Desperation and Decision by Sophronia Belle Lyon Page B

a foxtail from the handle against his over-the-knee
spats. His clothing was a curious mix of equally scuffed olive and
brown leather. A pair of leather and brass goggles dangled from his
neck.
    He pulled open the door of the mail coach and
a woman stepped out. I had a very curious sensation that something
was very, very wrong about that door. One moment it was a wooden
square, and the next it was round, made of brass, more like a
ship's hatch, and lined with golden velvet. The door closed and the
woman approached me.
    She was a gypsy beauty, tall,
olive-complexioned, black curls escaping out of her veil. Her dress
was of the most fashionable and expensive, a dark green brocade
with sparkling silver beads and fringe. She held a parasol of green
silk and fringe over her matching hat.
    "I have the pleasure of addressing Prince
Florizel of Bohemia, have I not?"
    I had not been addressed in that way for some
years. My customers knew me as "Florrie," and some called me simply
"the Bohemian," but few these days knew anything of my past. I
hesitated and the woman gave me a lovely, apologetic smile.
    "I am Phoebe Moore-Campbell," she hastened to
explain. I could tell that she was American, but the stamp of a
European polish marked her speech. "Please forgive me for accosting
you on the public street, but I wish to make you a proposal. Oh, I
beg your pardon. That sounded worse still."
    She had a musical laugh but I still could not
get a sense of why she had spoken to me, or why her name sounded
familiar to me.
    "I am forming an association of people to
investigate and try to put a stop to a criminal organization which
I believe originates here in London but extends throughout the
British Empire, if not beyond. I confess I have had to rely on
secondary sources but I have heard great things about your
commitment to fighting evil and seeking justice. May I beg the
favor of an interview with you this evening? Unfortunately I have
an engagement and must request you to meet my husband Archibald
Campbell and me and some trusted friends rather late, at our suite
in the penthouse apartments of the Bronze Cascade hotel. Will you
please come and hear what we propose -- What I propose?"
    "What is it that you think you know about
me?" I could not make sense of a beautiful, wealthy woman inviting
me to a penthouse in the premier hotel in London for a late
tête-à-tête, to talk about fighting evil. It was more surreal than
the fleeting image of a hatch where a mail coach door should
be.
    "I'm sorry, but my time is very short just
now. I have tried for months to locate you, and have only just
today succeeded. The other members of the group I propose to create
are en route or are already here. Everyone else has been made aware
of my plan. I truly wish to explain things more clearly to you, and
then if you agree, to invite you to attend our first meeting as a
formal association tomorrow. Can I count on you to come, please,
and will you hear my plan?" the woman pleaded. "This is the most
important thing I've ever done, and I pray God I have chosen the
right people. I also pray that the right people will choose to
pledge their help."
    If ever a woman who had no reason to be
desperate still managed to communicate desperation, it was this
woman.
    "Very well," I nodded. "But the hotel is not
so far from here and the weather has been very pleasant. I shall
walk. What time do you desire me to appear?"
    "No, no, you cannot walk about London so
late. Please. This mail coach will arrive at ten o'clock. Do not be
frightened by it, please. It is perfectly safe."
    "Frightened by a mail coach?" I was once
again hesitant. "Why would I be -- ?"
    "I really must go." She had been checking a
little watch pin repeatedly. "I'm sorry to be so abrupt, indeed,
I'm being inexcusably rude. Ten o'clock." She whirled, the
red-haired man opened the mail coach door, and she was gone.
Literally, gone. The man climbed up to the box, cracked his whip,
tipped his bowler to me, and the