Saturday, April 12, 2014
(After running the Call of Cthulhu Scenario â€œWhat Goes Around, Comes Aroundâ€ by Jeff Moeller from The Resurrected III: Out of the Vault on Sunday, April 6 from 1 p.m. to 5 p.m. with Caitlin Blackmon, James Williams, Kyle Matheson, Logan Scott, Aaron Scott, James Brown, and John Forney)
Mary-Jane Holland was in the hospital for the next few weeks, recuperating from her â€œhunting accident.â€ While she was there, she was able to get the Providence Journal. The front page article on July 4, 1925, upset her a little bit. The headline stated: â€œShootout in West End Tenement, Murderer assumed still at large.â€ The article read:
Police responded to a shootout in a West End Tenement building on Rosedale Street
Thursday and found a man missing for almost a week.
At 8:45 p.m., police responded to a report of a man brandishing a firearm and claiming
he was a police officer at 17 Rosedale Street. Two patrol cars were sent to the scene and, when
they arrived, found residents in a high state of alarm.
John Chapin, superintendent of the building, told police that a madman claiming to be a
police officer accosted him at his own apartment. Chapin immediately telephoned police.
Minutes later, numerous gunshots came from the apartment directly above his own, followed
by the sound of violence.
According to Mr. Chapin, the man claiming to be a police officer was accompanied by a
woman with a scar on her face. They asked for someone named Timmons or Simmons.
Police arrived to find apartment number five in ruins. Several bullet holes in the walls
and the stink of gunpowder gave mute testimony to the gun battle that had occurred mere
moments before. No bodies were found in the apartment but a great amount of blood was
on the floor.
Police report that several bullets were obviously fired from at least two parties, many
striking the walls and floor of the apartment. Additionally, the room had been vandalized.
The only man found in the apartment was Jarvis Simmons, the servant of the Brian
Timmons Sr. family of College Hill, who went missing with Brian Timmons Jr. just last week.
Mr. Simmons was reportedly unfit to answer police questions.
Residents report that another man crashed out of the closed window of the second-floor
apartment during the gun battle and fell to the street below, limping off as quickly as possible.
The man who claimed to be a police officer was seen carrying the woman out of the building
just before police arrived. They reportedly fled in a Ford Model T sedan.
On June 27, Police responded to an anonymous telephone call to the farm on Washington
Road, Woonsocket. They found a desiccated corpse in one of the rooms of the house. The body
has not yet been identified by police.
The house is owned by Brian Timmons, who was released Saturday from Holmes Sanitarium
in Providence. No sign of Mr. Timmons has been seen since.
On June 28, two Woonsocket police officers at the Woonsocket house of Brian Timmons were
found dead. The two officers had been staking out the farm after a corpse was found there June 27
by police. Timmons is suspected.
Timmons reportedly stole both .38 pistols of the murdered policemen. Both weapons were
recovered in the apartment on Rosedale Street. A manhunt conducted June 28 near the farm that
Timmons owns discovered Timmonsâ€™ Cadillac Suburban by a squatterâ€™s shed near the Branch River.
Police also think there might be a connection between Timmons and a grave robbery that took
place on June 2. The grave, located in the oldest part of a cemetery in Woonsocket, has not yet been
Brian Timmons is described as 27 years old, 5â€™11â€ tall, 180 pounds with brown hair and brown
eyes. He was last seen wearing a blue suit and black tie.
Anyone with information on the whereabouts of Brian Timmons is asked to contact the Providence
Police Department, Woonsocket Police Department, Providence County Sheriffâ€™s Department, or the
Rhode Island State Police.
She was released from the Hospital in late July and was relieved to get home.
On Tuesday, July 28, Detective Malloy of the Woonsocket Police Department telephoned her and asked if he could talk to her for a few minutes. She said he could and he arrived at her apartment early that afternoon. She let him in and he said he hoped she was well and asked if he could take a seat.
He took something small and metallic out of his pocket and put it on the coffee table. It was a small, misshapen piece of metal.
â€œThatâ€™s the bullet they pulled out of you, Miss Holland,â€ he said.
Her eyes widened.
â€œI took the trouble to check it against the two .38 pistols that were found in the room where Jarvis Simmons was found,â€ he went on. â€œI was a little surprised that it matched one of the guns.â€
He looked at her for a moment.
â€œWhere is Brian Timmons, Miss Holland?â€ he asked.
â€œI have no idea,â€ she replied.
â€œLook, at this juncture I have not shared this information with the Providence Police,â€ he said, â€œbut we need to find Mr. Timmons because we know, or are fairly certain that he has committed several murders.â€
â€œWhy are you here questioning me, anyway?â€ she said. â€œI was just shot, for Godâ€™s sake.â€
â€œYes. You were shot from one of the two guns that was found in the room where Mr. Simmons was found, who had been hypnotized or something by Mr. Timmons. You know he was in an asylum for a week, donâ€™t you?â€
â€œOf course I do.â€
â€œNo, I mean Mr. Simmons. The butler.â€
â€œThey had to have him committed, he was so jangled up upstairs.â€
â€œYes. Apparently Mr. Timmons had him under some kind of hypnotic control, from what we could piece together.â€
â€œUh â€¦ not my words, Miss.â€
â€œOh. I have no idea where he is.â€
â€œIf you have any contact with Mr. Timmons, please contact us,â€ he said.
â€œI will. But I canâ€™t guarantee anything,â€ she said.
â€œI understand. But if you do think of anything, I would appreciate it greatly. We really want to bring this murderer to justice.â€
â€œYes, yes, I know.â€
â€œI know sometimes there are fallings outs amongst criminals. I donâ€™t know what might have happened in that room but I know you were there.â€
â€œAre you calling me a criminal?â€
â€œIâ€™m just saying that certain things sometimes happen.â€
â€œWell, I say that your implication is preposterous. Get out of my house.â€
â€œVery well. Iâ€™ll be wanting to talk to Mr. McKeefe about this too.â€
He stood up and she saw him out of her apartment. She sat back down, somewhat shaken, when another knock came at her door. She listened at the door but there was no sound in the hallway outside. She put the chain on the door and then opened it.
Outside stood her next-door neighbor, William H Pendergast IV. He was a good-looking young man in his mid-twenties. She had met him when he had done some graduate work at Brown after going to Harvard. He was originally from Ohio and his family was very, very wealthy. She knew that he had a great deal of money as well. From what she had gathered from the young man, he enjoyed Providence so much while he was attending Brown that he had decided to live there as long as he could. He had been out of town the last few weeks, Mary-Jane had learned from her nosy neighbor, Mrs. Burke, off to New York City for some kind of family business.
He was holding a small bouquet of flowers and had a card.
â€œMary-Jane, oh yes, Iâ€™d heard that youâ€™d been in the hospital!â€ he said. â€œI thought Iâ€™d bring you some flowers and I got you a little card.â€
She unchained the door and let him in.
â€œYes, do you have a vase?â€ he asked.
â€œSure,â€ she said.
He put the flowers in water while she looked at the card. It was very quaint. He told her heâ€™d heard she was in the hospital from Mrs. Burke.
â€œStrange things have been going on around here,â€ he said, looking at her. â€œMrs. Burke said that that fellow who lives in the basement came running out of your apartment, screaming, a few weeks ago. Just shrieking at the top of his lungs.â€
He made a dramatic squeal.
â€œShe was terrified!â€ he said.
â€œWell â€¦ Iâ€™ve been involved in a little research lately and maybe he had a nightmare or something, I donâ€™t know,â€ she said
â€œHe had a nightmare? Was he sleeping here?â€
â€œIt just sounds so strange. Just very strange.â€
â€œYes, well â€¦â€
â€œWhat are you researching?â€
â€œIâ€™m researching a bit into the occult.â€
â€œSo that might have been, you know how people get.â€
He looked at her carefully again.
â€œYou know, something strange happened just â€¦ well, it was actually quite a long time ago,â€ he said. â€œI know a fellow, his name is Robert McCorkindale, lives up in Charing Cross, where I went to college, Charing Cross College? Where I got my undergraduate? I went there for two years actually. Anyway, his wife was murdered a couple years ago, they say, very strange, and he seems very upset about it, a very strange situation.â€
â€œMurdered, you say?â€ she said.
â€œYes. I donâ€™t know. Heâ€™s looking for someone to look into it. Iâ€™m looking to hire a private investigator. I found a fellow downtown, name of Tyrone Bryan or Brian Tyrone. I donâ€™t remember his name.â€
â€œRight. Indeed. Yes.â€
Then he brought up McKeefe running screaming from her apartment again.
â€œWhat kind of occult things are you reading?â€ he asked.
â€œWell, itâ€™sâ”€â€ she started.
â€œThatâ€™s a very nice vase you have up there,â€ he suddenly said, pointing at the jar sheâ€™d gotten from Douglas Timmonsâ€™ laboratory.
â€œYes, itâ€™s very nice, but, you know, just the normal occult things.â€
â€œYouâ€™re such a card!â€
â€œWhen youâ€™re in my occupation, everything seems to be running together. Iâ€™m sure it was just a nightmare or something.â€
â€œAll right. All right. I wish the man well. He seems awfully shady to me but â€¦ heâ€™s a good drinking buddy. We go drinking sometimes.â€
â€œHeâ€™s good, all in all.â€
They made a little more casual conversation and he left.
* * *
Tyler Bryan was a private investigator. He was good-looking and 31 years old and stood about six feet tall. A veteran of the Great War, he always wore a nice suit, tie, and fedora. He actually had a Harvard law degree and had a small shop on one of the back streets Downtown, living in one of the apartments above his detective agency. He owned an automobile as well and usually carried a 1911 .45 semi-automatic pistol. He kept a Thompson sub-machinegun and a 30.06 rifle in his apartment.
On Tuesday, July 28, 1925, the door to his office opened and William H. Pendergast IV walked in. He had met Pendergast before, usually as the man went window shopped downtown. Pendergast told him that he had a friend up in New Hampshire whose wife was murdered about a year ago, he thought. He was not sure of the details.
â€œA year ago?â€ Bryan said.
â€œI donâ€™t remember,â€ Pendergast said. â€œI donâ€™t know all of the details.â€
He gave Bryan the name Robert McCorkindale and noted that he was going to the trouble of finding a private investigator for the man. However, he didnâ€™t know any more details than that.
Weird that heâ€™d wait a whole year, Bryan thought.
â€œItâ€™s Charing Cross, New Hampshire,â€ Pendergast said.
He noted that the man wanted to hire someone to help him out.
â€œOf course,â€ Bryan said.
â€œIf you want to contact him, feel free,â€ Pendergast said. â€œIf you could help him, thatâ€™d be great. I might even throw a bonus in.â€
After Pendergast left, Bryan got an operator on the telephone and was soon connected to Robert McCorkindale. The man sounded jittering on the other side of the line. He was obviously very upset.
â€œYes, this is Robert McCorkindale,â€ the nervous voice on the other side of the line said.
Bryan introduced himself.
â€œThatâ€™d be Billy,â€ McCorkindale said. â€œBilly Pendergast, right?â€
â€œYes,â€ Bryan replied.
â€œYeah, I was telling him I was trying to find somebody to help me out. Itâ€™s â€¦ itâ€™s been almost â€¦ itâ€™s been a year and the police arenâ€™t doing anything. I need some help. Can you come up here and talk to me about this?â€
â€œIâ€™m willing to pay. Iâ€™m willing to pay. The police are not doing anything. Theyâ€™re a waste. Theyâ€™re â€¦ yeah. Any help you can give me.â€
â€œOf course, of course.â€
â€œI appreciate it.â€
It took Bryan a while to get off the phone with the man even after they had arranged to meet on July 30. McCorkindale seemed to be one of those people who didnâ€™t know how to end a conversation.
* * *
Doctor Sir Carl Huxtable was British. He was only 26 years old but had already gotten a Ph.D. in history and psychology in England. He had taught at Brown University in Providence for about a year and was the youngest member of the faculty. He was very tall, wore his hair short but sported a very thick mustache, and wore a monocle on his left eye as it was a little weak. He wore a three-piece suit and a polka-dotted bow tie, and he always tried to look older to be taken seriously. Though he was very well educated, Dr. Huxtable was not terribly smart and had worked very, very hard to get his degrees and his position at Brown. He compensated by being boastful of his great intellect. He had a house in the Fox Point Neighborhood south of the college.
He had known William H. Pendergast IV as the youth had taken one of his classes at Brown the year before and was pleasantly surprised when the man showed up in his office that day. They chatted for some time before Pendergast brought up a strange murder that had taken place a year or so before in New Hampshire. He noted that he had mentioned it to a friend of his, Mary-Jane Holland.
â€œMary-Jane, of course!â€ Dr. Huxtable said.
â€œOh, you know her, Doctor?â€ Pendergast said.
â€œI know Mary-Jane.â€
â€œItâ€™s a shame what happened to her face though.â€
â€œSo bad, yes.â€
They both shook their heads.
â€œI told her about that,â€ Pendergast went on. â€œI thought she might be interested because she said some very strange, occult things had been happening in her house.â€
â€œI used her to do some research, she was very bright,â€ Dr. Huxtable said.
â€œYes yes yes. She seems interested in the occult. Very strange.â€
â€œA man ran screaming from her apartment one afternoon. Very strange. Thatâ€™s what I heard.â€
â€œThank you for bringing that information to me.â€
â€œNot at all. Not at all.â€
* * *
Angus Silversmith was a prospector from Mississauga, Toronto, Canada. He towered at over 6â€™2â€ tall and was lanky for his height. He had traveled his whole life and his skin was worn with repeated sunburns in his 34 years of life. He wore a dusty and worn green fishing cap, complete with hooks. He didnâ€™t own a fishing pole. He seemed to be completely covered with dust, especially his worn boots. He carried a large, sturdy backpack wherein he kept all his earthly possessions, including two shovels, several pans, a sifter, and several bottles of moonshine, along with a second set of clothes. He usually lived on a bench in one of the parks in the city.
He had known William H. Pendergast IV for about a month and told the young man stories about prospecting. Then the young dilettante would give him a dollar or buy him a meal. Heâ€™d even given him $10 bills from time to time, so Silversmith had been eating well and could even afford, if he wanted, a room in a flophouse or something. However, Pendergast had been gone for the last couple of weeks so Silversmith found himself sleeping on a park bench again. Luckily, it had been a dry summer.
On July 28 around dinnertime, Pendergast found him in the park he preferred.
â€œOh, Mr. Silversmith, oh!â€ Pendergast said when he saw him. â€œI havenâ€™t been in town. How are you doing?â€
â€œOh, Iâ€™m â€¦â€ Silversmith said.
â€œYou look â€¦ have you not been eating?â€
â€œLetâ€™s go get a meal. Come on. Come on.â€
Pendergast took him to a diner where he bought him a meal. Silversmith had not eaten in two days and wolfed down the sandwich.
â€œKeep them coming!â€ Pendergast called to the waitress.
He chatted with the man and brought up the murder that had happened a year ago in New Hampshire.
â€œMurder?â€ Silversmith said. â€œI believe I read that on my pillow.â€
He was making a joke about the newspapers that he used to cover himself at night.
â€œReally?â€ Pendergast said, confused.
â€œYes. Newspaper,â€ Silversmith replied.
â€œOh, thatâ€™s a joke!â€ Pendergast said.
He laughed loudly.
â€œOh, thatâ€™s so clever!â€ he said.
â€œIt is?â€ Silversmith said.
â€œAn investigator friend of mine is going to go up there and investigate it. That Bryan fellow with the shop downtown. You know who Iâ€™m talking about?â€
â€œHeâ€™s got a big window in the front and thereâ€™s a like a crudely drawn man who looks like heâ€™s got a fedora and heâ€™s got a smoking gun in his hand.â€
â€œOh yeah, that window.â€
â€œIt says â€˜I will solve your case for youâ€™ or something like that. I donâ€™t know.â€
â€œMaybe that was another place I was thinking of.â€
* * *
Manfred Donald had decided to eat out that night.
He was a stuntman by profession, or at least he wanted to be. He was from Ontario, Canada, and had actually come to Providence under the misapprehension that they made motion pictures there. He had gotten a year-long lease on an apartment in Downtown Providence in January before heâ€™d realized his mistake, so was working as a waiter and doing theater in the city until his lease was up and he could move west. He was 28 years old and good-looking, standing almost six feet tall. His hair was already salt and pepper, despite his young age, and he was clean-shaven though had a five oâ€™clock shadow. He dressed like a cowboy and wore jeans and a button up shirt and vest. He also wore a cowboy hat and actually owned and knew how to use a bullwhip.
When he entered the little diner, he spotted Angus Silversmith having dinner with William H. Pendergast IV. He knew both of them.
â€œManfred!â€ Angus said to him between bites of food.
The man waved.
â€œOh, come join us,â€ Pendergast said. â€œWeâ€™re having dinner!â€
â€œWell, if you insist,â€ Donald replied.
â€œOf course!â€ Pendergast said.
Donald had known Pendergast for a few months and liked the young man. He never let others pay the check either, so was a joy to dine with.
While they ate, Pendergast related the story heâ€™d just told Silversmith, about the manâ€™s wife murdered in a small town in new Hampshire.
â€œIt sounds very interesting,â€ Silversmith said.
â€œWhoa,â€ Donald said.
Pendergast also mentioned that the private investigator Tyler Bryan was going to take the case.
â€œYou know, it sounds like a whole groupâ€™s going up there,â€ Pendergast said.
â€œYeah, Iâ€™m looking for work, so â€¦â€ Silversmith said.
â€œWell, there you are,â€ Pendergast said.
â€œYeah. I should join this expedition.â€
â€œLetâ€™s go to Bryanâ€™s office. Maybe heâ€™ll hire you on. Well, thereâ€™s Bryan right there!â€
He pointed to the door of the diner, where Tyler Bryan had just entered. Pendergast waved him over to their table and introduced him to the other two men.
â€œThis is Tyler Bryan,â€ he said. â€œThis is Angus Silversmith. Heâ€™s a prospector. Heâ€™s got some amazing stories about gold. And thatâ€™s Manfred Donald and he wants to break into the moving pictures, is what he told me. Isnâ€™t it? Isnâ€™t that what youâ€™re doing?â€
â€œYes,â€ Donald said.
â€œBut heâ€™s practicing here,â€ Pendergast said. â€œOr something. Iâ€™m a little confused on that.â€
â€œYes, my information was a little â€¦ wrong, eh,â€ Donald said.
â€œI told him about McCorkindaleâ€™s case up in New Hampshire,â€ Pendergast went on. â€œAnd theyâ€™re both looking for work right now, so maybe you could hire them on.â€
â€œAre you looking for any hired hands?â€ Silversmith asked.
â€œCould use muscle,â€ Bryan said. Then to Silversmith. â€œBut if I hire you on, good sir, youâ€™re going to have to take a bath.â€
â€œIf youâ€™ve got the bathtub, eh,â€ Silversmith said with a grin.
Bryan hired the two men to help out.
â€œSure, Iâ€™ll do you a favor,â€ Bryan said to Pendergast.
â€œWell, you might want to contact Miss Mary-Jane Holland,â€ Pendergast said. â€œSheâ€™s an expert in the occult, I hear.â€
He also noted there was a professor at Brown University who might be interested in the case. He gave them the name Doctor Carl Huxtable.
â€œHeâ€™s told me many times, heâ€™s one of the brightest minds of England,â€ Pendergast told him. â€œHe said he was knighted for his bright mind. He speaks so slowly though. I think itâ€™s because every word is so important.â€
After dinner, Bryan took the two men back to his apartment where Silversmith could get cleaned up.
* * *
Mary-Jane Hollandâ€™s telephone rang after she had eaten dinner that night.
â€œYes, hello?â€ she answered.
â€œThis is Tyler Bryan,â€ the voice said on the other side of the line said. â€œIâ€™m a private investigator. Your friend, Pendergastâ”€â€
â€œYes, Mr. Pendergast.â€
â€œâ”€told me that you are interested in the occult.â€
â€œWell â€¦ I do know about it. My field is really in anthropology but I could help you are looking for information on the occult.â€
â€œVery well, is it okay if I could come by and speak to you in the next 20 minutes or so?â€
â€œYes, itâ€™s apartment number 5,â€ she said.
She also gave him the street address in the Wayland neighborhood.
* * *
Bryan drove over to Wayland with Silversmith and Donald. They found the correct address and he parked in front of the two-story apartment building on Medway Street and went in with Donald. Silversmith waited in the automobile. As soon as the men left him, Silversmith took one of the mason jars out of his backpack. It was filled with a clear liquid: moonshine. He sipped on it as he waited.
Apartment 5 was on the second floor, facing the front of the building. Bryan knocked on the door.
â€œCome in,â€ a voice called from within.
Bryan opened the door and saw a small but neat apartment. There was a small living room with a kitchen off to one side. Another door apparently led to a small bedroom and a third to a private little bathroom. Windows were open on one side and a warm breeze blew into the place. A small bookshelf held several books and atop it was some kind of large antique glass bottle.
He heard a noise behind him and, looking over his shoulder, saw the door across the hall open just a crack. A woman peeked out and then closed the door again.
Nosy neighbors, he thought.
â€œWatch the hall,â€ Bryan said to Donald before he went in.
He left the man in the hall behind him.
The young woman who stood in the middle of the room might have been very pretty aside from a terrible scar that started at her right eyebrow and ran down her cheek. The stitches that had been used to heal it, probably years before, had left a nasty scar that went almost to her jaw.
He closed the door behind him.
â€œHave a seat,â€ she said.
He sat on the couch near a coffee table.
â€œSo â€¦â€ she said.
â€œSo, Iâ€™ve been hired for this â€¦ odd â€¦ case,â€ he replied. â€œI â€¦ Iâ€™ve never been hired to investigate a murder a year after it happened.â€
â€œYes, you must be talking about Mr. Pendergastâ€™s friend.â€
â€œYes, itâ€™s very strange.â€
â€œWell, he saidâ”€â€
â€œThere was talk about a strange death. I was wondering if someone who knew about the occult could help me in this. He told you about what happened with the murder. Itâ€™s very â€¦ I wonâ€™t be able to examine the scene because itâ€™s a year old.
â€œI donâ€™t know what they missed â€¦ I donâ€™t know. It will be very interesting. Iâ€™ve never had a case like this. I was wondering if you could help me with your expertise.â€
â€œYes. Since Pendergast is a friend of mine, I could help you out. Iâ€™ll look into it.â€
â€œVery well. Thank you.â€
He stood and opened the door.
* * *
Just before the door opened, Donald saw the door across the hall from the apartment Bryan had gone into open a crack for a moment and then close.
Then Bryan opened the door.
â€œThis is my associate â€¦ what is your name again, sir?â€ he said to Donald.
â€œManfred Donald,â€ the man said.
â€œNice to meet you Manfred,â€ Miss Holland said.
â€œNice to meet you, Miss â€¦â€ Donald replied.
â€œYes yes yes,â€ Bryan said.
â€œMary-Jane,â€ Miss Holland replied.
â€œMiss Mary-Jane,â€ Donald said.
He tipped his hat.
Bryan put his own hat back on.
â€œWhere did this murder happen again?â€ she asked.
â€œThe murder is in Charing Cross,â€ Bryan said. â€œIâ€™ll book tickets on the train. I could get you one if you so desire.â€
â€œSure,â€ she replied. â€œThat sounds swell. When are you leaving?â€
â€œI will meet you tomorrow morning at the station then.â€
â€œI could come get you, maâ€™am, if you would so desire, in the morning.â€
â€œThat sounds great.â€
He said heâ€™d pick her up at 8 a.m.
He and Donald left, going by Union Station and getting tickets for the 9:00 train that would take them to Oakdale, Massachusetts on the New York, New Haven and Hartford Railroad. From there, they would transfer to the Boston and Maine Railroad, which ran through Charing Cross, N.H.
When he parked his Cadillac Series 314 Tourer on the street in front of his office around 8:30 p.m., he found a man in a tweed suit out in front. The man looked quite dapper and had a large mustache and a monocle over one eye. He was constantly checking his golden pocket watch. Bryan got out of his automobile and approached the man, leaving Donald and Silversmith in the machine.
â€œSir Tyler Bryan, I assume,â€ the man said. His accent was British.
Bryan looked at him.
â€œFunny business this, funny business this,â€ Dr. Huxtable said. â€œMinding my own day I was, today. Beautiful day as it was, and Sir William Pendergast came to me, telling me of a murder that had not been solved in quite some time. I went along my business but â€¦ it troubled me. This murder that our law enforcement could not solve. So, I thought to myself â€˜A bright mind of England could solve this crime!â€™
â€œI called Mr. Pendergast and he tells me that he has hired you!â€ he went on and then looked at his pocket watch again. â€œFunny, funny business this! So, I have already bought my train ticket. And I will accompany you. Good day, sir!â€
Bryan watched as the man turned and walked away. He had no idea who the man was. He stood there, perplexed, and shaking his head.
The man passed his automobile and appeared to notice the two men within. Bryan saw that they were passing a mason jar back and forth to each other.
â€œThis is why Iâ€™m accompanying you!â€ the British man called back to Bryan.
Bryan saw Donald take a mason jar from Silversmith and take a sip, then make a face. He handed it back and the other man sealed the lid back on the jar. Bryan went back to the automobile.
â€œHey, do you care if I sleep in the back of your car tonight?â€ Silversmith asked him.
He just gestured for the men to follow him and then led them to a door next to the door to his office. Steps led up from it to his apartment. It was very small with a Murphy bed against the wall, a small bathroom, and cupboards and counters on one side where a hot plate sat. The windows looked out onto the street below. He pointed at the loveseat in the room and gave Silversmith a couple of blankets.
Donald headed back to his apartment.
* * *