Episode 3
This can also be read more coherently together at killerserials.blogspot.com.
The next morning, Professor Hiram Lane arrived at the hotel in the center of town with Harold Chandler, Lord of Baffert, in tow. Chandler was carrying a small briefcase and walking with a cane, while Lane was carrying one of his leather folders in which he typically kept his lecture notes. It was a rather nice hotel, with a simple fountain in the middle of the lobby with the hotel bar off to the right as you enter, the concierge’s desk to the left and the exit to the rooms, so the archway is exemplified by the fountain.
“Good Lord, this Colonel lives here? You Americans pay your soldiers too much,” Chandler said.
“Harry, this is a hotel,” Lane answered.
“Right. I couldn’t help but notice that there is a bar over there.”
“Harry, it’s 10:30 in the morning!” the professor calmly said, as he picked up and rang the bell on the desk.
“Hmm, later than I thought, then,” he said as he withdrew a flask from his coat. They did not wait very long before the attendant arrived.
“Good morning, sirs. What can I do for you? Would you like a room? If you like, we can provide a local girl for you, very discreet,” the concierge said with a wink in quickly delivered tone that it was very hard to tell if he was joking or really expecting these men to take him up on it.
“No thank you, I brought my own,” Chandler said has he tapped his case with the end of his cane.
“Very classy. I am here for Mr. E. Soldier, he should be expecting me,” Lane told the hotelier.
“Mr. E. Soldier? Are you bloody kidding me?” Chandler exclaimed, in disbelief.
“Right this way, sirs,” the concierge ignored the Englishman and grabbed a lantern and led the way.
When they arrived at the room, the hotelier knocked on the door. It was opened by Sergeant Holmes, who greeted them, “Professor Lane, and his escort. Welcome. Please, come in, the Colonel will be glad to see you.” Lane did not recognize this man, but went into the room anyway. Chandler stepped in, and the sergeant turned inwards, and the concierge coughed to clear his throat.
Chandler spoke up, “Oh! How rude of all of us.” He turned to the hotelman and blew out his lantern. “It was awfully bright.” The sergeant closed the door with the Englishman on the inside and the concierge on the outside. The colonel was inside, and the four of them sat down around the coffee table.
“Professor Lane, I am glad you decided to come. I can only imagine this is the companion you have chosen to take with you on your mission. My name is Colonel William Taggert, and I am pleased to meet you,” the colonel stood up and offered his hand.
“I am Harold Chandler, the Earl of Baffert. I served with Hiram in Cuba. He cried a lot,” Chandler explained.
“Excellent. Now, although I can’t say I’m terribly thrilled you picked a foreigner-“ the colonel said, but was interrupted.
“Sir, Harry is a close friend, has similar experience to mine in the Spanish War and has European contacts I do not. Also, by comparison, I look even more masculine when standing next to him, so it only seemed like a natural choice,” he said, in an effort to calm Taggert.
“Very well. Here’s the outline of what we expect from you. You will have two weeks to get information on what the Germans are eating, what the British and French are eating, and what we should do about it. I will provide you with a list of all of our foods. We will be sending you to Europe tonight - Paris is the closest we can get you to the action right now. Infiltrating Germany will be your problem. We will offer you a variety of money in British Pounds, French and Swiss Francs and German Deutschmarks. At the end of the two weeks, report back to the Hotel Chateau in Paris and ask for Le Pomme de Vol. You will recognize him by his shiny red coat. He is our contact and will send you give you instructions on what to do with your findings. Do you have any questions?” The colonel asked, as he reached into his briefcase.
“I have one, Colonel. Are expected to, um, total our tees, so to speak, while on this mission?” Chandler asked.
“I beg your pardon?” the colonel did not quite understand what the nobleman meant, even though he winked.
“I mean, how dry do we need to remain?”
“Are you asking for an umbrella, my Lord?”
“Must we return with our livers in as good of shape as we left with?”
“You’re taking livers with you?”
“If I were to get drunk every night, would I still get paid?”
“Oh, oh, oh, why didn’t you say so? So long as you don’t drink German beer, you’re only trouble is with Professor Lane.”
“If I drank German beer, I’d have a lot more trouble than with Hiram Lane, sir,” Chandler realized after he said it that German beer was actually of a very high quality, but the joke was irresistible, and he regretted nothing.
Lane took the packet outlining the meal plans that the United States Army followed.
“We will put you on our fastest dirigible. We will spare no expense on this trip. I must insist, no smoking, though, Lord Baffert,” the colonel had to draw the line somewhere. Taggert pulled out another packet of things to hand to the pair, and he named them as he handed them to him: their money, a pistol, cyanide capsules, and a pair of Spanish passports.
“Good heavens! Is that really necessary?” Chandler was shocked as he saw the assortment of equipment being provided. “I mean, honestly, sir, Spanish passports? Can’t we do better than that?”
Professor Lane thanked the colonel, collected his things in his folder and left for the airport where the dirigible would carry them to France.
The next morning, Professor Hiram Lane arrived at the hotel in the center of town with Harold Chandler, Lord of Baffert, in tow. Chandler was carrying a small briefcase and walking with a cane, while Lane was carrying one of his leather folders in which he typically kept his lecture notes. It was a rather nice hotel, with a simple fountain in the middle of the lobby with the hotel bar off to the right as you enter, the concierge’s desk to the left and the exit to the rooms, so the archway is exemplified by the fountain.
“Good Lord, this Colonel lives here? You Americans pay your soldiers too much,” Chandler said.
“Harry, this is a hotel,” Lane answered.
“Right. I couldn’t help but notice that there is a bar over there.”
“Harry, it’s 10:30 in the morning!” the professor calmly said, as he picked up and rang the bell on the desk.
“Hmm, later than I thought, then,” he said as he withdrew a flask from his coat. They did not wait very long before the attendant arrived.
“Good morning, sirs. What can I do for you? Would you like a room? If you like, we can provide a local girl for you, very discreet,” the concierge said with a wink in quickly delivered tone that it was very hard to tell if he was joking or really expecting these men to take him up on it.
“No thank you, I brought my own,” Chandler said has he tapped his case with the end of his cane.
“Very classy. I am here for Mr. E. Soldier, he should be expecting me,” Lane told the hotelier.
“Mr. E. Soldier? Are you bloody kidding me?” Chandler exclaimed, in disbelief.
“Right this way, sirs,” the concierge ignored the Englishman and grabbed a lantern and led the way.
When they arrived at the room, the hotelier knocked on the door. It was opened by Sergeant Holmes, who greeted them, “Professor Lane, and his escort. Welcome. Please, come in, the Colonel will be glad to see you.” Lane did not recognize this man, but went into the room anyway. Chandler stepped in, and the sergeant turned inwards, and the concierge coughed to clear his throat.
Chandler spoke up, “Oh! How rude of all of us.” He turned to the hotelman and blew out his lantern. “It was awfully bright.” The sergeant closed the door with the Englishman on the inside and the concierge on the outside. The colonel was inside, and the four of them sat down around the coffee table.
“Professor Lane, I am glad you decided to come. I can only imagine this is the companion you have chosen to take with you on your mission. My name is Colonel William Taggert, and I am pleased to meet you,” the colonel stood up and offered his hand.
“I am Harold Chandler, the Earl of Baffert. I served with Hiram in Cuba. He cried a lot,” Chandler explained.
“Excellent. Now, although I can’t say I’m terribly thrilled you picked a foreigner-“ the colonel said, but was interrupted.
“Sir, Harry is a close friend, has similar experience to mine in the Spanish War and has European contacts I do not. Also, by comparison, I look even more masculine when standing next to him, so it only seemed like a natural choice,” he said, in an effort to calm Taggert.
“Very well. Here’s the outline of what we expect from you. You will have two weeks to get information on what the Germans are eating, what the British and French are eating, and what we should do about it. I will provide you with a list of all of our foods. We will be sending you to Europe tonight - Paris is the closest we can get you to the action right now. Infiltrating Germany will be your problem. We will offer you a variety of money in British Pounds, French and Swiss Francs and German Deutschmarks. At the end of the two weeks, report back to the Hotel Chateau in Paris and ask for Le Pomme de Vol. You will recognize him by his shiny red coat. He is our contact and will send you give you instructions on what to do with your findings. Do you have any questions?” The colonel asked, as he reached into his briefcase.
“I have one, Colonel. Are expected to, um, total our tees, so to speak, while on this mission?” Chandler asked.
“I beg your pardon?” the colonel did not quite understand what the nobleman meant, even though he winked.
“I mean, how dry do we need to remain?”
“Are you asking for an umbrella, my Lord?”
“Must we return with our livers in as good of shape as we left with?”
“You’re taking livers with you?”
“If I were to get drunk every night, would I still get paid?”
“Oh, oh, oh, why didn’t you say so? So long as you don’t drink German beer, you’re only trouble is with Professor Lane.”
“If I drank German beer, I’d have a lot more trouble than with Hiram Lane, sir,” Chandler realized after he said it that German beer was actually of a very high quality, but the joke was irresistible, and he regretted nothing.
Lane took the packet outlining the meal plans that the United States Army followed.
“We will put you on our fastest dirigible. We will spare no expense on this trip. I must insist, no smoking, though, Lord Baffert,” the colonel had to draw the line somewhere. Taggert pulled out another packet of things to hand to the pair, and he named them as he handed them to him: their money, a pistol, cyanide capsules, and a pair of Spanish passports.
“Good heavens! Is that really necessary?” Chandler was shocked as he saw the assortment of equipment being provided. “I mean, honestly, sir, Spanish passports? Can’t we do better than that?”
Professor Lane thanked the colonel, collected his things in his folder and left for the airport where the dirigible would carry them to France.