Episode Fifteen – ‘Dancing at the Midnight Hotel’, Part Four

Having made his confession Henry James declined the offer of a third bourbon and, pleading tiredness, retired to his room. I sensed that, on reflection, he rather regretted his candour for in the days that followed he returned to his elusive ways. Michael was undoubtedly disappointed to find no immediate opportunity for extending his acquaintance with the great novelist but I can’t say I was altogether bothered myself, having other things on my mind, not least the stalled search for Sturridge’s lost room. Continue reading

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Episode Fifteen – ‘Dancing at the Midnight Hotel’, Part Three

The next few days just seemed to sort of slip by. Our search for Sturridge’s hidden door became bogged down in a morass of good intentions that never quite got us anywhere. After much discussion Michael and I had decided that our best bet would be to secure a detailed plan of the building which we could use as a basis for a thorough search. Continue reading

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Episode Fifteen – ‘Dancing at the Midnight Hotel’, Part Two

It was somewhere near four o’clock the following afternoon when Michael and I finally reconvened in the cocktail lounge with the ostensible aim of at last getting our search for the hidden door started. I say ostensible because twenty minutes later when Maia walked by we still hadn’t managed to shift ourselves from the two comfy chairs into which we had initially sunk. Continue reading

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Episode Fifteen – ‘Dancing at the Midnight Hotel’, Part One

“Now this is more like it.”

That at least was my first impression when we arrived at the latest location indicated by the inter-dimensional travel drive. A lonely, narrow road had led us onto a broad sweep of coastline by a dazzling blue sea. Most promisingly of all, in terms of hunting down the hidden room of Sturridge’s prison, it seemed that only one structure lay within the co-ordinates registered by the gadget – a grand hotel perched on a clifftop, overlooking a shallow bay. Continue reading

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An Epistolary Interlude

It had become something of an unwritten rule of our travels about the landscape that we should never pass an Imaginary Emporium without looking in. These rickety, old-fashioned stores were only ever to be found in remote, out-of-the-way locations and the range of goods they carried was eclectic to say the least. Continue reading

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Episode Fourteen Poster #2

Chaps on a Sky Lit Roof

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Episode Fourteen Poster

Don't Look No

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Episode Fourteen – ‘The Red Book’, Part Six

Detective O’Halloran was undoubtedly more than a little surprised when Jerry and I, still resplendent in our evening dress, strolled into his office at police headquarters in the early hours of the morning. He was even more surprised when Amber and Morrie the Bookman, having temporarily put their quarrel to one side in their curiosity to find out what I might know of the red book, traipsed in after us. Personally I would have been much happier if we could have ditched them somewhere along the way for in truth I was already beginning to have doubts about my ‘Eureka’ moment. Continue reading

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Episode Fourteen – ‘The Red Book’, Part Five

The fact that it was less than a week since a man had been shot dead in the middle of the dancefloor appeared to have done little to dampen the enthusiasm of the patrons of the Blue Room – the place was as lively as ever when we showed up again that night in our finest evening wear. On closer inspection though a layer of suppressed hysteria seemed to simmer just below the surface gaiety. All around us lowered voices tinged with anxiety discussed the circumstances of Egan’s arrest and the progress of the police investigation. Everyone it seemed was expecting trouble sooner or later. Continue reading

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Episode Fourteen – ‘The Red Book’, Part Four

The apartment that Vince Egan had provided for Chuckles Bryson was situated in an ornate six-storey building sited along a broad, leafy avenue. Slitting throats was clearly a business that paid well in this town. On our first pass we walked straight by on the opposite side of the road, taking note of the stout middle-aged doorman patrolling the entrance to the building. “Don’t be fooled by the smart uniform,” murmured Jerry as we passed, “Egan runs a very rich gambling outfit from in there. I’ll lay odds of ten to one that doorman is packing some serious heat beneath that braided jacket and he won’t take kindly to strangers nosing around.” Continue reading

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