Campion

Hup, hup, hup. Whee!

What...

-Enjoying your little game, are you? -What was that, Lugg?

I suppose you may condescend eventually to tell me where we're going.

-Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't I say? East Anglia. -Business or pleasure?

Business. I'm interested in an attack on

an elderly resident of a place called Pontisbright,

-reported in the local paper. -Who is she?

Miss Harriet Huntingforest.

Sounds like one of your weird pseudo-names.

Seems an intruder entered her house.

Ransacked it. She surprised him and was thereupon...

...felled to the ground.

-What was taken? -Nothing. Obviously, the assailant

didn't find whatever it was he was after.

"Miss Huntingforest later described him to the police as

"of unusual build, and possessing a pronounced widow's peak."

-Widow's peak? -Yes.

Peaky Doyle, I'll bet. Can't be two like that.

-One of the old fraternity? -We've had the odd brush.

What's he doing beating up old ladies, I'd like to know?

He used to work for the big time. A bloke called Savanake.

Brett Savanake?

Eager-Wright. Good to see you.

-Guffy. -Last thing I heard, you were off in foreign parts.

-Campion's beaten me to it, I see. -Yes.

I say, what's all this about?

Well, I think we'd better all be sitting down...

Right, Guffy, let's put you in the picture.

Eager-Wright and I are about to embark on a little mission.

-Government business? -Most secret and urgent.

-You can rely on me. -Well, that's why we want you with us.

That, and the fact you're a local man. Do you know a place called Pontisbright?

Yes, it's not far from here. Good fishing, I'm told.

Does the name Huntingforest mean anything to you?

A Miss Harriet Huntingforest?

The old girl who got bashed over the head by a burglar?

I don't know her myself, but I believe she's related to the Fitton family.

-Now, they own the old mill at Pontisbright... -Ah-ha.

-Fitton. So that's the link. -I'm sorry?

Between Miss Huntingforest, Peaky Doyle, the Earls of Pontisbright,

and the kingdom of Averna.

I'm afraid you've lost me entirely.

Worry not. All will become crystal clear.

Eager.

This is a rough map I made of Averna.

Small country in the Balkans.

Of more than passing interest to our government, amongst others.

-Ought I to have heard of the place? Not really.

-It isn't much, as kingdoms go. -How large is it?

-About 800. -Square miles?

-Acres. -Ah.

About nine months ago, there was a minor earthquake in those parts.

Shook up a bit of Italy, broke the windows in Belgrade.

No one attached any importance to it. Until, that is,

Eager here went climbing in the Bosnian Alps.

Brought back some rather interesting snaps.

Up to last year, Averna was just a small patch of land surrounded by rocks.

As a result of this earthquake,

it now sports a natural harbour.

-There's also oil there. By George, a natural harbour?

With natural fuel? And on the Adriatic?

There you are, Eager. Told you, Guffy would absorb it in one.

Yes, but where does Pontisbright come into all this?

Ah, well,

the Earls of Pontisbright used to be hereditary rulers of Averna.

Unfortunately, the last Earl was killed in the Crimean War.

Hang on. I have a feeling those Fitton people you were talking about

tried to claim the title not that long ago, actually.

So, to sum up, all Whitehall requires of us

is to demonstrate, incontrovertibly, that Averna is British territory.

Otherwise, I'm afraid, it will fall into foreign hands.

If we could prove the Fittons were heirs to the Pontisbright title...

Not quite so simple, old boy. The actual proofs of Averna's seigneur ship

have disappeared over the years. We have to trace them.

So what exactly are we looking for?

Item, one crown, made by the fifth Earl in 1400.

One set of deeds, drawn up and signed by Henry IV.

And finally, a very rum one, but most important.

Apparently, the 15th Earl was secretly backed by the British government,

in 1815, to reinforce his title to the kingdom.

Money changed hands. Somewhere, there's the receipt for it.

From none other than Count Maeterlinck,

who was busy rearranging Europe at the time.

I say, this is a sort of treasure hunt.

An extremely dangerous treasure hunt

if, as it looks, we'll be up against Brett Savanake.

A multi-multi-millionaire. One of those financial geniuses

that turn up now and again. Chairman of a dozen giant international companies.

Finger in every imaginable pie and at the moment, a thorn in our government's flesh.

Never photographed, never interviewed. Keeps well out of the limelight.

Probably because of a very murky past.

Savanake's now one of the most powerful men in Europe.

And this Averna business is big enough for him?

Right. Where do we start? The Balkans?

I'm afraid not. It'll have to be Pontisbright.

Oh, Campion?

I called in at the British Museum yesterday.

They managed to dig up a description of the Pontisbright crown,

not that it's very illuminating.

"Three drops of blood from a royal womb,

"three dull stars like a pigeon's egg,

"held and knit together with a flowery chain.

"Yet when a Pontisbright do wear it, none shall see it but the stars."

If you ask me, the geezer what wrote that had a screw loose.

Lower Dunning? Little Sweffling?

-Sweethearting? Why can't they call them proper names? -Like "Elephant and Castle"?

-"Sweethearting" rings a bell. -What does that broken sign say?

Hop out, Lugg. Have a look.

I hate the country.

-"Pontis-bright." -That's it.

But we pronounce it "Pontsbury".

Pontsbury.

Here, have a look.

Some sort of queer mark.

-Boy Scouts, is it? -No, Lugg, it isn't.

-Do you know what it means? Yes.

At the time of the Black Death it would be found on every door.

It's a sort of fear sign.

Is there a public house in this here Pontisbright?

Lugg always gets his priorities right.

There's an inn called the Gauntlett. I believe they let rooms.

Pretty as a picture, ain't it?

Those must be the gates of old Pontisbright Hall.

-Any idea who lives there now? -No, the house is a ruin.

When the title lapsed, the place was dismantled

-and sold off, piece by piece. -I see.

Look lovely covered with snow.

Well, let's put Lugg out of his misery.

Let's only hope the quality of the beer don't make it all a mockery.

Good evening. Three pints of local brew, please.

-(CLEARS THROAT) -And a half.

And I'd like to book accommodation for four people.

-You want to stay here? -For a week. Maybe more.

Well, I'm so sorry, sir, that won't be possible.

-You do let rooms? -Well, yes, sir, but...

We're not taking guests at present.

Ah.

-Full up, are you? -No.

That wouldn't be honest, if I were to say that. But...

We're expecting the decorators.

Well, I'm sure they won't be arriving at 6:00 in the evening.

Maybe you could just manage the one night.

Only the one night, mind.

-Not very keen on visitors here, are you? -We have our reasons.

-Quiet, isn't it? -As the grave.

You, uh, fancy a go?

Sixpence a game.

-A shilling. -You're on.

Here is the top.

Up from London, then, are you?

Yes. You local?

Born and bred.

-I work up yonder, at the mill. -People name of Fitton?

Yeah. That's right. There's three of them.

Miss Mary, Miss Amanda, young Master Hal.

-(COINS JINGLING) -What do you do up there?

Oh, I help Miss Amanda with her electricals,

'cause that's mostly what the mill's for, these days.

Got a dynamo charging up batteries and that.

Must bring in about £30 a year.

Not that I couldn't do with it...

I saw you slip that coin in with your sleeve.

-Old trick of mine, too. -(LAUGHS)

-Right. I'll bet you fair and square. -Will you?

When the great bell rings again.

There ain't no one beat Scatty Williams yet.

Right.

Watch boy told me they was thinking of taking in PGs up at the mill.

Paying guests!

Could do with a bit of the ready.

-Said you'd call round first thing in the morning. -Well done, Lugg.

Blimey! Praise from his master's lips.

Well, if you're done with me, I think I'll take a stroll. Touch of indigestion.

-(KNOCKING) -Who is it?

It's me. Lugg. Come quick.

There's the path. You'll see in a minute.

It's an old man, by the look of it. Stiff as you like.

Fair gave me a turn. A corpse is one thing,

but a corpse laid out on a blasted heath...

-(OWL HOOTS) -Stone me!

-Nice night for rabbiting. -I saw him.

Look, you can see for yourself that's where he was lying.

So, at 10:00 last night, Lugg was marching me across the heath

to see a corpse that wasn't there.

I don't know. There's something very odd going on here.

What an extraordinary contraption!

It looks like the thing the governor paid a man ten bob to take away

-before the war. -I think that's a Baker Electric.

Right, come on, Guffy. Let's take a look around.

Good idea. Campion, you go make the arrangements.

Morning, sir.

You must be with Mr Lugg's party.

Come in, mister, come in. The lady's expecting you.

Uh...

What name shall I say, Mr Campion?

Mr Albert Campion, miss.

Ma'am.

Thank you, Scatty.

How do you do? My name is Amanda Fitton.