It sure was lucky that, I was wearing this frightful looking necklace', I said, as I pulled the lion's cross medallion out from under my kurta pyjama. It was indispensable'.

'I have the same necklace and so did your father, grandmother, Millie and probably Cogwhistle,' Uncle Crispy laughed. None of us ever wore ours, though. And I do recall both Clementine, and Millie, questioning your grandfather's taste in jewellery'.

'Oh! I thought that necklace was especially for me', I blurted, as I looked down at the unattractive thing.

'You were the only one who worked out how to use it, Benedict. And thanks to you, and your friends here, Bloodworth is finally where he belongs'.

As the buses and Bentley's brawled around us, in the 18th century thoroughfare, the car came to a stop, outside Owen's and Alice's apartment building. We sat and watched, as a gold Ferrari zoomed up from a nearby underground car park.

'Greed may bring about our destruction, and money cannot purchase good taste', concluded Uncle Crispy, as Owen and Alice jumped from the car, waving.

'Bye and see you next week,' we all called together. And then, Uncle Crispy, Esmeralda, and I, bowled onwards, toward Bayswater, and home.

