From: wismith@amelia.nas.nasa.gov (William R. Smith)
Subject: rab fest, part 2 (long)
Organization: NAS, NASA Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, CA
Date: Mon, 28 Sep 92 19:53:40 GMT
Distribution: usa

    			The Case of Stilton
		           Episode Two



Sburgfort here again.  Sorry for the delay in getting this report down.
Had to go to Portland on another assignment.  This new one is very tricky;
searching for the elusive Lowest Mortgage Rate.  Slippery devil.  I may
not get him, but I'll get his cousin.

To continue the report on the clandestine cult of rabbers...  The fateful
Saturday of their meeting finally arrived.  I'd managed to raise the $1250
without resorting to selling the Avis rent car, but the method wouldn't
bear real scrutiny.  Less said the better.

Once I decode the map I found Susan's "abode" easily.  I, of course,
arrived early to check it out.  We detectives don't say "case the joint".
That's only in old gangster movies.

I parked across from a compact, tidy house on a quiet Palo Alto residential
street.  A small Volvo station wagon was parked in the driveway.  The 
hatch was up and an attractive woman of medium build wearing a print
dress was unloading split fireplace logs from the car one at a time.
Was this the California version of the log lady?  Warm, cozy fires in 
August?  In the Bay Area?  Come on.

During a lull in the peculiar unloading, I ambled casually up to the front
door and rapped lightly on the door frame.  "Hello.  Anyone home?"  Of
course someone was home -- someone was unloading fireplace logs.

"Hi.  Come on in.  I'm Susan," said the log lady as she popped her head
around the corner of the living room to see the door.  I was face to face
with my first rabber.  She looked normal enough, but my guard was up.

"Hi.  I'm William.  Sorry I'm early," I mumbled using my traveling name.

"Oh, hi.  No problem," Susan said stepping forward extending her hand.
There was no sign of the logs that had been unloaded.  I was introduced to
her accomplice De Witt.  I waited for De Witt to live up to his name, but
he didn't say much that I though was funny.  He returned to putting sliced
meats on a platter.

I was left to my own devices and wandered the edges of the living room
looking for clues to identify this cult.  A bookcase of red leather bound
Harvard Classics stood in one corner.  The most singular item was a globe
on its own floor stand.  A quick check made it obvious it wasn't current.
There was no Israel, no Pakistan, no Zaire.

"Between the wars," De Witt pronounced as he spotted me and rushed over to
make sure I didn't find out too much.  Maybe they were a fanatic group
working to re-establish some earlier world order.  I remembered their
international connections.  I pretended disinterest and De Witt wandered
back to his kitchen chores, glancing at me over his shoulder as he went.

"Susan, Susan," another cult member walked thru the front door with the 
familiarity of a frequent visitor.  I couldn't help staring.  He paid me
not the least attention as he moved toward the kitchen, obviously familiar
with the layout.  He took small steps, yet seemed to glide quickly across
the living room.

He was dressed completely in white:  an apparition.  Close cropped white
hair, matching white beard hugging his face.  White shirt, white sleeveless
sweater, white, well creased slacks, white shoes.  This arctic outfit was
relieved only by a blue tie.  Good God, he looked like he was getting
ready to play bloody cricket.

With our quick introduction I realized this was Francis Muirwood, one of
the rabber leaders.  Possibly one of the infamous and mysterious Circle
of Eight.  I volunteered to help unload his car to learn more about him.
I carried in two loaves of French bread the size of telephone poles and 
a mixed carton of wine.  Francis, selecting the smaller, lighter packages,
carried in a bag of assorted cheeses.

I learned that most of the cult members attending tonight would be what
they called "lurkers".  I didn't know if lurkers were high or low status
members.  I'd soon find out.  While Francis was oo-ing and ah-ing over
the wine he had just opened several other rabber cultists arrived.

They came almost in a clump, making it difficult for me to sort out
who was whom.  Some of the names I had seen before when I was intercepting
their secret messages.  Heidi the Wolf was there.  A petite, elf-ish
woman.  Devilish dark eyes, definitely trouble.  Emma Pease, a serious
advisary from the old SWAT team The Avengers.  Heady company.  

Also a Dani Zweig, I'd seen that name.  And a Faith Bell who received
particular homage for running some retail front operation having to do with
books.  Books again.  What books?  Janine Schonone's name I'd seen.  Paul
Roberts and Alison rounded out the coven.

Francis poured chilled Pouilly Fusse' into fine crystal glasses taken from
a side board.  He handed a glass to Emma and poured another which he handed
to Janine.  He was taking care of the women, sly dog.  I was fairly panting
for a glass and pushed myself closer to the action.  Good wine.  The
rabber cult had good taste, I'll give them that.

Francis it turns out is a nautical man.  Maybe his cricket outfit doubles
on the quarter deck.  He was also an English dude.  And an Oxford man.  
Ah ha, the international connection again.  Francis' blue tie was something
special from a library at Oxford.  De Witt made much of this tie.  I
pretended to, but Jesus Christ how exciting do you think a tie from a
library is?

The nautical Francis insisted on being called Cap'n Fido for reasons that
totally escaped me.  He had recently sold his 160 foot cathouse boat and
purchased a larger one more to his liking.  Was he running guns?  Drugs,
of course came to mind.  Illegal aliens?  Virgins?  I demonstrated my
nautical savvy by quietly wispering to him, "Red right, returning."  I was
rewarded with a smile and further stories about the fabulous new vessel,
accepted as a fellow who "messed about in boats", as he quaintly put it.

A conversation about favorite cook books got me talking with Emma and
Janine.  I carefully hid the fact that my "collection" consisted of the 
fine culinary compendium "Cooking With Campbell's Soups" acquired for
$1.98 plus shipping and handling and two red and white labels.  The party
moved to the garden to "wow" over the roses.  I scouted the corners of the
yard and still couldn't find any of the fireplace logs.

No one had found me out yet, but I still hadn't found out what they were
up to.  Lots of leads that didn't hang together.  When we came back
inside there were two surprises.  I was to meet another rabber leader and
we were ordered to watch a video tape of yet another.

Oh, I was near the top, all right, but the top of what?



			End of Episode Two


28 Sep 92