Chapter 7: Point and Counterpoint
 

    The evening on Casino Island promised to be the usual early summer one, with balmy weather and a few clouds to obscure the stars.  A taxicab pulled up before the magnificent edifice of the Marleybone Grand Hotel to unload a tall human in tan suit and fedora.

    Silas Stanbridge mounted the broad steps of the foremost establishment on the island, working his way through the crowd of European, Asian, and American guests seeing and being seen.  Many watched the lone man pass through the foyer; some with surprise others with contempt.  But he paid them no mind as he paused at the hatcheck room before making his way to the dining room.  The young raccoon maitre dé confirmed the reservation made by a Mademoiselle Celine Monvel and personally led the human through the tables to the far side of the room.  It was at a secluded corner by the large French doors that Silas found Miss Monvel.
 
    To his eyes she looked lovely this evening, every inch the Eurasian beauty displayed on theatrical billboards.  Celine was dressed in a dark blue peasant’s jacket embroidered with Chinese dragons that complimented the colorful langyi, or Burmese sarong, wrapped around her slender waist.  Peasant shoes shod her feet.  Her dark hair had been swept up into a pompadour before being draped over her right shoulder.  In her right hand she lightly held a long bamboo cigarette holder.  Silas could smell the hint of cloves coming from her cigarette.

    “Bonjour, Mademoiselle,” Silas said as he bent over the proffered hand and kissed it.

    “Bonjour, Monsieur,” she replied with a hint of laughter.  “I am so glad you could make it.  And on time, too.”
 
    And she was correct in her earlier assessment of the human.  He was tall and well built, filling out his khaki linen suit with broad shoulders and thick limbs.  Stanbridge’s face was weathered by sun and sea spray, his dark beard and hair just showing traces of gray that added to his attractiveness to the young Burmese.  Yes, he was a comely, desirable creature that touched the wantonness of her soul.  But two things had caught her attention when he first approached the table.  One was the way he favored his left leg, as if he had suffered an injury recently, or was wounded during the war as that German naval officer had mentioned in his report.  The other point of distraction was the way his jacket had a slight bulge under his left arm.  It hinted at his carrying a firearm there.

    “It is expected of an officer to be punctual,” the man stated in English as he seated himself.  He pulled out his pipe then asked the Burmese’ permission.
 
Celine turned her head away and laughed softly into her hand, the better to hide her staring at him.

    “Why, Captain, there is no need to ask.  As you can see I am already smoking.”  She underscored her statement by taking a long drag before expelling the smoke up into the air.

    “It is always polite to ask first before beginning,” he countered as he stoked his briar.

    The actress nodded.  “An officer and gentleman.”

    A waiter came around to take their drink order.  When he was gone Silas asked first.

    “How is it that you became an actress?”

    The feline shrugged.  “Not much to say about it.  When I was younger a British film company was making one of their action productions outside of Rangoon and I happened to be picked out of a crowd to play an extra in the film.  The director liked how I performed and had me stay on.  Mainly I was given a different set of clothes and told how to behave in those scenes being shot.  I made a bit of money to help my mother.  Afterwards, I was approached by a representative of the Golden Harvest Film Company to do a screen test, and as you Americans say, ‘The rest is history.’”

    Shaking his head Silas stated, “‘not much to say about it?’  The few times I’ve watched your movies I was struck by how well you performed before the camera.  It was as if you were born to act.”

    That brought a chuckle from the Burmese’s furry throat.  “Oh, Captain, that is so nice of you to say.”  She tapped ash into the ashtray before continuing.  “But it hasn’t been easy for me.  There were other young women trying to be the best and claim the exclusive roles.  Whenever I didn’t get the role, my mother would comfort me and say that I should be glad to have what was given me.  And I live by that philosophy today.”  Then she leaned forward, chin cupped in her left palm, elbow on table, those large dark eyes fixed on the human across the table.  “And what of your life, Captain Silas Stanbridge?”

    Having been put on the spot Silas took a deep breath and launched into his life along the New England coast, serving on his father’s lobster boat, entry into the Coast Guard academy, and his time of service during the Great War.

“Were you ever married?”
  
    Silas made an effort of not being surprised by the question.  Pursing his lips he began, “Briefly, but it didn’t last as long as I had hoped.”

    Dark eyes fluttered as Celine Monvel demured, “And why not?”

    The human looked away, hoping she would take the hint and not press the matter.  Luckily, the waiter returned with their drinks and took their dinner order.  When the waiter had left Silas took a sip while collecting his thoughts quickly.

    “Forgive me but that is a piece of history I do not like to discuss.  But since you have asked, do you know of the Mauritania?”

    The Burmese actress shook her head, her hair sliding across her shoulder.

    Silas sighed, “It was a passenger liner of the British White Star Steamship Line.   The Germans made a public appeal in a New York paper not to sail on her because they claimed it was carrying war material, which is against the rules of war.  My wife and her father were going to England on that vessel when it was sunk.”

    “I am so sorry to have intruded,” the actress said while sitting up, stunned, a new light in her eyes.  “I did not mean to open old wounds.  I had expected someone of your age to be at home playing with grandchildren.”
 
    Patting her hand with his, Silas hoped to portray a forgiving soul.

    Celine Monvel mistook Stanbridge’s vacant stare and silence for another overstepping of bounds.  She mentally kicked herself for acting like a novice at intelligence gathering.  If there was one thing she was good at it was drawing out useful information without the mark suspecting anything.  But this human was proving to be a tougher nut to crack.  She almost suspected the man was trying to be evasive.  This called for a different approach.

    “When you served your country during the Great War, did you see any fighting on the ocean?”

    Silas shrugged.  “Only once.  Mostly we were patrolling against German submarines, and saving the crews of ships sunk by them.  But we did have a gun fight with a sub, and had my left foot shot off.”

    Dark eyes widened with horrified fascination.  “ That would explain the way you were carrying yourself across the floor.  I had thought you might have twisted your ankle.

    Silas blew smoke towards the ceiling.  “It was amputated at the ankle.  So I now have a shaped wooden block to fill that shoe.”

    Celine cocked her head.  “Does that keep you from dancing?”

    With a smile Silas replied, “Not often, and some of my fellow officers say that I do better than they do when I ask their wives out onto the dance floor.”

    The actress smiled in return.  “Do you feel like dancing this evening?”  She hoped he would say yes.

    “Later, maybe, after we eat, of course.” And their waiter arrived with their order.

    During the course of the meal, as the wine flowed and conversation delved into minor chitchat about Stanbridge’s life among the islands, the Burmese actress/Kuo Han intelligence operative began to reassess this man in terms of being a valued information source.  He was hedging most of her questions about the navigational aid service and the equipment they took care of.  It was as if he knew he was being probed and was taking his time to guide her around the sensitive parts.  She had to try something.  Lifting her glass Celine proposed a toast.

    “To life, love, and the sea, they are always changing.”

    Silas smiled over the rim of his wineglass.  “For better or worse.”

    This caused the Burmese to pause.  “Why do you say that?”

    After setting his glass down the human shrugged.  “All three are in constant motion.  They are like the waves on the ocean; each as its peak followed by a trough.  So all three have their ups and downs.”

    This caused the actress to smile.  “That is most philosophical.”

    She got a shrug as part of her answer.  “I’ve spent my entire life on water.  As far back as I can remember the ocean has been my playground, school, and livelihood.  I don’t think I would have had it any other way.”

    When the meal was finished Silas did take Celine out onto the dance floor.  The Burmese was amazed at how well the human could glide across the tiled floor, and with only one good foot!  The couple made their way through several orchestral pieces, ending in a slow number where the dancers embraced each other.
 
    Celine Monvel fairly purred with her contentment at the warm embrace from Silas Stanbridge.  In the back of her mind was a battle between the professional intelligence officer and the noted Eurasian movie star over what they should be doing.  But the movie star was gaining the upper hand as the young Burmese wallowed in the comfort of such strong arms holding her protectively.  That personage didn’t want the moment to end; she wanted to go further, as far as her bed in the caravan.

    When the music ended Celine lifted her feline face from the warm hollow of her date’s shoulder.  Silas noticed how bright and shiny those brown orbs were, filled with desire and need.  Without a moment’s hesitation, the Burmese drew the man’s face down to hers as she pressed her lips to his.  They held the embrace for a while as she savored the intimate contact.  Presently, Silas drew his head back, breaking the kiss and the pleasure of it.   With a languid smile Celine opened her eyes and noticed the weak smile on Silas’ bearded lips.

    “Is something wrong?” she asked defensively, not knowing what she might have done to elicit such a reaction.

    With a small cough the human looked down in embarrassment then back up at her.

    “I’m sorry, Celine, for spoiling this moment.  But I’ve never had a want or desire to have a furry for a lover.  Ever since my wife died, so too did my want for female companionship of any kind.  You are lovely, desirable, someone who is going far in life, climbing the ladder of success.  Still, it would be better for you not to have me as an anchor around your neck.  Our lives are our own, and they can never be shared with each other.  I’m sorry, but it is best for you to find someone else to spend that time with other than an old sea dog as myself.”

    Tears welled up in those dark eyes; tears that were genuine as the Burmese fem felt what was possibly true love fall and shatter on the hard rock of life.  For the moment she had shelved the cold hard agent’s shell, allowing her true self to come forth for this special evening.  But that was all gone now, seeing as how she had hoped to extract what information she could get through pillow talk.

    Making an effort to rub the tears from her eyes the actress sniffed back the sobs welling up inside.

    “That’s okay, Captain Stanbridge.  I think I understand what you’ve just said.  I was hoping that we could make this night an enjoyable memory for both of us.  But it appears that will never happen now or later.  Could you please be the gentleman that you are and kindly escort me to a taxi?”
 
    Without another word the Burmese nearly ran back to their table where she picked up her cigarette holder, pulled it apart into three equal pieces, and stuffed them into her clutch purse as she headed for the street.  Silas had barely enough time to glance over the check before tossing a handful of bills onto the tray.  He caught up with Celine as the actress stood by the curb, flagging down a taxi.  One started from the opposite side of the street only to be cut off by another.  There came the sounding of the horn and a flurry of curses that went unheeded.

    Grabbing the door handle the human managed to get the door open as the feline threw herself in.

    “I’m sorry, Miss Monvel,” was all Silas got out before the cab sped away.

    In the back seat Celine Monvel got out a weak “Me, too,” before bursting into tears.  Everything had been going so well earlier in the evening, even if she didn’t get the information needed by that German naval officer.   But to have the closeness of the big human male was a comfort she had never known, a want and desire that is now forever lost.  She had allowed her own hunger for something that would never be hers overwhelm her reasoning, playing havoc with her sensual nature.  She cursed herself for not seeing the signs, especially his avoiding any talk about a prior marriage and the lost of his wife during the war.

    About a block from the hotel the cab pulled over by the corner of the intersection and paused, even though there was no other traffic about.  Instead, a figure appeared from the shadows of the building there and got into the back seat.

    “Raus! Raus!” the newcomer said and the driver nodded, pulled away quickly.
   
    The canine in the white tropical suit settled back into the seat, drawing a silver cigarette case from out of his jacket.  He offered it to the Burmese.  Mechanically she took one as well as the light from his lighter.

    Oberleutnant zur Zee Bernhard Beckmann continued to look straight ahead.

    “Zo, Fraulein Monvel, do I detect the look of failure upon your lovely face?”

    Celine said nothing, looking out her window as she drew deep on her smoke.

    The German naval officer shrugged.  “Just as vell, den.  I had the feeling that he would be as the Americans say, ‘A tough nut to crack’.  You haff read mine report on this Silas Stanbridge, und yet you think you could try to get him to open up mit your feminine charms.  Ah, my dear An Sat Simi, you haff a great deal to learn about Americans.  They believe in noble causes but wallow in decadence.  They vill follow any whim, anything that catches their imagination or fancy.”  He turned to look at her for the first time.  The light from a passing car flashed off of the monocle set into his right eye.  And when he spoke again it was in low tones that sent a chill down the actress’ spine.

    “But beware when they set their minds to a task.  It vill be very difficult to move dem from their course.  Very difficult, indeed.”  Having said his piece, Oberleutnant Beckmann settled back into the seat, quietly smoking his cigarette.  The taxi continued through the streets of Casino Island to the water taxi docks.  But for Celine Monvel, a.k.a. An Sat Simi, darling of the Asian silver screen, she said nothing.  This person scared her, more than her mother, and almost as bad as Master Ruihong Yisheng.  Trying to press herself deeper into the corner of the backseat, the Burmese actress kept quiet all the way to the docks. 

    From the steps of the Marleybone Grand Hotel, Silas Stanbridge felt heaviness in his heart over his treatment of Celine Monvel.  He had not intended to ruin her evening with his callous remark about not having a furry for a lover.  But it was a statement that rang true; ever since he was a boy he enjoyed the companionship and closeness that furries, both male and female, gave him.  He just never found an animal fem appealing as a possible lover, or bedmate.  Even after the influenza epidemic made governments rewrite the bestiary laws, and with the death of his wife, Silas distant himself from fur clad arms for solace.

    Stepping back inside the human retrieved his hat and returned to flag down a taxi.   When he gave the driver the address of his destination the feline hesitated.

    “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t take you there.”

    This caused the human to frown.  “How come?”

    “We’ve been warned not to go to the Tum-Tum Club.  Two other drivers were beaten and robbed there.”

    Silas grunted his understanding.  “How close can you get?”

    The cabby shrugged.  “About two blocks from there, sir.”

    “Good, let’s go.”

    The cab pulled away and into the night.  As the vehicle traveled through the darkened streets, Silas slid his right hand into his jacket and checked to make sure his Schmidt and Weston revolver was sitting loose enough in the shoulder holster.
 
    It was a weapon he was most familiar with, having been issued it at the start of the Great War when he was a newly promoted Lieutenant (Junior Grade) in the United States Coast Guard.  He wanted to get his hands on a brand new Colt automatic but those were being sent to the Army, Navy, and Marine Corps officers as quickly as they came off the assembly lines.  Still, he was use to using a revolver when he worked on his father’s lobster boat.  There had been a few times they had to deal with pirates trying to steal their lobster pots.  In a couple of gunfights he managed to hit a couple, maybe even killed one.  Afterwards, they were left alone.

    During the ride Silas thought back to the dinner and what had transpired during that time.  Celine Monvel had asked questions about his work with the Spontoon Island Navigational Aid Service.  She had asked rather pointed questions about his work.  There were some things about the S.I.N.A.S. that were not talked about openly, and Celine was trying to get the man to talk freely about them.  He sensed rather than suspected the Burmese was more than mildly interested in a human officer of the service.  But Silas had nothing more than suspicion on which to base any form of accusation of espionage.  That made him settle deeper into the seat as Silas watched the city go by.
    
    At a dark intersection the cab pulled over.

    “This is as far as I’ll go, sir,” the driver muttered.

    Slipping a twenty across the seat Silas got out.  “Keep the change, and have a good night.”

    “Thank you, sir!” was heard over the squeal of tires as the taxi headed off towards friendly climes.

    Ahead through the dim lighting of the street Silas could make out the towering lighted display of a tipping martini glass and the glaring words Tum-Tum Club.  Pulling his hat low over his brow Silas Thomas Stanbridge moved ahead dead slow for troubled waters.

    It was the seedy part of Casino Island, the part that is never mentioned in the tourist brochures or displayed on posters.  This was the gathering place for the more disrespectful sailors to drink, swap lies, and plan new villainies.  Even the land-based criminal elements tread lightly here and approached with fear and loathing their seaborne brethen in crime.

    Silas walked slowly down the sidewalk, neither looking left or right.  If he had then he would have been pegged for a pigeon and dealt with unmercifully.  When he reached the front door he started in but was stopped forcefully by a large black hand.  The hand was attached to a gorilla in a tuxedo.  Through his mind Silas found some phrase about a monkey in a monkey suit, but thought better not to mouth it.

    “What do you want, human?” came the grumble of distant thunder.

    “Two things, pal: a drink and a word with Nola,” was the neutral reply.

    Bloodshot black eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And what if she don’t wants talk to ya?”

    Looking down on the bouncer Silas pressed against the restraining hand.

    “Oh, she’ll want to talk to me, bucko.  It’s not many who get to talk to a real human these days.  And if you want to push this farther, I can say the word and the entire Navigational Aid Service will drop on you like a ton of bricks and there won’t be two sticks of this dive left to make a fire.  Now, are you going to let me in, or face Hell on Earth.”

    For a long moment the simian seemed to be weighing his options, or trying to make sense of what was just said.  As if the answer finally bubbled up through the murkiness of his mind the bouncer dropped his hand and ushered the human in.  The interior was dimly lit and made more lurid by the thick haze of smoke that seemed to be a nature part of the setting.  Heads bent over drinks glanced furtively at the tall figure passing by them to a table on the far side of the floor.  It was dimmer than the rest of the establishment but it would do for Silas.  As soon as the gorilla departed a tired looking waitress came over and asked for a drink preference.
 
    “Just a beer, thank you.”

    After the waitress left Silas quickly assessed his situation and planned for a hasty retreat, should things turn sour.  The front door would be his one way out but not without having to fight his way through half the clientele.  He wasn’t sure about a backdoor except maybe through the storeroom behind the bar.  But it was a remote chance of getting there, too.  And the windows were closed so there was no hope of escape that way.  And forget about trying for the roof, as there were no tall buildings close by to jump to.  So all that was left to the human was to skillfully negotiate his way through this meeting and make it out alive.
 
    When the beer arrived Silas passed a five spot to the woman.  Her eyes widen in disbelief.

    “Gee, captain, we don’t get many like you here.”

    The human smiled.  “Wasn’t there some joke about ‘with prices like these, you won’t get many’?”

    The canine departed, after stuffing the bill inside her brassiere.  Picking up the mug Silas sniffed the contents.  It was beer but not the quality he was use to.  Well, when in Rome . . . Tipping the mug up the human sighted his target over the rim.

    She had been described as a sailor’s dream on two shapely legs.  Whereas Celine Monvel was the polished image on a strip of celluloid, Nusa Liliana Stefanescu, nee Nola Stevens, was an end product of generations of breeding among the noble houses of Eastern Europe.  In his mind’s eye, Silas could see Nola with her dark mane coifed into a bouffant, sporting the latest in evening dress while gliding across the marble floor at an embassy ball.  Instead she was gliding barefooted towards him, wearing a flowered breast wrap, sarong, bangles at wrist and ankles, an orchid tucked behind an ear, and an enigmatic smile.

    The man rose and pulled out a chair for her.  This brought a few suspicious scows his way but Silas ignored them.

    “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Stefanescu,” said Silas as he seated himself and began filling his pipe.
This brought a quirk of an eyebrow as the canine fem leaned forward to accept a light for her cigarette.

   “Bonjour, mon Capitain,” she murmured through a cloud of smoke.  “And I don’t go by that name anymore.”  She pulled another chair out with her feet and settled them on it, crossed at the ankles.

    When his pipe was drawing well Silas chuckled.

     “As I recall it involved an improper liaison with the son of the French military attaché in New York City?  Which was why you dropped from sight and showed up here?”

    Nola frowned at this but said nothing.

    The man gave an apologetic smile.  “Sorry for rubbing salt into olds wounds.  But it was something of a scandal I remember reading in the newspaper while stationed in Norfolk, Virginia.”

    The young canid took a drag from her cigarette before speaking.

    “But you’re not here to talk history, oh, kahuna of the hale ipukukui.  You came to me about your blown-up towers, right?”

    The officer in mufti nodded.  “Right, it does.  I was hoping you might have heard some scuttlebutt in here about them.”

    Cocking her head to one side Nola curled a lip into the semblance of a smile.  “And what’s in it for me?”

    Silas hoisted his beer for a drink.  But as he tipped it back he shot the young woman a flinty look that brooked no argument.  He set the mug down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’m willing to split a reward between you and whoever brings in information as to who blew up my towers and why.  But this information has to be as solid as Gibraltar.”

    The fem mulled this over for a moment as she took a sip of her own drink and another drag from her smoke.

    “How much,” she finally asked, looking into the bearded face across the stained tabletop.

    “Two hundred dollars, American,” Silas answered without hesitation.  “Two hundred bucks to be split between you and whoever has the facts.”  Then he leveled a finger like a gun barrel at her.  “But remember, it has to be the good stuff.  Play false with me and there’ll be nothing of this place but a smoldering ruin when the smoke clears.”
 
    This caused the canine woman to stiffen and grind out through clenched teeth.

    “You got some nerve waltzing in here and threaten me.  I can snap my fingers and the authorities won’t find your body for days.”  She got a surprise when the man gave her a warm smile.

    “Then it’s to both our benefits that nothing happens to either one of us.  You want to keep the joint while I want answers.”  And just as quickly the man’s face became grim.  “Then get the word out, Nola, that I’m willing to pay good money for hard evidence.  Because the people that come here also use my lights and won’t want their yiffing asses torn out on the rocks.”

    Finishing his beer Silas stood up.  But before he left he addressed the young canid again.

    “And you better let François know what’s the deal so he can help out.  DuBarque may have been as big a war hero as Willy Coppens, but he has the investigator’s nose for trouble.  And tell him I’ll even throw in a bottle of Drambuie as well.  Good night.”

    Then Silas Stanbridge began working his way through the crowd and the front door.  Nola sat for awhile after the human left.  Shaking her head she smiled as she tossed off the rest of her drink and crushed out the butt in an ashtray.  As she made her way back to the bar a grizzled old sailor duck hobbled aside to let her pass.  Nola spared him a glance.  Shaking his head the mallard slowly limped his way to the door when a sound pulled him up.  Close at hand a table with four canines in better quality slops were deep on conversation.  It wasn’t their clothes that stopped the old duck, it was their tongue.  Even if the words were indistinct the language was definitely German!

    Trying to listen in without given the impression of eavesdropping the mallard made it appear that he was three sheets to the wind and was trying to get his pipe lit.  That was when he realized the talking had stopped.  Turning a bleary eye towards the foursome the mallard saw that they all were watching him!

    “Eh, good evening, mates.  A fine night for a drink with friends.  But I didn’t have any friends so I drank anyway!”

    A stony cold silence made the duck drop his friendly façade.  Giving a nod he limped away.  Fear shook the old bird’s frame and the need to run was never more of a necessity than then.  But he continued to hobble across the room and out the door, giving the simian bouncer a cheery goodnight.
 
    Once he was down the block he turned a corner and stepped into the first doorway he found.  Jake Breckenridge took deep breaths to calm his heart and clear his head.

    Goddamn, he thought, those were German sailors, and not from any trading vessels.  There was too much the stamp of the navy about them.  And they were talking about Silas!  And what the hell was that hairless asshole doing down here anyway?

    Finally getting himself calmed to the point where he could think straight and carry on his charade, Jake ‘the Drake’ Breckenridge stepped back unto the sidewalk and continued on down the street.  His mind was in a whirl.  All evening he plied drinks and dropped careful questions regarding the destruction of the light towers.  And all he got was a thinner wallet and slurred nonsense, or a muzzle that clamped tighter than a clam.

    Writing off the night as a bust, the avian private investigators headed down a side street, pausing in the shadows long enough to peel off part of his disguise before moving on.  Jake did this three more times before reaching his flat, having assumed his regular identity.  Once inside he stashed everything into a trunk in the closet before making ready for bed.  As he climbed under the covers, Jake made a mental note to send his erstwhile friend a message in the morning.  This was going to cost Silas Stanbridge more than he bargained for!

    The ride back to Moon Island was a quiet one, despite the ferryman’s attempts to engage the sole occupant in conversation.  The taxi ride down to the docks had been made in silence as well, for many things were whirling in a maelstrom within the mind of Silas Stanbridge.  For starters the man decided that the trip to the Tum-Tum Club was something he should not have done, even if it had been a sort of a bust.  But the more he studied it, the more he came to the conclusion that the deed was worth the action accomplished.  And something else had been pestering him all night as well.  The dinner engagement with Celine Monvel may have soured any relationship between the human commander of a buoy tender and the acclaimed actress of the Asian silver screen.  But there were undercurrents of hidden motives that seem to have driven the Burmese in her veiled questioning.
 
    Giving himself a violent shake (and it nearly caused the ferryman to be startled out of his own craft) Silas Stanbridge decided to shelve everything till morning, figuring a good nights sleep will allow loose ends to neatly fall into place.

    “Fat lot of good that’ll do me,” he snorted as the taxi eased up to the seaplane ramp on Moon Island.  A security patrol ambled over to see what was up, snapping to attention and saluting when they recognized the boat’s passenger.  The man spoke with them awhile, allowing his mind to shove what stray thoughts of the evening into a mental Fibber Magee’s closet before making his way to the BOQ and bed.

    As he stepped through the door the furry on night duty handed him a cablegram that came a few hours ago.  Thanking the rating Silas stepped quietly down the hall to his room.  Once inside the man settled into a chair and switched on the table lamp.  Carefully he tore open the envelope and began to read the missive.

‘Dear Silas:

As you had suggested, I have asked Dr. Raman Singh if I could take some time off and come down for a visit.  Much to my surprise he consented, stating that I’ve down well and things will be slow around the hospital so I should get away for four days and enjoy myself.

I will be arriving tomorrow morning on a Pan-Nimitz flight from Orpington Island, 9:30 a.m.  I have booked reservation in the Carlton Hotel on Casino Island.  Looking forward to the time we are together again.

Your ei nei,

Beverly'

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