he said, sizing up the elegant cut of her cloth and the sparklers on her fingers. “A huge improvement on that weedy dullard, Thrypp. I’m Mr Charles Dicksen and you are…” “Countess Varvara Volodymyrovna.” Her exotic, aristocratic, multi-syllabic name never failed to impress. It rendered most peopl...
Countess Volodymyrovna was the most infuriating woman he had ever had the misfortune to meet. When she ended up in a prison cell he would have the singular pleasure of saying: I told you so! His blood was boiling and he tried to distract himself before he burst a vein. The rag pillow was a puzzle...
“Yes,” she replied, looking directly into the eyes of Monsignor Delgardo as she handed back the keys, hoping he would conclude by her forthrightness that she had nothing to hide. “And I think you’re right about the butterfly.” “Butterfly?” “I now see a butterfly in the splatter too.” “I hope you ...
The gift came with a card signed SH. She smiled and put it on, hoping for inspiration, as she pondered who was lying. Was it Major Nash or Colonel Moriarty? Or were they conspiring together? If Nash was elected primus baro he could conceivably approve Moriarty’s entry into the Diogenes Club. It w...
The lecture had gone much longer than he anticipated. “Did you enjoy my lecture?” asked the reverend, appearing suddenly at his side. He admitted it was all very interesting but it was not a philosophy he could personally adopt. The siren songstress joined them. “Have you met Miss Morningstar?” s...
“So much cheerier than a whistle,” commented the Countess as she hurried along the platform, an image of sartorial elegance in a tailored travelling costume of moire marron replete with a fox fur stole, the long-line jacket nipped at the waist and dropping slightly at the back. Dr Watson, wearing...
Dr Watson, looking dapper in black dinner suit and white tie, was still reeling from the sight of Colonel Sebastian Moran in the flesh when he joined the Countess in her luxurious suite. She was pulling on some black silk evening gloves. Ah, the glamour of gloves – a lady’s ensemble was never com...
Everyone played their part and nerves were so stretched no one slept for more than hour. The day dawned dull and grey with a thick November mist that veiled the view from the train’s widows as the locomotive chugged into the wayside station of Bogomil, a hamlet of stone hovels, which if they coul...