Steamoon Episode 1

CHAPTER ONE

*The Adventure of the Golden Orb*

Thaddeus was seated at breakfast one morning when the maid brought in a telegram. It was from Professor Gilmore Black and ran this way:

“Have you a couple of days to spare? Have some important matters of research to pursue and would be most grateful for your help. I will be at The Club all day.”

Thaddeus had hardly resolved to go, and finished his toast, when there came a second ring to the bell. This time it proved to be a visitor. Walter Appleby, the financier and technophile, folded his tall frame into the seat opposite Thaddeus.

“How do you fancy a trip to town Professor? I have an inventor claiming to have miniaturized the atomium boiler and I would be glad of your opinion of him.”

Walter had brought his own coach and the two men soon found themselves rattling into north London along the York Road.

“I thought this Henry Carnehan worth a visit,” Walter was saying, “it is probably another wild goose chase but one has to try a few, when searching for gold.”

Whatever else he might prove to be, Thaddeus observed, Henry Carneham was clearly not a wealthy man. His address turned out to be the basement room of a grim and dilapidated brick terrace in Southwark. The inventor was not apparently in evidence, but they quickly made the acquaintance of one Rufus Ward, the landlord of the premises, a strongly built man in his forties, and his redoubtable boxer dog Bulls-eye. Presently another figure approached; a large man carrying a battered leather briefcase who introduced himself as Toliver Carnehan, the inventor’s nephew.

They had been engaged in conversation for a minute or so when there came a deafening report and the solitary basement window shattered to emit a cloud of smoke. This was followed, a moment later, by a dazed and sooty man in his sixties who, when he discovered the identities of his visitors, became most excitable. He had been inspired, he said, by Thaddeus’s 1880 Royal Society lecture on the role of new materials in technological advance. The explosion, he insisted, was of no consequence, and his prototype miniature boiler was entirely reliable. He required but ten pounds of atomium to make it ready for demonstration, he said. Walter and Thaddeus agreed that they could obtain this quantity of the costly metal and would return that afternoon. They had their hands thoroughly wrung by a delighted Henry Carnehan in return.

Thaddeus mentioned that he was going to meet Professor Gilmore Black and Toliver offered to accompany him since the Professor had been recommended to him as an expert on oriental artefacts and curiosities of all kinds. Walter agreed to provide the transportation, and the three made their way to the Reform Club.

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

At the coach rattled away one of the innumerable grubby urchins of the neighbourhood ran up to Rufus to announce the proximity of “a posh geezer on ‘is own” in the hope of the farthing that was often given for useful tidings of this sort. Rufus provided the other customary return, a clip to the ear, and went to seek the man who he imagined to be lost. It turned out that the young man in question, one Archibald Purse-Heywood, was a clerk from Parker and Giles (Solicitors) looking for a Mister Rufus Ward.  An aged file had come to light when the firm was clearing out some old documents that suggested that a wealthy tea merchant, Frances Ward, had a son named Rufus who would be heir to Ward’s estate. Rufus accepted the papers with thanks, and after advising Purse-Heywood of the least dangerous route back to the main street, he took out the small silver key that hung on a chain around his neck and which he had kept since he was a child at St Mary’s orphanage. He decided to consult his neighbour and occasional business partner Lenny The Jew, an expert on keys and locks of all kinds.

“It’s a safe deposit box key, Rufus. One of the old Wolverhampton Chubb keys, I’d say. There’s a mark here that should identify the bank… let me get my book.”

An hour later found Rufus in Sampson Chartered Bank in Oxford Street, persuading the clerk that he was entitled to the contents of his father’s safe deposit box. Eventually he was led down into the vault (the location and security of which Rufus could not help but to note). In the box he discovered barer bonds worth £500, the deeds to the handsome townhouse of 15 Bloomsbury Avenue, and three sealed letters.  One was addressed to William Matherson, and one – to his amazement - to himself. By uncanny coincidence (or as some might say, Fate) the last letter was addressed to Gilmore Black.

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

At the Reform Club Thaddeus, Tolly and Walter were ushered into a private room. Professor Black was reading, with a pipe and a glass of sherry at his elbow. A tallish man, still active despite his white hair, he rose quickly to greet Thaddeus with the warmth of an old friendship, and welcomed Walter and Tolly with an agreeable familiarity. He had heard something of both of them, he said, having known Walter’s father, Sir Humphrey before he retired from the Cabinet office, and having read something about Tolly written by a Bombay journalist named Kipling. As they took to armchairs by the fire, Black admitted that he was most curious about the adventures that Mr Carnehan (junior) had experienced in India.

A fuller account of his past Tolly suggested he might give on another occasion. For the time being he contented himself with a summary of his most recent doings. Having received a telegram from his Aunt Agatha begging him to return home, Tolly left the employ of the Maharajah Chamajarah IX of Mysore in somewhat hurried circumstances. He was, however, able to bring with him the extraordinary prototype compressed-air mechanical arm that the Maharajah had fitted him with for testing. En route to London, he changed airships in Rome, and it was there that he was accosted by a Prussian officer named General Heinz-Günther von Gritzer (but you can just call me… ‘Baron’ heh heh) who offered him employment. Unable to persuade Tolly to come to Berlin immediately, he insisted that he contact a certain Heinrich Schliemann in the German embassy in London. Politely non-committal, Tolly took the proffered card and boarded his flight.

In London he found Aunt Agatha in sadly reduced circumstances. Uncle Henry, she said, had spent all their money on his hair-brained inventions, and had now disappeared, leaving her at the mercy of his creditors. Tolly must find him and discover a way to repair the family’s finances. Although Tolly had never been close to his rather stiffly respectable Aunt, he was nothing if not loyal to Family. So having left her enough money to solve her immediate financial problems he had set out in search of Uncle Henry and had eventually tracked him to Rufus’s basement.

Thaddeus asked Black about the reason for his telegram. Looking keenly into the eyes of each of his visitors the Professor took a deep breath and seemed to come to a decision. He needed help, he said, with a matter of utmost confidentiality and importance. Would Thaddeus, Walter and Tolly be sworn to secrecy so that he could tell them more?

No strangers to adventure, all three agreed on the spot.  Knocking-out and refilling his pipe, Black began his narrative. Two old friends of his were at this very moment coming to London from Hong Kong by airship, and would arrive tomorrow morning. Holder M. Place and Gong Ho were both, in their different ways, remarkable men.  An adventurous trader with his own steam-ship and a lifetime’s experience of travelling in China, Holder Place had accompanied Black on many trips up the Yellow and Yangtze Rivers searching for archaeological sites. Gong Ho had been a bright and helpful street orphan for whom Black had found a place at the mission school in Canton, and the boy had gone on to become one of the top Cizhe (Ninjas) and Adepts of the White Lotus Society.

As a former trader with excellent local contacts, Holder had recently been commissioned as an officer in the Special Branch RHKP to investigate the disappearance of another British agent working on the triads. Gong Ho agreed to work with him and the pair teamed up.  The White Lotus Society, Black was at some pains to point out, were masters of philosophies and mystic arts that he held in the highest respect and bore only the most superficial resemblance to the common tongs ('triads'), which had become base criminal organisations, and an insult to the traditions of the true White Lotus.

After surviving several fiendish assassination attempts, Holder and Gong managed to find the officer alive (just) in the old town triad district. He had stumbled upon rumours of the rise of a 'Great Dragon' or Snakehead, he said, a mysterious Master who commands the obedience of all the many triads. He is known by the name 'Fu Manchu' (the characters meaning "Restore Manchu" - at first glance a patriotic name supporting the ruling Manchu dynasty) but Holder and Gong discovered that the inner circle of followers know this to be a coded form of a longer phrase: the highly subversive slogan **Fu Ming Fan Manchu** - "Overthrow the Manchu and Restore the Ming" (the previous, native Chinese dynasty). The common tong members seem to be in utmost awe of the Dragonhead and terrified of his rumoured powers. Holder and Gong also discovered the bloodstained coin that the dying agent had somehow obtained - a silver dollar baring the sign of the dragon (the symbol of the emperor) minted for a restored Ming dynasty. This suggests that this snakehead 'Fu Manchu' plans a coup against the Manchu dynasty - seen by Ming loyalists as decadent foreigners who have failed to confront the West.

It was at this time, Black explained, that he received news from an old and trusted friend, a Chinese archaeologists named Shue Feng, that he had discovered the fabled artefact for which Black had been searching for more than forty years. The Professor had developed many theories as to the location of this treasure, searching in some sites himself, and entrusting others to his Chinese collaborator, Doctor Feng. One of these, it seemed, had born fruit, and Shue Feng had sent the item packed in a small crate (a tea-chest to be more precise) down the river from Kunming to Holder and Gong, for delivery to Professor Black.

The difficulty was, Black explained, that this treasure was also being sought for by many unscrupulous people; men and women who would not hesitate to kill to obtain it. The Hong Kong traids or tongs, for example, might have got wind of the discovery. More disturbing still, Black said, were the occultists and cabals of the powerful here in London.  One of these, the Order of the Golden Dawn, was particularly dangerous and liable to stop at nothing. Black was also convinced that there were those at the heart of government eager to steal this prize; in particular Sir Isaac Baskeville the power-hungry Chief Scientific Advisor to HM Government and his brother the Home Secretary Hubert Baskeville. The brothers had been known to make use of Special Branch to do their dirty work, commanded by Inspector John Barker, nick-named ‘the Hound of the Baskevilles.’ Because of the danger that he was being watched, Black said, he dared not meet Holder and Gong tomorrow himself, but needed someone who could escape notice and ensure the artefact was delivered to a safe house.

Thaddeus was somewhat shocked to hear the Home Secretary and his brother accused of such perfidy. He had to deal with Sir Isaac Baskeville on many occasions in his capacity as Chief Technical Advisor on Martian Physiology. He had to admit, however, that he had found him to be a domineering bully and assumed that he only obtained his high position as a result of his brother’s influence. Indeed, on reflection he recalled a number of rumours that Baskeville had claimed credit for other men’s work. Walter recalled that his father had spoken of Hubert Baskeville in the darkest terms (unattributably, naturally). Thaddeus declared that he was prepared to entertain Black’s suspicions, at least until such a time as they be proved baseless, and invited him to continue.

At this moment there came a knock, and the club butler entered with the news that a man of very rough appearance was demanding to see Professor Black. He had given his name as Rufus Ward. At the sound of the name Black gave a start and asked for him to be immediately admitted, while the others explained that they had just met Mr Ward in Southwark, and presumed that Tolly’s Uncle Henry might be the explanation for his visit.

When Rufus Ward entered the room Gilmore Black started as if he had seen a ghost. He seemed to gasp ‘Frances?’ under his breath before recovering himself. When Rufus explained his identity and held out the (opened) letter, Black was astonished and, it seemed, deeply affected.

“You are the spitting image of your father! We thought you had been lost with him!”

The letter, falling open on the coffee table, read as follows:-

15 Bloomsbury Avenue

London

Gilmore Black

Brasenose College

Oxford

23rd February 1843

My Dear Gilmore,

I leave for Tibet tomorrow. If you are reading this letter then I am dead, disappeared or have been delayed for more than a year. Firstly – then – greetings and thanks to you from me, Dear Comrade, from beyond the grave or wherever I am now. Let us hope it is not in The Deep like poor old Harrison-Smith, (or somewhere worse).

You will need the Elder Sign and by now will be wondering if I was stupid enough to take it with me and lose our only real weapon on the road to Tibet. I must confess that I was planning to take it along, and you may think me very irresponsible to have done so.

But today I finally found my courage and made up my mind. The risk is too great. I have hidden it in plain view, among others of its kind, in our BM Meeting Room. That should offer protection to league meetings in my absence, without attracting undue attention. No doubt you will think it high time to take it down and make use of it in other ways – in which case I bequeath it to you with all my heart and much gratitude for your unflinching courage in all our adventures.

Good Hunting

Frances

PS I have also changed my mind and decided to leave Little Rufus with his aunts. I know I said I would not leave the poor little chap, but I have no doubt this will be a dangerous trip, indeed if I am frank, Gilmore, I have serious forebodings about it. Hence the letters. If the worst happens you will help Will look after him, won’t you? I know you will. Bon courage.

As Black told it then, Frances Ward was one of his closest friends, part of a small band of comrades dedicated to the discovery of artefacts such as the one being escorted by Holder and Gong. A wealthy tea merchant, Frances had financed the activities of the society and undertaken many expeditions. His wife sadly died giving birth to his only son, and shortly afterwards he left on a trip to Tibet from which he never returned. His friends had thought that he had taken the young boy with him, but the letter now showed that he had left him with his two maiden aunts under the guardianship of his old friend William Matherson, a solicitor and society member. Just after Frances left for Tibet, Matherson had died in a fire that had destroyed his offices and all his records, and shortly thereafter another terrible tragedy befell the Ward family; one of the sisters murdered the other and was declared insane. Little Rufus, it seemed, had been placed in an orphanage, perhaps by his insane aunt before her arrest. Some or all of this, Black hinted, must have been the work of the dark forces that had made Frances and his associates their enemies.

There was another extraordinary piece of information revealed by Frances Ward’s letter. The artefact known as the Elder Sign had not been lost, as the surviving society had thought, but hidden “in plain view, among others of its kind, in our BM Meeting Room.” It was, Black declared, wonderful news. After Frances had disappeared his friends had been left helpless in the face of their enemies, he said, for lack of the Elder Sign. The need to recover it was most urgent. Rufus guessed, correctly, that BM stood for British Museum and asked for the whereabouts of the room they used to meet in. Black drew a sketch map.

Thaddeus and Walter were intrigued, not to say astonished, at the mention of dark forces.

“Surely, Gilmore, you do not mean to say that these artefacts or occult societies that you speak of have supernatural powers of some kind?” Asked Thaddeus. “We are all men of science and reason. If there is a rational explanation, we are bound to seek it out.”

Black assured him that tomorrow, if they successfully recovered the artefact, he would introduce him to a person of the utmost distinction who would explain the nature of the forces ranged against them, and show them proof positive of their powers. For now, he begged them to trust him.

Those gathered in the Visitors Room of the Reform Club found themselves on the brink of a new and, as it turned out, deadly adventure. They resolved to take two steps. To recover the Elder Sign that very night, and to meet Holder and Gong tomorrow, suitably armed and prepared for any eventuality. “But the Museum will be closing by now.” Black remarked, for the evening had drawn in and the gas lights were already being lit. Rufus remained unruffled.

“I generally find opening hours no obstacle in acquiring objects.” He remarked.

Walter reminded Thaddeus that they were pledged to deliver ten pounds of atomium to Henry Carnehan, and leaving the others to their preparations they took Walter’s coach first to Thaddeus’s house, where they collected about half the required amount from the Professor’s laboratory store, and then to an associate of Walter who was able to furnish the remainder.

The inventor was delighted with their delivery, literally rubbing his hands together in glee. When Thaddeus asked to see the prototype he immediately fetched it and the three men bent to examine the black steel ball about the size of a football, set in a complex housing. Henry demonstrated the controls with such confidence that Walter began to wonder if he might not, somehow, have cracked the problem of ‘critical mass’ that had to date foiled every attempt at miniaturization.

“Come tomorrow gentlemen!” Chortled the inventor, “Come tomorrow and I shall not only demonstrate the mini-boiler but show you something truly remarkable!”

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

Later that night a Broughan cab dropped four figures in Great Russell Street.  Some way in the distance loomed the black bulk of the British Museum.  They made their way around to the side of the building, Rufus dismissing the attentions of a street droxy who accosted them on the way with a few muttered words. Thaddeus acted as lookout on the street while the other three scaled the iron railings and approached the side of the building. Here Rufus left Tolly and Walter standing and, with little apparent effort, scaled the wall to the second story by means of a drainpipe. There he slipped sideways from one window ledge to the next until he reached an unbarred window. This he jemmied open with practiced skill. Slipping inside, Rufus made his way silently into the unlit corridor and found the door to the old meeting room unlocked. Taking out his shuttered lantern, Rufus scanned the windowless room. Packing crates were stacked in one corner and by force of habit Rufus went through them. To his delight he found an ancient Egyptian necklace and bracelets, and a statuette of a cat made of solid gold. Stowing these in his bag he swept the room for the Elder Sign. Looking up he saw that the ceiling was covered in a plaster relief of sea creatures, shells, anemones and starfish. Recalling Black’s description of the Sign as a rough five-pointed star Rufus looked more closely. One of the starfish in the corner was slightly smaller, misshapen… moving a crate to stand on he examined it more closely and found the Sign stuck firmly into the plaster and painted over. Just as he prised it loose his run of good luck ended. Footsteps approached quickly from the corridor and the door opened to reveal a museum guard baring a lantern.

Stood as he was on a packing crate there was little Rufus could do, but with considerable aplomb he accosted the guard in tones of urgent authority.

“Quick man – give me a hand - or we’ll have the whole ceiling down!”

Astonished, the guard sprang forward to assist, and Rufus directed his attention to the ceiling clapping him on the shoulder with one hand and reaching behind him with the other. At first his hand found his razor sharp automatic knife, but reflecting on all the inconvenience of a murder investigation, his grip fastened instead on a cosh and he swiftly struck the guard over the back of the head. Trussing and gagging his victim, Rufus retraced his steps, sliding down the drainpipe to where Tolly and Walter were waiting.

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

The morning of the 29th of October found Holder M. Place finishing his breakfast in the First Class dining room of the Her Majesty’s Airship Southampton, and gazing out of the gondola’s windows at the thin line of English coastline on the horizon. A white-jacketed steward passed him a note that read simply:

RETURN TO CABIN

With a sigh and final glance at the view, Holder made his way down the steps and along the corridor to Cabin 115. Gong Ho was sitting on the bed next to an open porthole, his expression more than usually serious.

“What ho Gong? You’ll miss the view of the White Cliffs down here.”

“I have no wish to see more of your miselable island than I have to.” Came the reply. “I found a steward trying to search our cabin. I had to deal with him.” The martial artist lightly touched the knuckles of his right hand.

“Dealing as in re-arranging the bones in his neck, I take it.” Holder stepped over to close the porthole.

“If the body washes ashore its injuries will be consistent with a fall. The steward was certainly an agent of the tongs. We must assume we will be watched as we leave the airship.”

“Well then, let’s see what is inside this case and see if we can make it less conspicuous.”

The tea chest was a cube some two feet long at each edge. It was covered with numerous stamps and shipping notices in English, Chinese and Tibetan lettering. Inside, tightly packed around with paper, was a blackened metal box, small but heavy. On closer examination they saw it was made from ancient and deeply tarnished silver, covered with ornate serpentine designs and signs that could be some archaic form of writing. By the time they had resealed the tea-chest, and stowed the silver box in the backpack Gong used for the tools of his sinister trade, the airship was already descending towards London’s Air Dock in the Limehouse area, London’s Chinatown.

As soon as the lines were secured and gangway in place, they saw a Chinese steward and other members of staff hurrying down to the ground and mingling with the officials and crowds of workmen, coolies, cab-drivers, porters, and greeting relatives gathered by the dock.  At the edge of the crowd stood Tolly, Rufus, Thaddeus and Walter, looking for passengers matching the description given to them by Black.

Holder set off down the gangway, carrying the tea chest carefully under one arm. Gong Ho mingled with the second-class passengers queuing to take their turn. As Holder stepped from the end of the gangway a thickset man in a bowler barred his way, flanked by a customs official and two uniformed policemen, and introduced himself as Inspector Barker of Special Branch. Holder and his luggage, he declared, would come with him to the Yard for questioning.  Holder declined to accompany the inspector, but the policemen insisted; the uniformed men taking an elbow each. Pushing their way through the crowd Thaddeus and Walter quickly came to Holder’s aid. What was the meaning of this? Walter demanded, as the little group jostled its way towards a waiting police carriage on the edge of the crowd. Thaddeus, having some training in the law, demanded to know on precisely what charge Holder was being detained. Walter assured the inspector that his father, the former Cabinet Secretary, would be told of this shocking incident… and so forth. But although clearly nettled, the inspector did not pause in bustling Holder into the carriage. As the door closed the crowd seemed to suddenly thicken; all in a moment the police driver toppled inexplicably from his seat and the two men in uniform seemed to stumble to the ground. From out of the crowd behind him came an arm that drew a blade swiftly across the inspector’s neck, and he collapsed, suddenly gagging in blood.  The carriage rocked as the other door was torn open and in an instant the tea-chest had disappeared into the crowd.

Meanwhile Hong was stepping unobtrusively off the gangway to be quietly met by Tolly and Rufus towards the back of the crowd, who guided him towards their hired Clarence carriage. As pandemonium erupted around the police carriage Gong was just boarding the Clarence when a voice behind him demanded, very clearly, in Cantonese.

“You there. Weren’t you with that foreigner?”

Half turning Gong felt, more than saw, the man with the weapon behind him. Springing suddenly up and sideways, Gong smashed his foot into the man’s neck with shocking force, catapulting him into the crowd. His weapon clattered onto the cobbles where he had stood an instant before – a strangely shaped harpoon pistol that Tolly and Rufus recognised to be a Martian bolt-gun. The three now leapt into the carriage, shouting for the driver to whip up. A thump from the headboard announced the arrival of another Martian bolt, quivering in the upholstery. Figures began to run in all directions and a carriage packed with Chinamen shot off in pursuit. Thaddeus and Walter ran through the scattering crowd and took possession of a hansom cab whose sturdy driver – on the promise of five pounds - whipped up and rocketed off after the other two.

Then began a mad chase through the flabbergasted morning traffic of London. The Clarence cabby was a fine driver and galloped his horses down the tramlines, bawling for others to stand clear. The pursuing tongs desperately tried to make up the distance and, with their silent Martian bolts spent, opened fire with revolvers. Thaddeus and Walter, in the lighter Hansom, found themselves slowly gaining on both coaches.

The gunfire on top of whips put all the chasing horses into a fury of terror. By some miracle all three carriages raced across the intersection of Commercial Road and Whitechapel High Street and shot up Commercial Street without smashing into anything. Suddenly, a woman stepped, glassy-eyed, in front of the Clarence and was dashed under the hooves and wheels. The horses stumbled and shied and with cries of dismay the coachman now tried to check them. This was enough for the tong carriage to almost draw level, and the tongs levelled their revolvers at the Clarence’s horses. If they shot them the chase would be instantly over.

But at that moment Walter and Thaddeus’s Hansom slid alongside the tong’s coach. Walter had come prepared for a scrap. Indeed he had brought along with him the prototype of a device that he was keen to test in just such a situation as this – an automatic modified Webley .455 Revolver with clockwork 36-round drum magazine, capable of an eye-watering four shots a second. With a cry of “Take this!” he levelled the awesome weapon and let rip. Taken by surprise the tongs could only stare, open-mouthed. There was a clicking noise and a faint squeak. The prototype was, it seemed, more than a little unreliable. As Walter fell to cursing and jabbing at his mechanism, Thaddeus thrust his sword-stick at the nearest tong, but was unable to make contact.

The distraction, however, allowed the Clarence to gather pace once more and it shot ahead again, ploughing straight into the teeming traffic of High Street Shoreditch and somehow, miraculously, avoiding a crash. The other two carriages careered along in its wake. The tongs now turned upon their pursuers, and several shots narrowly missed Walter and Thaddeus. After some frenzied tinkering by both technophiles, the Webley was again ready to try, and this time it thundered, joyfully, into life.  Bullets ripped through the tong carriage, and one of these must have struck the driver for when the Clarence turned the corner at St Leonards Church, the tong carriage sped aimlessly past it up the road.

So it was that, after much careful doubling back to ensure they were not followed, the five companions appeared at the door of an unremarkable town house in George Street, and were admitted by a delighted Gilmore Black and an attractive young woman by the name of Samantha Wedgewood.

After much hand-shaking and medicinal brandies all round, the men fell to examining the silver box that had placed them in so much peril. What, they asked Black, did it contain? And had he not promised to provide answers to their other questions, proof positive of his claims, and the testimony of a ‘most distinguished person’?

In answer Black simply looked at his companion, Samantha Wedgewood, who said she would fetch her uncle. The door opened to considerable consternation, for standing before them was the unmistakable white whiskered form of Charles Darwin, who had died and been buried in state in 1882. Thaddeus could not decide if he was delighted or appalled.

“I… I was at your funeral Charles… Good Lord man - I *spoke* at it!”

“Indeed, and very movingly Thaddeus,” came the reply. “Everyone should be able to attend his own funeral, it is a very touching occasion. But I certainly owe you – all of you – an explanation…”

For the last twenty years, Darwin began, he had been aware of certain defects with his account of natural history, and had been working upon a new book, far more radical than his earlier works. Indeed, so radical was his new theory that he felt sure that most readers would at first reject it as utter madness. Furthermore, his line of research had come to the attention of enemies who, he learned, were preparing to have him declared insane and discrediting all his work – both old and new.  He resolved, therefore, to make a pretence of his own death; thus safeguarding his scientific legacy for the future and giving him the freedom to pursue his new theories without the risk of confinement in a sanatorium.

The account of evolution by means of natural selection was incomplete, he realised, without an explanation for the mass extinctions that the fossil record clearly showed. All the evidence pointed to the existence of a second form of life upon the planet, one that periodically exterminated the bulk of cellular organisms, and which operated by entirely different biological principles. With the help of Gilmore Black and others he studied examples of this second form and categorized it as ‘ectoplasmic’ as opposed to the ‘protoplasmic’ life forms that we are familiar with. These creatures were referred to in the legends of Cthulhu and the Old Ones, giant entities of such vast magnitude that, when active, they quickly depleted the protoplasmic species on which they fed, such as reptiles, dinosaurs and mammals. They existed, therefore, by entering long periods of deathlike dormancy to allow protoplasmic life to regenerate before further harvesting.

Ectoplasmic life operated by principles entirely alien to the cellular protoplasmic forms with which we are familiar. Their forms are controlled directly by mental impulses of a psychic or telepathic nature, rather than by networks of nerves. This psychic control is easily extended to other organisms so as to command their sources of food. Even when sleeping, these ghastly hyperfauna bathe the planet in a certain amount of psychic radiation. In order for their nervous systems to operate rationally, organic species have developed some rudimentary defences against these influences. This mental shielding must be particularly well developed in the more advanced intelligences such as Man. Unfortunately, however, this shielding takes the form of an insensitivity to the influences of these creatures and an associated refusal to perceive their existence.

Thaddeus was fascinated, but deeply sceptical.

“Charles, you know that I hold you and your work in the highest esteem, but these suppositions are entirely unprecedented. Without direct evidence you cannot possibly hope for us to take you seriously.”

Darwin said nothing, but Gilmore Black went to the basement and returned with a heavy lead box. Inside was a glass jar that he opened and set upon the table. The only contents were something that looked, at first glance, to be a shrivelled piece of grey flesh, rather like a giant slug. Black invited his guests to examine it.

Since the moment he had set eyes on it, Walter had found himself unsettled by the specimen; revolted and yet drawn to it like some ghastly pustule or open wound. As he stepped gingerly towards it he saw that the grey slime was not opaque, but simply cloudy. Then, with a ghastly shock, he saw the innards of the thing writhe in spasm and form themselves into an eye - malevolent, horribly aware, and staring directly at him. As he recoiled in shock he felt the force of the thing’s will strike him with a desperate urgency. ‘Get me out!’ it seemed to shriek inside his head ‘Now!’

It was only by a sickening effort of will that Walter wrenched his gaze away and turned his back on the thing. At the same moment a sharp intake of breath was heard and Tolly, who had been fiddling with his eye-patch and peering at the canister backed away violently. Thaddeus, Rufus and Gong looked at them with curiosity, seeing nothing untoward in the glass jar. Black invited them to touch it.

Although he had dissected many body parts, both terrestrial and Martian, Thaddeus found himself strangely reluctant. Still, he thrust his hand into the jar to grasp the little piece of grey jelly. He recoiled immediately with a cry and stepped back from the table, white as a sheet. The others followed, each receiving the same, ghastly sensation. Darwin handed each man a glass of brandy. The five now turned to him with serious, not to say harrowed, expressions.

“I have experienced something that is inexplicable by our existing understanding of biology, Charles.” Thaddeus said at last. “I am prepared to take your view very seriously.”

Black now explained that the society he had spoken of had long experience of these ectoplasmic creatures, not all of which were titanic sleeping deities such as Cthulhu. Lesser creatures, spawn of the Old Ones, also existed in small numbers through the long ages, guarding their gods, and multiplying when the Old Ones began to stir. Chief of these races are the Deep Ones, living in the uttermost depths of the oceans, but monitoring human thought and culture, turning men away from defending themselves against the horrors of Cthulhu, and recruiting cultist to do their bidding amongst us. It was against these enemies that ‘The League’, as it was known, waged a hidden war. In one of these battles Black had managed to sever a piece of ectoplasmic flesh. This was the sample that they had examined.

What, then, was the Elder Sign, Rufus asked, and how did it affect the creatures? Indescribably ancient, Black explained, the Signs were almost unique in offering some protection against the psychic and physical forces of the Deep Ones. After Frances Ward discovered one in Iceland some fifty years ago, the League had been able to resist the attacks of the ghastly creatures themselves. What then, Gong asked politely, of the object that Holder and he had brought from China?

Before the deaths and disasters that had all but destroyed the League some forty years ago, Black explained, they had discovered evidence for an artefact even more powerful than the Elder Signs – the Golden Orb.

“The founder of the League, Doctor Joshua Anderson believed the golden orb to be the original apple of knowledge in the Garden of Eden. At that time my own view was that they were the golden apples of Hesperides, said to be guarded by the hundred-headed dragon Ladon of the constellation Draco. Frances Ward thought them to be the Chintamani Jewel or Pearl of the Naga King in the Hindu and Buddhist tradition. I should add that Heinrich Schliemann, the ruthless German ‘archaeologist’ believes them to be the golden apples of Idun and the *ásynjur -* the Goddesses of Norse mythology and therefore the Food of the Gods.”

Black fell into discussion with Gong Ho in Cantonese as to the possible meanings of the characters on the silver box. Glancing at his pocket watch, Walter realised that several hours had passed and that they were shortly due to meet Henry Carnehan for the demonstration of his prototype atomium boiler. Leaving Black and Darwin to work on the box, the five slipped out of the house and made their way by cab to Rufus’s dwelling in Southwark.

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

As soon as they approached the building Rufus sensed that something was wrong. Bulls-eye leapt from the alley sounding his ‘intruder alert’ bark. Now he and his master ran towards the door to the basement, the others hurrying along behind. Kicking open the door Rufus found himself confronting two men wearing dark greatcoats and mufflers. Bulls-eye leapt immediately for the nearest, sinking his teeth into the arm the figure flung up to protect his throat.  The man staggered backwards, muttering “*scheisse,*” trying to drag a heavy revolver from his pocket, Clicking open his automatic knife, Rufus darted forwards and, with a swift feint, sunk the blade to the hilt into his assailant’s heart. As the body crumpled to the floor Rufus looked up to see the second intruder levelling his pistol at him. There was a boom as Tolly’s Adams revolver spoke first, and the figure crashed backwards against the wall.

The party dashed in to find the basement strewn with loose papers and scattered equipment. Uncle Henry was nowhere to be seen. But Bulls-eye was bounding towards the stairs, and dashing up behind him they caught sight of more intruders above them, struggling it seemed with some encumbrance. There came a crash and burst of smoke from above as one of the intruders fired at them, but no-one was hit and the chase continued to the top of the building. They burst out of the door onto the roof to see a muffled man standing with his pistol levelled at them. Some ten paces beyond, on a lower roof, two more intruders were fleeing, supporting the sagging body of Henry Carnehan between them. Somehow, before the nearest man could fire, Rufus flung his knife so that it struck cleanly in the chest, and before he could regain his balance Bulls-eye had him by the throat and finished him. A canvas bag that he had been carrying slid down the roof and dropped with a clang into the courtyard below, where Walter and Thaddeus stood. The two other intruders now dropped their unconscious prisoner and turned to train their pistols on their pursuers.  There was a sharp exchange of fire, but no shot struck home. Then Tolly, enraged no doubt by the sight of his abducted Uncle, ran forward and flung himself onto the lower roof. Missing his footing he slid wildly down one side, moving too rapidly for the intruders bullets to find their mark. At the last moment he dug his mechanical arm through the tiles of the roof to halt his progress and somehow managed to blast away with his Adams revolver. As Tolly drew their fire, Gong leapt assuredly onto the lower roof and rolled to his feet, followed by Rufus and Bulls-eye.

There was a crackle of gunfire from the courtyard below. Dashing backwards with his Webley prototype, Walter had finally found a line of sight to the men on the roof and, for once, the weapon fired first time – nicking one of the intruders in the leg. A shot fired at the rapidly moving Gong missed and the next instant the martial artist was air-born, leaping forward to smash the side of his foot into the face of an intruder with bone-crunching force. The last attacker aimed his pistol at Gong, but Tolly, steadying his pistol on the guttering, finally found his mark and caught the intruder in the arm. A split-second later Rufus’s throwing knife struck him in the throat and he toppled backwards and dropped from the roof.

Rufus and Gong turned to attend to Uncle Henry, but at that moment there rang out the echoing crack of a high-velocity rifle. They dropped to the tiles, but saw to their surprise that neither of them had been hit. Glancing across they realised the sniper had had a different target in his sights. The bullet had passed cleanly through Henry Carnehan head. A flicker of movement on a roof opposite suggested the marksman had fled.

In the courtyard below Walter and Thaddeus inspected the contents of the canvas bag that had dropped from the roof. It contained a curiously shaped metal helmet of golden hue. It had eye-slits protected with glass and prominent crest that looked almost like a keel of a tiny ship. It also contained Uncle Henry’s miniaturized atomium boiler. Quickly priming it with water from the rain butt, Thaddeus attempted to start it up. To his astonishment if hissed into life, jetting out a tiny stream of superheated steam. He stood in delight, turning to tell Walter the extraordinary news but saw that his companion lifting a bizarre contrivance from the large sack that had fallen with the body of the last intruder. Shaped something like a backpack made of two rounded cylindrical boilers, the device had the same glossy golden tinge as the strange aerodynamic helmet… could it be some device meant for personalized flight?

Walter was suddenly gripped with excitement. Buckling the jetpack onto his back and grasping the helmet he ran up to the roof, determined to try the device immediately. The large switch looked promising and, as he had hoped, the device’s weird motor started up, emitting a soft hum. Despite the remonstrations of his companions, Walter donned the strange helmet and pulled back on both of the jetpack’s hand controls.

With a blast of steam that scattered roof tiles in all directions, Walter suddenly vanished atop a rapidly rising column of white vapour. Some thousand feet up his progress suddenly checked and he seemed to swoop sideways and downwards towards the river. The four companions could only gape upwards as the tiny figure moved overhead. Then they perceived that Walter was desperately fighting with the controls. The next moment they saw to their horror the jet of steam had swivelled around so that it was now above Walter and he was streaking downwards at the same titanic speed with which he had ascended.  They watched, rooted to the spot as he shot like an arrow, it seemed, into the brown waters until, impossibly, he whipped around at the last instant, and grazing the water with his boots shot up again, soaring overhead for a moment to land upon his feet in front of them. There was no blood whatever in Walter’s face, but he seemed, nevertheless, to be smiling. Gong scratched his shaven head.

“You one lucky *gweilo*.” He said.

A search of Uncle Henry’s laboratory revealed yet another surprise: a second miniaturized atomium boiler. This one was not charged with atomium, so it seemed that some at least of the ten pounds provided yesterday was in the extraordinary jetpack that Walter had nearly tested to destruction. However, to their dismay the searchers found that the intruders had destroyed much of Uncle Henry’s working papers. The bodies of the intruders proved instructive. Two had Heidelberg duelling scars, all had been armed with the heavy Gasser 11mm revolver used by the German and Austrian military, one had a Berlin tailor’s mark in his jacket. Another had a strange pocket-watch that turned out to be a miniature camera, and this offered the hope that the Germans (for so they must surely be) had photographed Uncle Henry’s papers before destroying them. Tolly now recalled that his Uncle had said something about having attended a conference in Magdeburg in the summer.  There was something, he said, that he must do alone. Walking to the main street to hail a cab he opened his wallet and took out the card he found there.

Doctor Heinrich Schliemann

Cultural Attaché

Embassy of Germany

Belgrave Square, London.

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

At the Embassy Tolly was quickly ushered in to a large room containing an imposing desk. Behind it sat a balding man who stared at him intensely from behind his spectacles and moustache, and who introduced himself as Doctor Schliemann.

“I am most pleased to meet you, Herr Carnehan, I have a proposition for you.”

“Before we discuss anything you might like to know the whereabouts of the bodies of four of your agents who have just murdered my Uncle Henry.”

Schliemann seemed embarrassed by this piece of news and hurried out. When he returned it was with an almost comically apologetic expression. This tragic death was a terrible oversight and a mistake, he explained, and in these exceptional circumstances the German government would like to offer its most profound apologies and the paltry sum of two thousand marks (£500) as a gesture of condolence to the family. He, Schliemann, had known nothing at all about the matter and was deeply shocked by it. The men concerned would be severely reprimanded. He hoped that Mr Carnehan would still be prepared to listen to his proposal.

Tolly acquiesced to do so and Schliemann talked on. The famed German ‘archaeologist’ was clearly a driven man, not given to thinking small. His proposition (the details of which Tolly might describe in more detail at a later stage) involved gaining access to remote locations to dig for archaeological artefacts; and perhaps for other reasons. Tolly felt sure that his old comrade (and former king) Danny Dravot would have had something to say about Schliemann. “I don’t like it, Tolly. The man’s a raving lunatic!” Or something of that sort. Schliemann was also very eager to know anything that Tolly could find out about Professor Gilmore Black, whom he clearly saw as his principle rival. Tolly bade him goodbye, saying that he would think things over and pass Schliemann’s cheque to his aunt.

Tolly stepped down the Embassy steps and hailed a cab to Whitechapel. He walked the last few hundred yards to Darwin’s safe house, carefully doubling back to ensure he was not being followed. But when he arrived at the address the door was thrown open by by a wild-eyed Black; behind him, the house was in uproar.

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

The Golden Orb, it seemed, had been stolen. Professor Black had succeeded in opening its silver box, but the orb itself had disappeared along with Darwin’s niece, Samantha Wedgewood. Thaddeus, Gong, Rufus and Walter were already there, searching the premises. Black had immediately informed Mycroft Holmes, who had good relations with The League, and he had sent for his brother Sherlock. A knock on the door announced the arrival of the famous sleuth and he went over house with his magnifying glass.

“A difficult matter,” he said at last. “I fear I can be of rather little help.”

“How about you try?” Suggested Rufus.

“I can add rather little to the obvious points that you yourselves will have already noticed. Miss Wedgewood left the house by the rear window dressed for a long journey with her most prized possessions in a carpet-bag including, presumably, this golden orb. She went to the alley at the back of the yard where she met her accomplice who drove her away in a four-horsed coach, probably a Brougham, which suggests it was a private carriage and not a cab. The cuttings from penny dreadfuls and other ‘journals’ in her room contain several suggesting that the white slave trade often involves young women who deliberately run away to marry foreigners for romantic reasons. The only other point to mention in this connection is that rumours of white slavery have in the past been linked to the name of the celebrated magnate Don Solomon who is currently in London on one of his periodic visits. But since this appears to be a matter largely concerning the romantic affections of a young woman I fear that I can be of rather little use to you gentlemen.”

Holmes was bundled out of the door with thanks and assurances that his visit had not been entirely wasted, and the companions gathered to consider their next moves.

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

The following day saw Walter and Thaddeus at the Yacht Club, favoured haunt of the old Etonian and Prince of Sarawak, Don Solomon.  Towards the middle of the afternoon he appeared, surrounded by a gaggle of splendid associates and hangers-on. Walter contrived to stumble into the crowd and offered apologies all round. Don Solomon was a handsome, powerfully built man in his late thirties, with a luxuriant black beard and very white teeth. Fixing Walter with a commanding but friendly stare he announced that he knew his father well and the two were soon talking about their mutual interest in cricket. Walter, as it happened, had been the finest fast bowler of his year at Oxford, and Solomon was thought to be an excellent player himself. He challenged him to a match of ‘one-to-one.’

The excited crowd spilled out onto the Club’s cricket ground and presently the two sporting champions emerged from the clubhouse in borrowed whites. The match was keenly contested. Solomon won the toss and batted first and Walter astounded the crowd with a blinding first ball, spot on the mid-stump. Amazingly, however, Solomon’s roll of the dice was even better and he smashed it away for a four. Walter bowled superbly, but Solomon seemed possessed by uncommon skill and luck. When Walter finally claimed his wicket Solomon had some thirty runs to his name. Walter began batting with fine form and soon brought his score to twenty six. But the next delivery was an astonishingly swift Yorker that struck the bales from the stumps to cheers from the crowd. Basking in the glory of the moment, Solomon declared Walter was the finest opponent he had played in years and, clapping him on the back, insisted that he join him to celebrate on his yacht the *Sulu Queen* that evening.

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

Meanwhile, Rufus had been seeing to some other business. An anonymous vehicle would be needed for the adventures ahead, and Rufus soon found a cabby with a growler who was in desperate need of cash. The unfortunate Thomas Milltown had fallen deeply in debt to a brutal loan shark by the name of Clayton. In return for his horse and carriage at a discount price, Rufus agreed to help. When he met Clayton, however, the gangster explained that although the capital sum had been small, interest had now reached such a point that Thomas owed him the impossibly huge sum of several hundred pounds. Clayton had decided he had to make an example of the man for the sake of future business. He simply had to be killed, he said.

Rufus immediately devised a solution. Thomas Milltown would disappear. A brutally mutilated body would be found in the Thames that would be identified as the disappeared cabbie. And Rufus would pay the capital sum owed by Thomas plus a sensible interest payment of a few pounds. Clayton was happy with the arrangement and Thomas thanked Rufus from the bottom of his heart, leaving for Edinburg that evening with enough money in his pocket to buy a Hansom there. Having arranged for the body to be found, checked the growler, and found temporary stabling for the horses, Rufus headed for the docks to get news of Don Solomon’s yacht. He fell in with a young American seaman named Peterson with a drink problem and a taste for the new drug that had been sweeping the poorer streets of London named ‘Bliss.’ Smuggled in from the Orient, this wonder drug caused time to slow to an enchanting slow motion and even at ten shillings a dose it was already in greater demand than opium and making inroads into the market for gin. Peterson wanted to buy a large quantity for smuggling to the USA and, no doubt, his own use. Rufus agreed to help.

An hour later Gong and Rufus were standing outside one of the numerous Limehouse opium dens that Rufus had had dealings with in the past. When the doorman recognised him they were instantly admitted.

“Ah, Lufus. Nice to see you. You want chase some dragon? No? Chase some skirt instead? Ha-ha, I just joking.”

Rufus sought a meeting with the boss of the den, Mister Wang Chung, and presently they were admitted to his presence, flanked by two bodyguards. Wang Chung, it turned out, had just received a consignment of Bliss and sold Rufus fifty doses. The crime boss then turned his gaze on Gong Ho, sitting impassively beside Rufus. Who, he enquired, might he be?

Gong introduced himself as a Senior Adept of *Pai-lien Chiao* the White Lotus Society. He was here to reclaim a powerful artefact taken by the foreign devils from the Middle Kingdom. The White Lotus expected the full assistance of the 14K tong, to which the honourable Wang Chung clearly belonged, he explained. It was a bold demand and the atmosphere became tense as Wang’s bodyguards bridled at Gong’s superior tone. At last, however, the crime boss seemed to relent. All the tongs were already hunting for this item, he said, and the rumour was that there was to be an auction at which two representatives from each bidding party would be invited by whoever possessed the object at midnight tomorrow. The tongs would be sent the location of the rendezvous soon, he thought, but no-one as yet knew where that would be. Determined to quit while their luck held, Rufus and Gong bade Wang goodbye and, after selling thirty of the doses of Bliss to Peterson for the price Rufus had paid for fifty, the pair hurried back towards Southwark.

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

Amid the finery of the Yacht Club, the party on the lavishly furnished Sulu Queen was a glamorous affair.  Still flushed with his recent sporting triumph, its host was in splendidly expansive mood. Walter and his friend Professor Theodore (or was it Thadimus?) were capital fellows, and were introduced to Sir Roger Bannister, Colonel Lionel Dashwood, Lucy Bedding-Pendleton and Countessa Natalia Romanov in short order. The crowd bubbled as freely as the endless glasses of the finest Champaign.

The chatter suddenly died, however, as a squad of policeman made their way onto deck, led by a thickset man with a heavily bandaged neck. To the utter disbelief of the gathering he announced (rather hoarsely) that the entire yacht and all its occupants were to be searched.

Solomon appeared as hugely entertained as he was amazed by this development. Search as you please, he boomed, you will find no white slave-girls hidden in his closet! But Inspector Barker – for it was indeed he – must have friends in very high places if his career was to survive this insult to half the polite society of London. The crew and guests filed down the gangplank, each one searched (even the ladies handbags examined!) while the police combed the boat from stem to stern. As it became clear that they could find nothing incriminating, Barker’s face became crimson – whether from embarrassment or rage it was impossible to tell. Solomon bade him and his men a hearty goodbye and remarked that he looked forward to their next meeting – in court.

Try as he might, however, the newly vindicated host could not reassemble his guests and the party ended on a note of bewilderment, as people drifted away. Thaddeus and Walter made their way to the house in Southwark to discuss the next step.

The discussion lasted late into the night, with few easy points of agreement. Despite his misgivings, Rufus eventually agreed to the idea of eliminating and impersonating one of the bidding parties at the auction. The best candidate for this seemed to be the Germans, since surely any seller would guess of Schliemann’s interest in the orb.

                        \*                      \*                      \*                      \*

So it was that the following evening saw a tightly shuttered growler waiting near the steps leading down to the point along the River Thames closest to Belgravia.  The night was foggy, and by the embassy Rufus and Gong could only just make out the figures of the two men slipping out of the side entrance of the German embassy and set off in the direction of the river. They followed silently.

When they came to the steps leading down to the river the Germans paused, and uncovered a shuttered lantern. Presently, the watchers saw another light shining dimly through the fog from the surface of the river. As the two Germans began to make their way down the steps, Gong raced forward and launched himself into the air. His foot connected with the neck of the first man with the ever-deadly crunch of breaking bones. As the other man turned to face his opponent, Rufus coshed him from behind, and running up from the growler, Tolly quickly gaged and tied the unconscious Schliemann, bundling him into a sturdy chest in the coach. Even as they finished they heard the low chug of an engine and the scrape of the boat arriving at the water’s edge. Since they had not met Don Solomon and could pass for Germans, Tolly and Rufus picked up Schleimann’s dropped suitcase and hurried down the steps to board the boat.

They joined a small party seated, rather coldly, in a steam launch manned by Malays. On one side of them sat the tong representatives, staring impassively ahead. Opposite them were two men dressed as if for the opera, whose faces betrayed the strangest play of emotions: now amusement, then awe, next triumph followed by a moment of fear. As the boat began to make its way along the fog-bound river one of them could be heard tittering to himself.

“They’re coming…” He giggled. “They’re coming.”

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

Even before the boat had disappeared into the fog, Thaddeus, Walter and Gong were at the riverside. A small rowboat was bobbing in the wake of the departed vessel and they boarded it hurriedly, pushed off and set off in pursuit with Gong and the oars and Thaddeus at the tiller.  They could hear the engine of the launch some hundred yards ahead of them, but could see no glimpse of the boat in the murk. At first they kept up without difficulty; the launch was running its engine slowly and picking its way cautiously between the buoys and moored vessels in the darkened river. But after half a mile or so they heard the engine rise to a loader and more strident note, and Thaddeus felt his heart sink into his boots. Surely they could not keep up with a vessel under full steam?

It was then that Gong Ho bent his back to the oars and put forth his full strength. The little boat began to surge forward through the water. Walter and Thaddeus exchanged astonished glances as the pace doubled, and then doubled again. No champion oarsman could have matched Gong Ho, as for minute after gruelling minute the craft sped through the water in the wake of the steam-driven craft, whose engine could still be heard through the fog ahead. But no human could have kept up that pace for more than a few miles and after some twenty minutes the iron Chinaman’s pace began to slacken, his breath coming in increasingly ragged gasps. The boat began to slow, the sound of the engine receded as the distance lengthened. And then, just when hope seemed lost, they heard the engine stop. Somewhere in the darkness ahead, the launch must have arrived at its destination.

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

Tolly and Rufus sat in the darkened launch, staring into the empty blackness as the crew swept a lantern beam from side to side across the water. The boat had stopped, apparently, in the middle of the river. But then they saw a light wink out ahead. The next moment the river before them began to boil and churn as something huge started to rise from the depths. Directly in front of them rose a tower of black steel, on either side of which they could just make out a deck, still awash with brown water. A gangplank was lowered and the boatmen now produced revolvers and bustled the six passengers up it to the conning tower of the submersed vessel. There they were each carefully searched before climbing down through a hatch into the craft below.

They found themselves in the large stateroom of a space ship. A huge mahogany table stood in the centre of the room, somewhat incongruent on the riveted steel floor. Around the walls were ranged six Malay guards, some armed with rifles, others with revolvers. In their midst stood Don Soloman, now dressed as a Prince of Sarawak in dazzling cloth of gold. But none of the visitors more than glanced at him. All found themselves staring at the object that lay upon the table. Set inside a sinister looking steel container in a bed of wired dynamite, lay *the orb*. About the size of a cricket ball, the sheer beauty of the sphere’s golden skin held every gaze. Tolly stepped forward to examine the object more closely, taking a monocle from his pocket he screwed it into place, managing to disturb and replace his eye-patch in the process. It was genuine, then, and clearly heavily booby-trapped.

Solomon clapped is hands for attention. Reluctantly, the bidders took their seats at the table.

“Gentlemen. The rules of the auction are clear. Each of you have given a £1,000 entry fee in gold.” He gestured to the three bags brought by the bidders. “The successful bidder will send one of his number to obtain the full sum of money agreed, and then meet us to exchange this for the object and his partner. Only then will the dynamite charge around the object be defused. Let us commence. Do I have a bid for one hundred thousand pounds?”

“The Order of the Golden Dawn will make that bid.” Said one of the dandies, dropping his gloves into the top hat in front of him.

“One hundred fifty thousand.” This from the tongs.

“Two hundred zhousand of your British pounds.” Tolly declared, replacing the monocle in his top pocket.

As the auction proceeded, the Golden Dawn representatives seemed increasingly distracted. At three hundred thousand they stopped even pretending to bid and locked stares with one another, their faces twitching as if sharing some secret joke. As the bids increased the togs became agitated and when Tolly bid four hundred thousand pounds they became angry.

“Four hun’red thousand and one ton opium!”

“Cash bids only.” Solomon declared icily. Tolly assumed an air of self-satisfaction.

“Vour hundred and twenty five zhousand pounds.”

The lead tong sprang to his feet.

“He’s bluffing! He cannot have so much!”

“Germany has deep pockets, my little yellow friend.”

Rufus was not watching the angry Chinaman, but Solomon and the guards were. With the deft fingers of a child pickpocket he had managed to keep possession of his automatic knife, palming it from one hand to another as he was being searched. Now he let it drop from his sleeve into his hand.

Just then there came a dull thump, as if something heavy had struck the steel hull above them. The Golden Dawn cultists looked up, all but hugging themselves in delight.

“They’re here!”

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

Gong rowed as quietly as he could while Walter scanned the banks of fog before them. When the dark bulk of the conning tower loomed ahead he pointed it out and they shipped oars and let the rowboat glide on until it was some thirty yards away.

Now Gong slipped into the water and swam silently ahead, a throwing knife gripped between his teeth. There were two guards on the tower, one leaning against the railings with his back to Gong as he rose silently from the water. Somehow making no sound, Gong found his feet and sprang over the railings, simultaneously striking down with one expert stroke to the guard’s exposed neck. The blow, struck with all the cunning of the oriental martial arts, felled the man like an ox, and before his companion could do more than open his mouth to cry out, Gong’s foot smashed into his neck with his customary lethal force.

Now Walter worked the oars and sent the rowboat skimming towards the submerged spaceship. As it approached Gong flung Thaddeus a line and stooped to help the others up onto the tower. Walter managed to slide quietly onto the deck to crouch over the hatchway, but just as Thaddeus reached for the railing a wave lifted the boat and with a dull clang it struck heavily against the metal side.

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

At the sound all those in the spaceship’s stateroom gazed upwards. At that moment Rufus swept up his arm and whipped it down. The blade seemed to click from its hilt even as the dagger flashed through the air. Don Solomon staggered backwards, eyes goggling at the hilt of the knife buried in the centre of his chest. As the others stared in horror at Solomon, Tolly leapt for the nearest guard. With an explosive hiss he unleashed the steel fist of his mechanical arm. The straight left smashed into the pirate’s face like a piston, catapulting him back against the bulkhead, leaving Tolly holding his rifle in his other hand. The Englishman dropped to one knee just in time to avoid a bullet that smacked into the wall above his head. Weaponless, Rufus made a dive in the direction of Solomon’s still-twitching body as it swayed and fell headlong on the floor.

At that instant the hatch above was flung open and Gong Ho dropped through it, landing catlike on the huge table, and immediately rolling along it to spring to the floor as gunfire erupted around him. From the hatchway above him the Webely thundered into life, cutting down first one and then a second guard as they sought to train their guns on Gong.

Tolly put down a guard with a well-aimed rifle shot. Gong threw out an arm and his throwing knife found its target. Rufus reached Solomon’s body, wrenched out his knife, and flung again, this time catching a guard in his revolver-arm, just as he tried to discharge the piece at Gong. Next second the martial artist was on his feet, leaping high and this time not kicking but snapping out lightning punches to fell first one and then a second armed man.

Walter blazed away through the conning tower hatch. Perhaps because of Fate, or perhaps because Thaddeus had had the thing to pieces that morning, the Webley had not jammed yet, and was eating its way steadily through its thirty-six shots. Beside him knelt Thaddeus, gripping the brim of his hat against the glare of the Webley’s mussel-flash, banging away with a captured revolver. Another guard went down - or was it a tong - and then another…

The minute the firing stopped Thaddeus slid swiftly down the ladder and made for the orb. Smoke filled the room, and the floor seemed littered with bodies of the guards and the other bidders cut down in the crossfire. He had seen the dynamite bed from the hatchway and was keen to inspect the wiring. Fortune was with him: the final inches of fuse wire were unprotected. He snipped through them all and removed the orb. Walter pocketed several sticks of the explosive, in case they might prove useful.

Miraculously, none of the adventurers had sustained more than flesh wounds. Recharging their weapons they now opened the door to the cockpit and pulled out a terrified co-pilot. A sweep of the engine room led to some brief gunfire; one dead and one captured crewmember.

They realised, to their surprise, that they were in full possession of Don Solomon’s spaceship *The Sulu King*. This was a very handsome 240ft spaceship of some 6,500 tons, equipped with two atomic steamjet engines, tanks for 4,500 tons of fuel water and a cargo capacity of a thousand tons. It also had a luxury master cabin, an expensively stocked kitchen, quarters for a crew of nine, and two Krupp 3 inch howitzers hidden away amidships.

On the lowest deck were three heavily barred cell-doors. Behind one of these they found a distraught Samantha Wedgewood clad only in rags. “I’ve been such a fool,” was all that she would say as they brought her up to the stateroom. Thaddeus sat the poor girl on his knee and gave her some fatherly comfort, including several long swallows from his hip flask, until the colour began to return to her cheeks.

From the floor game a strange, gurgling laugh. They looked down to see one of the cultist, shot through and soaked in his own blood, was still alive. He grinned redly up at them.

“They’re here…”

There was a soft impact on the outside of the hull, followed by several others. A chill seemed to fall over the room. Tolly grabbed the Malaysian co-pilot and bundled him into the cockpit.  He clapped a revolver to his head.

“Get this thing up – right now!”

There was a swirl of movement by one of the portholes and a nightmarish face appeared. Huge staring frog-like eyes peered in. Walter and Gong stood rooted to the spot: they could feel the thing’s mind pressing in at them like an icy wind…

Pulling the Elder Sign from his pocket, Rufus thrust it against the glass. Immediately he felt himself caught between two powerful psychic forces; the cold blast from the creature at the porthole and fierce warmth from the stone in his hand. He struggled for a moment, trying to thrust the nightmarish chill away, but to his horror he found it spreading, growing, enveloping him.

It was as if the top of his skull had been suddenly removed, Rufus said later, and all the darkness of space had flooded in. He suddenly knew the long echoing leagues of the undersea realm, ice-cold and utterly black. It was terrible and yet thrilling, and he realised he could hear Them calling – *come to us, join us in the deep*… It would be madness to go, but he began to understand the weird joy of madness… And then, deeper still, he felt it… a great rumbling like the purring of some monstrous cat, the psychic note of Dread Cthulhu, lying in deathlike sleep in R’lyeh. He could join with the god, he realised, join with it and when he arose, feel the exquisite terror of the millions…

As Rufus turned, glassy-eyed, from the porthole, Gong seemed to strike him lightly on the side of his neck and he slumped to the floor, the Elder Sign still gripped in his hand. At that moment they heard the throb of the ships engines and felt the craft rising up, clear of the waters. The face and the porthole slipped down and vanished. Just as Thaddeus turned away with relief, a creature dropped through the still-open hatchway above, landing with a nauseating squelch on the floor. Covered in coarse greyish green skin that hung in folds like some monstrous toad, the creature hefted its bulky form to stare at them with bulging amphibious eyes, opening its huge mouth and spreading its massive arm-like limbs.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it vanished – like a popped bubble. Gong Ho stood there, one arm outstretched. In his hand he held the Golden Orb.  He was never quite sure why he had touched it to the creature, except that it seemed like the only thing to do, but the instant the orb had come into contact with its ectoplasmic flesh the Deep One had simply disappeared.

\*                      \*                      \*                      \*

After a discussion with Gong Ho, the co-pilot, by the name of Ying, and the second engineer, by the name of Tong, agreed to sign-on under the new management of the vessel in return for improved pay and a flight home at the end of their year’s contract. Leaving a full search of the ship’s cargo for later, the five companions flew out over the sea to dispose of the bodies, before taking the ship to London Spaceport.

There they met with more good fortune. The shipping clerk had started in the Home Office when Walter’s father had been in charge of records, and he was delighted at the prospect of being of some help to such an esteemed family. Since the ships original papers were not to hand, he said, he would mark them up on the form as ‘To Follow’ and issue the registration document anyway. For a few pounds in stamp charges, Walter left the office with the legal deeds to HMSS Appleby in his pocket and a five-year berthing licence for the spaceport.

In the spaceship the five sat around the mahogany table, dazed and yawning after their night’s exertions, sipping mugs of Solomon’s gourmet coffee. They had won, they reflected, many marvels. But what, they began to wonder, should they do with them?

The End?