Demon And Demeanour. Book 4 Of Poacher's ProgressChapter 3: Out Of Mind free porn video
Rob and I spent the night in the coach. The seating was remarkably comfortable and we slept like logs, once we had disposed of the corpse.
In the grey light of dawn we found Metzendorf’s garments strewn over the floor of the coach. The indications were he had divested himself in a great hurry; several buttons being lost from his shirt and tunic, and his breeches were turned inside out. In a pocket of his discarded jacket I found a ‘wrap’ of Satan’s Breath. Rob and I exchanged looks of concern; it would seem the demonic substance had entered England, and being used at the orgies hosted by Lord Wycombe.
“There is precious little interior space for such a large coach,” Rob noted “The seats are over large, probably used as beds, and for copulation, but I would think six people would be the total capacity, whereas a Royal Mail coach of similar dimensions could easily fit up to ten passengers inside.”
He stepped outside the carriage, and then slowly walked around the vehicle, peering under the chassis, tapping the side panels, and generally behaving like a Revenue Man looking for smuggled brandy.
I left him to it, and went into woods to scrap a hole, into which I tumbled the remains of Sigismund von Metzendorf – whom I noted had the rearing horse tattoo of the Westphalian Royal Guard tastefully inked on his left buttock.
It was a mean and shabby grave, fit for a no less a mean and shabby man. After the burial I returned to the coach and found Rob with a huge grin on his face.
“Look,” he said, and pulled a recessed handle under the postilion’s perch.
A hidden door at the rear end of the coach opened, displaying a compartment large enough to carry six persons, albeit manacled to the sides of the coach. This compartment would ensure any abducted females would remain undiscovered the few times the coach was stopped and searched.
We took the coach and the two horses into High Wycombe and sold them, Metzendorf being no longer in need of coach or horses. Rob and I shared the money accrued from the sale. I was no longer a rich man, although I still had the annual interest from my investment. Rob was saving his money so in a year’s time he could wed Bridey Murphy – the intrusive thought butted into my mind, but again vanished before I could examine it more closely – and any extra guineas were welcome to us both.
Next morning we set out for London.
“We can stay at Queen Street tonight, Rob, and in the morning appraise Stafford and Colonel Slade of our findings. I am looking forward to spending the night with Caroline. It seems months since...” I stopped abruptly when I remembered I had no home in Queen Street, and Caroline was dead.
Rob looked at me with sadness and sympathy in his eyes. “You can say with me, Jack. I have taken over Colonel Slade’s rooms in Haymarket since he moved into Zinnia’s residence in Bloomsbury Square.”
I nodded silently and sorrowfully. Caroline – I miss you so much.
“It does not reflect very much credit on you, or your department, Mister Stafford, that von Metzendorf has been gadding about the English countryside for the past several months without you or anyone else knowing of it.” I spoke quietly and calmly, hoping my intense and bitter anger would not bubble to the surface. “How is it a large black coach, drawn by six large black horses, can travel throughout the Kingdom without any of your informants noticing it?”
I was sitting in John Stafford’s office in Scotland Yard across the desk from an extremely embarrassed and uncomfortably looking Stafford.
“I admit that for reasons not yet discovered the reports of sightings, of which I am told are many, have not been presented to this office.” John Stafford said. “And I would be grateful, Major Greenaway, if you did not shout so.”
“Shout... ?” I had been at pains to keep a calm exterior and an even tone of voice. “Have I been shouting?”
“Indeed you have, Major. You would be heard clear across the river in Southwark. I can appreciate your fury and anger, but your language has been rather intemperate, and your voice extremely loud.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “I was not aware I used inappropriate language, and I apologise most profoundly – was I really shouting?”
Stafford nodded. “I’m afraid so Major. In fact you do not appear to be yourself at all; frequently you stopped in mid-sentence and asked if Woody had returned from France. Who is ‘Woody?”
“Oh, that does not matter. It is true I have been somewhat fatigued of late, I have had rather a lot to contend with, but I will be in top form by the time of Zinnia Teazle’s wedding – was I really shouting?”
Stafford was staring at me strangely. “Just one moment, Major.” He went to the door and I heard him call for a clerk to go to MI5 and ask that Mrs. Slade come to his office — whoever the devil she was.
Stafford re-enterd his office and sat down behind his desk. “I shall be making an investigation as to how these reports went astray. Lord Wycombe is usually very punctilious in...”
“Wycombe? Metzendorf had been visiting him, and they attended orgies together.”
Stafford’s face went ashen. “My God! Lord Wycombe’s position at the Home Office is the coordinator of reports from all our informants. If he has supressed sightings pertaining to Metzendorf he must be inextricably involved with Metzendorf’s lechers club. We knew of Wycombe’s sexual peccadillos, but thought them merely that. However, to be a member of Metzendorf’s ring of degenerates and sadists indicates Wycombe is wicked and evil. I will have him arrested and questioned. As to the Satan’s Breath you found, can it be supposed Metzendorf was supplying members of Wycombe’s club, or was it part of his personal supply?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I would assume the drug his own, as the wrap was in his jacket pocket. While you are at it, you might also question a magistrate named John Bailey in Hungerford. He attended one of Wycombe’s orgies and should be able to give more details. of the circle he belongs to.”
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