It was just after midnight when they returned to the Hollies. Lady Glossop had not spoken a word, though Marko was whistling happily to himself. Bertie had started singing some music hall song about an Actress and a Bishop.
Eventually Lady Glossop re-entered the library where they had gathered. She had changed her attire and was smiling as though nothing at all untoward had happened.
She gestured and Sebastian pointed over at the table at which they had laid out their spoils. They all gathered round, and she started to read through them.
“These letters and papers we obtained from the safe all detail a plan to to acquire Lord Cotterill’s weapon designs by any means and return them to Germany, and thence to Trieste, where they are supposed to someone only referred to as ‘The Master’. There are references to some organisation called the ‘Night Guard’, but I’ve no indication of who they are: a secret society no doubt.”
“Anarchists?” suggested Henry.
“More likely Ultra Royalists of some sort, or some higher echelon cabal I would think” suggested Lady Glossop. “Anyway, I don’t really know.”
“These notes” she continued, referring to the Prometheus file, are something else entirely. “They are research notes on his special sedatives. As far as I can gather they make the recipient highly receptive to hypnotic suggestions.”
“There is something else as well. There is a lot of stuff I don’t understand about the Duality of the Psyche and suppressed emotions, but it does list something about problem side effects. The notes refer to something called ‘Ingredient S’, and apparently there seem to be a few ongoing problems with what I presume is the key component of these concoctions.”
“Problems? How so?” asked Sebastian.
“I’m not sure. But I think there must be some sort of side effect. He refers to psychotic behaviour and a heightened transformation. He uses the word ‘Ubermensh’- super man.”
“So,” said Bertie, “We seem to have the semblance of a plot here. But who or what is this Lady Henrietta business?”
" Maybe is not a person", suggested Marko who was generally laconic and silent during these group discussions. All heads turned towards him.
“What the Deuce do you mean?” said Sebastian, still somewhat outraged by the Lady Glossop incident- even though it had been no fault of Marko’s.
“There is expensive yacht moored on the Thames: at Kensington, not far from the Embassies. It is called ‘Lady Henrietta’.” As this sunk in, Marco lit up a cigarette and smiled faintly.