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There's a sad knowledge in my heart of where this tendency of content overpolicing is going on a larger scale. This overreach of control and micromanagement. If I'd posted this pic to a small local URBEX Facebook group, my post would be deleted without any explanation and prior communication on rules regarding location disclosure elsewhere, although I never disclose locations explicitly - not on Facebook, not on Flickr, not anywhere. And have been rude in the past to make clear that I won’t disclose the info, so that the received message is as laconic and clear as possible. So that the potential explorer in contact could go fuck him/herself ASAP and hard.
Today – after being around abandoned places for 30+ years and pondering this for a quite some time, especially in 20/21, I’m thinking a tad differently. Do I care about Fecesbook drama? No, I’m on my way out of there for good and only my business interests hold me to that decrepit shithole, plus I can find another ways to reach local customers, so the ban affects me only in principle (first post sanitization without prior communication) that’s laid bare below.
So, my first post in that group was deleted yesterday. Basis? As it turned out when I PM’d the admin of the group for some reasoning: “You have disclosed locations on your Flickr”, which just amazes me. I upload to Flickr using external tool exclusively, and have set a Publish rule to never post GPS locations. So I went through my Flickr titles, and found out whopping 5 unique places named.
This will be the 6th.
Some might argue that even this amount of information disclosure is too much, to which I wholeheartedly agree to a degree: only if the place is not in public domain, AND if there’s anything but walls and smashed windows left in there. Yesteryear I’d told you to fuck off. Today I’d do some work before doing so. I’d check your profile for signs of thorough and non-damaging interest, and will disclose the place only if some evidence is found. This is the healthier approach, in my opinion, and here’s why.
If you do some critical thinking on this idea of info non-disclosure between URBEX people, at least a couple of problems present themselves gloriously clearly, and they tend to contradict the assumption that information non-disclosure will somehow magically stop the entropy, and will keep the place up and in good health. 1) Places getting ruined or demolished anyways (entropy); 2) Places getting renovated and made boring to explorers.
I’m highly doubtful that scrappers, vandals, teens and addicts use local URBEX internet groups as their primary source of information. These places attract all these kinds of people. They use brains too, and scrappers can smell abandonment miles away, for their living depends on it, not just a silly drive to trespass and explore the living past. Teens and vandals are usually local pricks that enjoy the feeling of smashed windows and falling walls, and I can’t really blame them, it’s a ton of fun, if you look at it honestly.
I’ve been exploring long enough to see non-disclosed places destroyed by scrappers and vandals time and time again. To see how bulldozers level a premium undisclosed Soviet fallout shelter / Communications center – twice at least.
Been here long enough to experience a building getting renovated and opened to the public once again – this very picture is from that place!
And the net result of this is what exactly? What’s the message to take home?
Well, those bulldozed places are leveled, no more living history to experience and less quality pictures, because inevitably some talented photographers missed the place because of the lack of exchange of info between URBEXers. So - fewer enthusiasts got to experience those places and… that’s about it.
And this particular piece I’m posting – it’s Spilves lidosta in Latvia, an Airport that’s an example of premium Stalin's neoclassical architecture in an awesome shape. Only some boarded windows and that’s about it. Why it was in such a pristine condition when we visited it in 2010 and managed to get in? Well, because it was a tad harder to access (some activity on runways and around, and a very naked/open place, no hiding to be had) and guarded the whole time: security personnel, cameras and all that sweet Jazz for us to bypass non-destructively. Today this airport is available to the public and the net result is? Well, less explorers got to experience the place and take pics on their own terms, and access now inaccessible areas.
You tell me if this approach isn’t damaging to URBEX movement as a whole? I see a whole lot of Ego masturbation in this too, and it’s ugly. Because scrappers will find their scrap, vandals will find their stuff to smash, and owners or the city will one day demolish or renovate our URBEX sites, and we will move on, trying to protect this information from ourselves.
Thanks for the read! : )
Jessops Pan 100S scanned with Plustek 7600i Ai.
Best enjoyed with Dark Ambient / RUREX
Title.
Door.
( LUMIX G3 shot )
Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. … 6 / 6
(Today's photo. It was previously published, but I re-edited it.)
Images:
Drake - Laugh Now Cry Later ft. Lil Durk
youtu.be/JFm7YDVlqnI?si=a9_Ovo-jmTB8Wnef
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 13 😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
The Republican Party had chosen Justin Bradford as its presidential candidate.
In response, the Democrats put forward Ryan Bennett.
Ryan sat in a room of his white-walled mansion on South Beverly Drive, gazing out at the manicured garden and tree-lined street. His mind drifted back to his childhood. He had always lived within a carefully calculated order. His days followed a strict timetable; his homework was flawless. Teachers praised him, while classmates kept their distance. To Ryan, being a model student was both a source of pride and a burden of solitude.
In the hush of the library, he first brushed against the realm of politics. During student council debates, his logic seldom drew applause, and often invited cold stares. People were moved by instinct and emotion. Reason alone could not stir the crowd—this he came to understand.
It was in that abyss of loneliness that Sophia appeared. A gentle voice, steady eyes, and a generosity that never rejected his logic but embraced it instead. They exchanged words, they shared silences, and in each other’s presence they found solace. Sophia was not only the one who steadied his reason, but also the light that warmed his solitude.
After graduating from UCLA, Ryan stepped onto the path of politics. First as a state legislator, then as a member of Congress, he rose without falter. Yet the public gaze remained cold. His patrician face, his meticulous speeches, his flawless reasoning—all these bred distance and resentment. People whispered, “Another elite come to lecture us.”
In that harsh world, his running mate, Alex Murphy, stood by him. Eight years his senior, Murphy possessed a seasoned intuition and decisiveness. He bridged the gap between Ryan’s logic and the people’s emotions, reading the shifting tides of resentment and expectation.
Then came the day when former Democratic president Owen Reed was struck by a sniper’s bullet during a speech. The shot did not take his life, but Ryan felt, with a shudder, the cruelty of the political stage. That night, alone in his study, he stared at the shadow cast by the streetlamp beyond his window. The long silhouette mirrored the solitude and the weight of order he had carried all his life.
Doubt flickered in his eyes, reflecting the city’s lights. Should he follow reason and order, or turn toward the people’s emotions? Having walked the path of the elite, he now saw that logic alone could not redeem reality. Without Sophia’s warmth and Murphy’s intuition, he might not have been able to take another step forward.
Sophia quietly took his hand. “You are not alone. We are here.”
Ryan gave the faintest nod, feeling the chains of solitude loosen, little by little, in the depths of his heart.
During his university years, Ryan had often felt estranged from the public. The scarce applause at debates, the cool reception of his political essays, the smirks at his street speeches. His arguments were correct, but people yearned for emotion. Logic alone could not move them.
Sophia understood her role as the wife of a politician. She stayed by Ryan’s side when public duties drained him, offering the warmth of home. On quiet nights, they would simply sit together, thinking wordlessly of the future.
Murphy, by contrast, acted on instinct. In moments of crisis, he guided Ryan—the tightening of security after the shooting, the handling of the media, the appeal to the public. Where reason could not reach, experience took over. Ryan came to rely on him, and to trust him deeply.
His solitude was also the weight of politics itself. Cool analysis, flawless planning, correct judgment. Yet often, the people could not understand. A reason stripped of feeling drew criticism, and deepened his isolation.
And yet, Sophia made him human. She gave warmth to cold logic, and the power to reach hearts. Murphy, with his decisiveness and experience, built a bridge between reason and emotion.
When the news of the shooting reached him, Ryan felt fear as something tangible for the first time. Politics could not be defended by theory from a study alone. Confusion, the crack of gunfire, the press of terror—faced with them, he knew his own helplessness.
Streetlamps reflected in his eyes; bloodstains on rubble, neighbors clasping hands, mothers crying out. Reality pressed itself upon him. Reason alone could not save, nor logic alone preserve order. Compassion, empathy—these were what people needed.
Sophia spoke softly. “Logic matters. But now is the time to show your heart. People are seeking empathy.”
Ryan smiled faintly and set down his pen. The alignment of order was paused; he resolved to entrust himself to the waves of feeling.
Murphy looked out the window and nodded gently. “Do not fear, Ryan. Your reason, my intuition, Sophia’s warmth—together, they will keep us true.”
Buoyed by those words, Ryan slowly cast aside the shadow of solitude.
The attempt on Owen Reed’s life was both terror and warning. Yet it was also a teacher, revealing the reality of the political stage. Ryan grasped its weight, and steeled himself to go forward.
On the street corner, trembling citizens; beneath the rubble, neighbors holding hands; a mother’s anguished cry. As he listened, Ryan was tested—not only as a politician, but as a human being. Torn between reason and emotion, he found in Sophia and Murphy an unshakable support.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
Door.
( LUMIX G3 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2017. … 6 / 6
(今日の写真。それは過去に発表しました。しかし、再編集しました。)
Images:
Drake - Laugh Now Cry Later ft. Lil Durk
youtu.be/JFm7YDVlqnI?si=a9_Ovo-jmTB8Wnef
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第13弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
共和党大統領候補のジャスティン・ブラッドフォードに対し、民主党は、ライアン・ベネットを選出していた。
ライアン・ベネットは、サウス・ベヴァリー・ドライブ沿いの白壁の豪邸の一室に座り、窓の外に広がる手入れの行き届いた庭園と並木道を見つめながら、子供の頃の自分を思い出していた。幼い日の彼は、常に計算された秩序の中にいた。時間割通りに生活し、宿題も常に完璧に仕上げた。教師は彼を褒め、同級生は距離を置いた。彼にとって、優等生であることは誇りであると同時に孤独でもあった。
図書館の静寂の中で、彼は初めて政治の片鱗に触れた。学生自治会の討論で、彼の論理は拍手を浴びることはなく、しばしば冷たい視線に晒された。人々は直感や感情で動く。理屈だけでは、群衆の心を動かせないのだと、彼は知った。
その孤独の淵に、ソフィアが現れた。柔らかい声、落ち着いた眼差し、そして彼の論理を拒むことなく受け止める包容力。二人は言葉を交わし、沈黙を共有し、互いの存在に慰めを見いだした。ソフィアは、ライアンの理性を支えるだけでなく、彼の孤独を温める光でもあった。
カリフォルニア大学ロサンゼルス校卒業後、ライアンは政治の道を歩み始めた。州議会議員として、そして連邦議会議員として、彼は順調に昇りつめた。だが、国民の視線は常に冷たかった。エリートの顔つき、整然とした演説、完璧すぎる論理は、多くの人々に距離感と反感を与えた。人々はつぶやく。「また、エリートが我々に説教するのか」と。
副大統領候補のアレックス・マーフィーは、その冷徹な世界にあって、ライアンを支える存在であった。八歳年上の彼は、経験に裏打ちされた直感と決断力を持つ。ライアンの論理と感情の間に立ち、国民の反感や期待の波を読み解く力があった。
民主党前大統領オーウェン・リードが演説中に狙撃された。弾丸は命を奪わなかったが、政治の舞台の残酷さをライアンは身をもって知った。その夜、ライアンは自室の書斎で、窓の外の街灯に映る自らの影を見つめた。長い影は、これまでの人生で背負ってきた孤独と秩序の重さを映していた。
街の灯りに反射する瞳の中には迷いがあった。理性と秩序に従うのか、それとも国民の感情に寄り添うのか。エリートの道を歩んできた彼の目には、論理だけでは救えない現実が見えていた。ソフィアの温もりとマーフィーの直感がなければ、彼は前に進むことさえできなかったかもしれない。
ソフィアはそっと彼の手を握った。「あなたは一人じゃない。私たちがいる」と。
ライアンは微かに肯いた。心の奥で、孤独の鎖が少しずつほどけていくのを感じた。
大学時代、ライアンは何度も国民との乖離を体感した。討論会での拍手の少なさ、政治論文の冷たい評価、街頭演説での冷笑。論理は正しくとも、人々は感情を求める。理屈だけでは、人は動かない。
ソフィアは、政治家の妻としての役割を理解していた。公務で疲弊したライアンに寄り添い、家庭の温もりを提供した。静かな夜、二人はただ座り、言葉少なに未来を思った。
マーフィーは直感で動き、危機的な場面ではライアンを導いた。銃撃事件後の警備調整、メディア対応、国民への呼びかけ。理性だけでは追いつかない現場を、彼は経験で補った。ライアンはその存在を頼りにし、信頼した。
ライアンの孤独は政治の重さでもあった。冷静な分析、完璧な計画、正しい判断。それらが国民に理解されないこともあった。感情に欠ける理性は、時として非難を招き、孤独を深める。
だが、ソフィアの存在が、ライアンを人間らしくした。冷たい論理に温度を与え、心に寄り添う力を持たせた。マーフィーは行動力と経験で、論理と感情の橋渡しを行った。
狙撃事件のニュースを聞いたとき、ライアンは初めて恐怖を身近に感じた。政治は書斎の理論だけでは守れない。瞬間の混乱、銃声、恐怖。それらを前にして、彼は自らの無力を知った。
街角の光、瓦礫の中の血痕、避難する人々。全てが現実として彼の前にあった。理性だけでは救えない、理屈だけでは秩序を維持できない。感情に寄り添い、共感を示すことが必要だった。
ソフィアは静かに語る。「論理は重要。でも今は心を示すとき。人々は共感を求めている」
ライアンは微かに笑い、ペンを置いた。秩序の整列は一旦休止し、感情の波に身を任せる覚悟を決めた。
マーフィーは窓の外を見つめ、微かに肯いた。「恐れるな、ライアン。君の理性、私の直感、ソフィアの温もり。全てがあれば、我々は道を誤らない」
ライアンはその言葉に支えられ、孤独の影を少しずつ振り払った。
オーウェン・リードの狙撃事件は、恐怖であり警告でもあった。だがそれは同時に、政治の舞台の現実を教える教師でもあった。ライアンはその重さを理解し、前に進む決意を固めた。
街角で震える人々、瓦礫の下で手を取り合う隣人、泣き叫ぶ母親。その声に耳を傾け、ライアンは政治家として、そして人間としての判断を試されていた。理性と感情の間で揺れる彼の心に、ソフィアとマーフィーは揺るがぬ支えとして存在していた。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
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「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
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2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
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Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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lacking sense or clear, sound reasoning.
When else can you open the gate?
I couldn't resist taking this snap of a sign on a local gate.
The X40 has been revised to no longer serve ARI Bus Port daytime hours with only the hourly evening service which is linked to the 4 at the bus port still serving it.
The reasoning is to make the X40 a faster more direct service into the city with the aim of attracting more passengers. The risk is that the loss of passengers who catch the bus from ARI will outweigh any increase from Kingswells as First have hinted the X40 will go hourly from Kingswells if the numbers do not increase.
Artic 10161 loops round the bus port in the last week of the link.
This is a REAL instance of ice even without vaccines and it's not the Trump ICE lockup and covid super-spreader site for migrants and kids in Denver. A while back, I grabbed more Clover Basin ditch shots down at Willow Farm when I hauled my D700 back down even though the sky was blank blue. I therefore had no choice but to point the camera downward for captures and keep the sky from the shots. Just like today and tomorrow and tomorrow! I decided that I needed some better originals to edit! I liked this view as well as the other. I got few real duds in my "action" takes of the ditch but I do have several NORMAL shots of the ditch now (they call it Willow Brook) but I call it a ditch. It's not much of one either. Let's face it, most of the St. Vrain stream and ditch flows have been ripped by the towns and cities to water blue grass instead of agriculture.
I can't figure why anyone would cut a ditch this darn squirrely. Drunk diggers, probably, though Longmont was a temperate colony at the time. Not so now When I first saw it, It was nearly impossible to follow the reasoning for this ditch but it does seem that the floods scoured this ditch somewhat. I think I noticed the colors of the reflections and contrasts and decided to take advantage. They seemed to oversaturate in this case but that's about everything posted on Flickr. The water course was a bit torn up but there must have been no serious flooding here.
We hit the end of autumn then and the chills came through but we hit the 60s after Christmas - so no coat. I won't go down to shoot ice today - it hit the 67 degrees in early December and await the 80s later in the week. No Coats in the 60s, no Clarks either. I've still got a lot of captures in the temp directory in today's stretch of no skies. I found Willow Farm on Google maps when searching for a barn I glimpsed and made some trips down there and added some more weird captures to temp stash. This is a shot of Willow Creek, another ditch, IMHO. I went back down with my D700 to see if I could capture some shot of the barn. I may go out soon if we can retrieve some skies and clouds at all.
Here is a normal, if not fairly slow hand held exposure. I already posted other shots that were "action" shots and they were the better shots. I grabbed a couple of slices in Lightroom and dropped them into Photoshop to see what might appear.
Used the LEEFilters Landscape Polariser, little stopper and the 0.9 nd hg.
It was a nice quiet evening at the IJsselmeer near Stavoren. Some small clouds and a bit of wind which just gave enough reasoning in the water.
Worldwide, 55 million people are living with Alzheimer's and other dementias.
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In the later stages of the disease, a person with Alzheimer's may not remember familiar people, places or things. Situations involving memory loss and confusion are extremely difficult for caregivers and families, and require much patience and understanding.
What are the signs of age-related dementia?
Memory loss, which is usually noticed by someone else.
Difficulty communicating or finding words.
Difficulty with visual and spatial abilities, such as getting lost while driving.
Difficulty reasoning or problem-solving.
Difficulty handling complex tasks.
Difficulty with planning and organising.
Looking for information or advice about dementia or Alzheimer's? Call the Dementia Helpline free on 0800 888 6678 for support from our dementia specialist Admiral Nurses. The Helpline is open from 9am to 9pm Monday to Friday and 9am to 5pm on Saturday and Sunday.
Yes, we got the message Leica, but we will not go away without a bang, so that it is clear that we can beat you at your own game. This seems the reasoning for the last luxury L39 rangefinder from Canon. Often called the dream lens, the Canon 50/0,95 was for 40 years the unchallanged queen of high speed 50 mm for 24 x 36. The camera is still based on th Canon P, but it is far bigger, heavier and complicated. The shutter speed sports another position for T and there is a built-in sellenium meter, coupled if you may. The viewfinder is commanded by a disc on top where you manually change the frame lines according to the lens in use and each frame is labelled. The viewfinder is not Leica M bright, but much better than anything coming from Russia. The time for these rangefinders was over, but Canon managed to sell about 130.000 units of these, largely because there was no competition anymore, except for Leica.
This is a class act camera, there isn't one single bit of plastic to be seen, the fit and finish are better than my Leica M6 TTL (ok, no great compliment, I admit!). The camera is all about the "feeling", it is heavy, gives you confidence, it is a serious tool, do something serious too, not happy snapshots.
The C&O bought the South Shore back in either 1966 or 1967 and found out that the interurban needed diesels to help move the freight. I think there might have been a customer who didn't want electric locos or the catenary on the property. I don't know the reasoning, but the C&O furnished several old first generation EMDs, mainly high nose GP7s. They primarily were used to haul the NORX coal trains from Burnham, IL to Michigan City. They came in the classic Enhancement Blue with a couple showing up in Chessie colors. When the GP38-2's came on the property, the old veterans were returned to Chessie and were placed in service on the B&OCT. I had the misfortune to ride one on one of my dispatcher road trips, something I"ll never forget. I thought the poor beast was going to fall apart. It rattled so badly that I couldn't hear the engineer or head brakeman; I just hung on for dear life. What we see here is a sharp set of four, looks can be deceiving, headed west after meeting an eastbound MU. They're probably on their way to pick up a NORX train and take it to the generating plant at Michigan City. The coal trains still run today, only the power is about a zillion times better..
There are times when the ideas and thoughts that sprout out of our fertile imagination appear to be out of this world to our reasoning mind. We tend to compare them to what has been done before or to what the current trend is and then hurry to dismiss them as a state of temporary madness. But what if new art can only arrive to us in a new never before seen form? What if it must look crazy for it to be real? What if it demand us to be brave enough to step into the realms of the unknown for it to show itself?
A few minutes after takeoff my reasoning for asking:-
#1 - For a window seat
and
#2 - Being a complete pain in asking for it to be on the left side of the plane, finally paid off.
Seat 30A on the United Airlines flight from Portland to Chicago did it's job nicely, the view of Mount Saint Helens and Mount Rainier over the top of the clouds was simply stunning, and made me so glad that I remembered to ask for a specific seat and also remembered to drop my compact camera into my trousers when boarding.
Of course I do have the cloud level to thank for the shots I managed, as having spent three weeks trying to get a good shot of either mountain had left me dissappointed - I reckon it was the clouds way of apologising to me.
Legs of some of the dancers of Whitchurch Morris, who were performing at Pitstone Green Museum on 6th May 24. Taken on film (shutter priority, 1/15 second, f22). Film was developed and scanned by Analogue Wonderland. This is an edited version of my original image Morris Legs. The edited version has recently been used in a Buckingham Camera Club internal competition. My reasoning for editing, was I felt the white marquee in the background and the crack in the patio in the foreground were unnecessary distractions.
Although it reflects poorly on the speaker, it is not uncommon to hear the comment : "all these temples, or all these statues, look the same to me". The best way to remedy this easy boredom with historical and religious monuments is knowledge. Knowing what to look for and how to differentiate between different structures, will make for a much more interesting experience. The Buddha is always in one of four postures deemed suitable : Sitting, Standing, Walking or Reclining Postures. The dress of the Buddha is the monastic robe, draped over both shoulders, or with the right shoulder bare. There are six major hand gestures of the Buddha (in Sanskrit - mudra):
1. Meditation - Dhyana Mudra
2. Charity - Varada Mudra
3. Absence of fear - Abhaya Mudra
4. Reasoning, Giving Instruction - Vitarka Mudra
5. Setting the Wheel of the Law in Motion - Dharmacakra Mudra
6. Subduing Mara, calling the Earth to witness - Bhumisparsa Mudra
Photo detail of a Hand, Ayutthaya Historical Park - Thailand. Posture of 'Subduing Mara' or 'Calling the Earth to witness'. The front is still one of the best preserved complex but in the back of the temple complex you can still see the destruction done by the Burmese army in 1767.
The last one no.6 is only in sitting position like photo above. The position is similar to the meditation position. The left hand remains in the lap. The right hand is resting on the thigh near the knee, palm inward, and fingers touching the ground slightly. This posture of the Buddha is the most common to be seen in Thailand. While the above represent the most common gestures to be seen in Buddha images, many more exist. For instance, during the early Rattanakosin period in Thailand, a list of 40 standardized poses was compiled. However, except at few locations, one will not see these 'secondary' poses In Thailand.
Title.
( LUMIX G3 shot )
Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. … 4 / 7
(Photo of the day. Unreleased.)
Images:
Linda Sikhakhane … Closer to the Heart
youtu.be/BshCm2zi0KQ?si=DIk0HgPilkJLQ8xo
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 15 😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
The summer light of Manhattan afternoons flared against the glass facades of the high-rises, and each time the heat of the asphalt wavered through the alleys, the massive building of the FBI’s New York Field Office seemed to draw in the clamor of the city, holding a grave and immovable stillness, while within its walls a taut tension and vigilance seeped forth. Beyond the thick iron doors set into its corner, the countless eyes of surveillance cameras interlaced with the motions of guards, proclaiming an order unshaken by the heat waves or the murmur of the crowd outside.
Special Agent Veronica Reeves, carrying the weight of long years of experience yet with a gaze still honed to an unerring edge, sat at the long desk by the window, quietly deciphering the thick bundle of reports spread before her—accounts of what had unfolded thus far. The shafts of heat-laden sunlight pressed through the glass, warping the air, and against that trembling her thoughts held fast, focusing upon the minutiae, drawing out, in three dimensions, the possibilities of the case and the breadth of its consequences.
The figures and map symbols inscribed upon the documents she reassembled in her mind, as though enfolding the arteries of the overheated city itself—the courses of traffic, the currents of people, the compression of the skyline—ordering the incident’s first movements with a hand imbued with a quiet, frigid certainty. The sterile white light of the ceiling LEDs cast swaying shadows upon the papers, and even those faint tremors at the edges of her sight seemed to enter her calculus, like unknown variables absorbed into the mesh of her analysis.
Her fingertip traced a single point upon the map, and in that gesture she drew together the city’s flows, the density of its crowds, the thicket of its structures, conjuring within her mind a three-dimensional rendering of the ground. The clash of red and blue signals at intersections, the exhaust drifting at corners, the tempo of footsteps, the shadows of cars idling at the curb—all converged upon the figures and symbols of the page, lifting before her the living geometry of New York.
Fragments of reports crackled from radios and telephones, slipping into her net of thought and fixed into the coordinates of time and place. At what moment, in what place, had the current of the crowd shifted? Who might have slipped within which building? The jam of traffic, the swell of onlookers, the frameworks of the structures—these she aligned, reducing error to its smallest margin, until the hidden contours of the scene emerged.
Her eyes remained calm, but the faint tightening of the muscles around them betrayed the sense of danger running beneath. With her finger pressing upon a point on the map, she drew upon the memory of old cases, of the city’s blueprints, calculating risk along each imagined path. The city’s shape, the crowd’s density, the placing of exits—all she set upon a grid of logic, hypothesizing every possible turn the future might take.
Her gaze halted upon a photograph in the file, parsing the expressions of the crowd, the disposition of guards, the position of obstacles. Cold though her eyes remained, they missed no dissonance, no trace of the unnatural, intent upon catching every variable within the net of reason, undistracted by the fever of the summer city.
In the office, where the cool of the air conditioning crossed with the heat outside, her thoughts gathered speed—silent, assured, relentless. What would unfold next? Which routes were safe, which led into peril? Each decision, measured in the span of a heartbeat, bore upon the safety of the crowd, upon the life of the candidate. Her logic did not waver, its threads weaving together in her hand like cords unraveling the complexity of the city.
Before her stood not only the files, but also the glow of monitors, the static of radios. Each was but a source of fragments, meaningless until passed through the filter of her thought. To bind data to the streets, images to reality, was the task at hand, advancing cold and quiet even as the heat of summer pressed against the glass.
The sweltering air outside rattled the windows; the distant sirens and the rumble of the city did not shatter her focus, but rather deepened her mental simulation, lending depth to the field she constructed within. Figures on the page fused with the living breath of the streets, reason drawing them together into clarity, and she readied herself to strike upon the next move.
Each sweep of her fingertip across the map made the city’s avenues rise in relief within her mind: the density of buildings, the movement of passersby, the gaze of cameras, the stations of guards. All chained together, cold and inexorable, suggesting the next action. Veronica drew a long breath, and with her exhale, wove the scattered variables into a single fabric, fixing her gaze upon the heart of the incident. In that moment, the distant sirens, the horns, the shuffling of feet at a crosswalk—all dissolved into her reasoning, each sound settling into place like a piece of a puzzle within the flow of logic. The city shimmered in heat, light and shadow in feverish scatter, but her mind cut through the glare, quietly tracing the full outline of the unfolding event.
At last, Veronica lifted the receiver of the internal line, feeling the cold resin beneath her fingers, and summoned Deputy Special Agent Elliot.
“Put me through to Jack Vance, Secret Service.”
“Understood.”
The black Ford SUV cut through the summer heat, racing down the streets. At the wheel, Jack’s profile was set with strain, while in the backseat Ana leaned forward, arms stretched protectively over the children, shouting in desperation.
“Keep your eyes ahead, Jack!”
The children, jolted by the car’s violent tremors, cried out with voices that wavered between cheers and screams, unable to discern the line between fear and thrill. Beside them, Mika bit her lip, struck dumb, staring in mute shock.
Behind them, the pursuing car roared, bullets sparking off the asphalt and leaving the acrid tang of gunpowder in the air. Jack twisted the wheel, his Ford scraping sparks along a wall of concrete, gunfire rattling through the city’s very skin. Ignoring lights and crowds alike, he veered the SUV up onto the sidewalk, plunging forward as screams scattered into the air, driving on as if to outpace the terror that pursued them.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
( LUMIX G3 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2017. … 4 / 7
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images:
Linda Sikhakhane … Closer to the Heart
youtu.be/BshCm2zi0KQ?si=DIk0HgPilkJLQ8xo
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第15弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
マンハッタンの夏の午後の光が高層ビル群のガラスにぎらつき、アスファルトの熱気が路地を揺らすたびに、FBIニューヨーク支局の巨大な建物は都市の喧騒を吸い込み、どっしりと静けさを保ちながらも、その内部に張り詰めた警戒と緊張をにじませていた。その角に設えられた厚い鉄の扉の向こうでは、監視カメラの無数の視線と警備員の動きが絡み合い、外界の熱波や人々のざわめきにも揺るがぬ秩序を守っていることを告げていた。
ヴェロニカ・リーヴス特別捜査官は、豊富な経験を背負いながらもなお研ぎ澄まされた眼差しで、窓際の長机に広げられた、これまでに起こった報告がまとめられた資料の束を静かに読み解いていた。差し込んだ外光の熱の束が窓ガラスを透かし、空気を歪ませ、彼女の思考はそれに抗うように細部まで集中され、事件の可能性や影響範囲を論理の中に立体的に描き出していった。
書類に記された数字や地図の記号を、熱せられた街の動線や人々の流れ、ビルの密集度までを含めるかのように頭の中で再構築し、事件の初動を論理的に整理していく手つきには、冷たくも静かな確信が宿っていた。
天井のLEDの白い光が、紙面に落ちる影を揺らし、視界の隅で振れるその影さえも、未知の変数として分析に取り込まれているかのようであった。
ヴェロニカは指先で地図上の一点をなぞり、都市の動線、人の密度、建築の密集度を瞬時に組み合わせ、頭の中で現場の立体的な状況を描き出していた。信号の赤や青が交錯する交差点、街角に漂う排気ガスの匂い、通行人の歩行速度、路上に停められた車の影――それらすべてが、紙面の数字や地図上の印と結びつき、ニューヨークという巨大な都市の立体的な動線を彼女の思考に浮かび上がらせた。
無線や電話からの断片的な報告も、彼女の分析の網に吸い込まれ、時間と空間に配置される。どの瞬間に、どの場所で、人々の流れが変化したか。誰がどの建物に潜入した可能性があるか。交通の混雑状況と、観衆の動き、建築物の構造を組み合わせ、最小の推測誤差で現場の全貌を描く。
彼女の瞳は冷静そのもので、しかし微細な筋肉の緊張が、その奥に潜む危機意識を示していた。手元の地図の一点を指でなぞり、過去の事件や都市計画のデータを呼び出しながら、シナリオごとにリスクを計算する。都市の構造、観衆の密度、出口の配置――あらゆる要素を論理のグリッドに沿って並べ、想像されるすべての事態を仮定する。
ヴェロニカは資料の中の写真に目を留め、観衆の表情や警備員の配置、障害物の位置を詳細に分析した。その視線は冷徹でありながらも、微細な違和感や不自然さを見逃さず、都市の熱気に流されることなく、論理の網の中に全ての変数を捕らえようとしていた。
冷房の空気と夏の熱気が交錯するオフィス内で、彼女の思考は静かに、しかし確実に速度を上げていく。次に何が起こりうるか、どのルートが安全で、どのルートが危険か。瞬間ごとの判断が、観衆の安全と候補者の命を左右する。論理は揺るぎなく、都市の複雑さを紐解く糸のように彼女の手の中で絡まり合った。
彼女の前には資料だけでなく、コンピュータの画面や無線のディスプレイも並ぶ。それらは断片的な情報の源にすぎず、ヴェロニカの思考というフィルターを通すことで初めて意味を持つ。データと現実の光景を繋ぎ、事件の全体像を構築する作業は、夏の街の熱気の中でも冷たく静かに進行した。
外の熱気は窓ガラスを揺らし、街のざわめきや遠くで響くサイレンは、彼女の集中をかき乱すどころか、逆に現場の臨場感を補強し、頭の中のシミュレーションに奥行きを与えた。紙面の数字と街の実像が、冷たい理性の中で重なり合い、彼女は次の一手を論理的に導き出す準備を整えていった。
彼女の指先が地図をなぞるたび、都市の街路が脳内で立体的に浮かび上がり、建物の密度、通行人の流れ、監視カメラの視野、警備員の位置が、冷徹な論理の中で連鎖し、次の行動を示唆する。ヴェロニカは深く息を吸い、吐き出すと同時に、無言のうちに全ての変数を繋ぎ合わせ、事件の核心へと視線を固定した。その瞬間、遠くの街路から聞こえるサイレンの音や車のクラクション、交差点で立ち止まる人々の足音が、彼女の頭の中ではパズルのピースとなり、論理的な流れの中に溶け込んでいった。都市は暑さに揺れ、光と影が乱反射するが、ヴェロニカの思考は静かに、その熱気を透過して事件の全体像を描き出していった。
ヴェロニカは、静かに内線電話の受話器を手に取り、その冷たい樹脂の感触を指先で確かめながら、エリオット副特別捜査官を呼び出し、いった。
「シークレットサービスのジャックバンスにつないで」
「了解」
ーーーーーー
黒のSUVフォードは、夏の熱気を押し裂くように街路を駆け抜けた。ハンドルを握るジャックの横顔には焦燥が張りつき、後部座席に身を寄せたアナは、子供たちを庇うように腕を伸ばしながら、それでも必死に声を張り上げた。
「前を見て、ジャック！」
車体の振動に身を揺らしながら、子供たちは歓声とも悲鳴ともつかぬ声をあげ、恐怖と興奮の境を知らぬままに叫んでいる。その隣でミカは唇を噛み、言葉を失ったまま呆然としている。
背後では追撃の車が唸りを上げ、硝煙の匂いを残して弾丸がアスファルトを跳ねた。ハンドルを切ったジャックの車体がコンクリート壁面に火花が散らせた。都市の皮膚を削るようにして銃声が響く。ジャックのフォードは信号も人波も無視し、歩道へと飛び込み、群衆の悲鳴を振り払うように疾走した。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Red Herrings :
Act Four - Deliverance
It was not until late Sunday afternoon that the first real break came in the case.
The sergeant detective with the constable in tow had arrived at the directors London town house.
Even though a search warrant was still forthcoming, they joined forces with the London constable and tried the doors and windows, only to find them all securely fastened.
The three policemen were all huddled at the back of the house when they heard a car pull up on the graveled drive way. Going around they saw a late model green jaguar parked, and a tall, thin bearded man in his fifties pulling a suitcase out of the boot as he was eyeing the collection of police cars in the driveway.
Immediately the unsuspecting chap found himself surrounded by police officials waving identification cards in his face.
He identified himself, and turned out to indeed be the director of the test filming that had been taken at St. David’s. He was taken inside for a quick questioning as to where the film crew and his female assistant could be found, along with the were bouts of the van could be found. The quite flabbergasted director gave them all the information without hesitation.
This information was relayed back to Eastminster police CID and officials were dispatched to collect the wayward members of the film crew, equipment and the van …
As the London detective stayed to search the directors house, the director was placed, sputtering, into the back of the police detective sergeants car, along with all of his luggage, and driven back to headquarters to be interviewed.
The officers had not talked about the case, and the director on the drive back appeared to know nothing of it, and appeared( or feigned) ignorance as to why he was being treated like a common criminal!
Once they arrived, he was hustled into an interview room, where the Chief inspector interviewed him personally.
The director demanded to know what the purpose of all this was. But his request was ignored and he was asked to explain his activities over the weekend.
The director, his assistant and the two camera men had driven from London on Friday evening and had occupied a townhouse of a friend’s. It was a well-known fact that when away on a shoot he always stayed at friends or rented a private home, detesting hotels as filthy public places!
Leaving their cars parked at the townhouse, the director and his assistant had driven down early Saturday morning in the van. They had gone up and scouted the area, took some shots, figured out camera placement and angles, before going back into town for supper. Afterwards they had driven right to the hotel, met the limo picking up the two actors he had hired, and left for the function.
They had had to take a shortcut due to construction, and the limo had suffered a flat trye along the rather deserted country lane they found themselves taking. Changing the flat had caused them to arrive much later than anticipated.
Then after the filming, and the impromptu autograph session, the limo had driven the actors back, and they had taken the van back to the townhouse. Where the had spent the evening and some of the morning editing the film. Then after a late lunch, they had all split up and headed home.
No, nothing unusual was seen on the film.
I need to see that film sir, where is it?
Unfortunately, it had been collected that morning, , The director had been able to give the description. It was the red-haired assistant to the producer who had picked it up. She had been wearing driving gloves, black leather jacket over a green frock, dark glasses, and her hair was done up and covered with a long green scarf.
He was asked to tell his story from the beginning, as the Chief Inspector silently cursed that the film was not yet in their possession…
The director was first contacted a month ago by a dark skinned young man wearing dark tinted glasses, looking in appearance like a young harry Belafonte with a smartly trimmed beard, and a thick Scottish accent.
The description closely resembled that of the Romeo in the fancy tux who was suspected as being light fingered.
Accompanying him was his red headed secretary with thick glasses that gave her an almost owl like appearance.
He had said he was form a small independent studio and offered £ 25000 for a test shoot, £ 15000 before, £ 10000 after the film and negatives were received by his secretary. He told them the avenue for the test film had to be done in the chamber and garden pagoda at St Davids…
No, they had not met at his London townhouse. The meeting had taken place at a restaurant. He had received a contract the next day by post. Kept his copy, signed and returned the other. No he had not kept the envelope, or noticed the postal mark. Yes he could have his assistant produce the contract if needed. A money order for £ 15000 was received the following day.
The Detective Chief Inspector had a notion, and after asking a few pertinent questions, the producer realized that it had been the man who had suggested the figure to offer the bishop..
Didn’t you find it odd, asked the Chief Inspector, that he wanted the film right away? He wanted to see it raw, didn’t want to pay anything extra for editing or such the director answered, if you work in the industry ling enough, request like that are anything but out of the ordinary, its the nature of the beast one must simply accept it as such and just as told.
But you said you did edit some of the film. Yes, the director admitted, just curious as to how it all came out. And, again, no one saw anything out of the ordinary? inquired the Chief Inspector.
No, as I told you, answered the director, a puzzled look on his face, just what is all this on about anyway?
But the Chief Inspector saw no reason as of yet to enlighten the director on that matter, instead he rose, and had the director taken to a cell and held as a material witness; someone still suspected as playing a role in the whole affair.
Soon after the director had been processed, news came that the two cameramen and the secretary had been rounded up and were in interview rooms.
The van had been also recovered and was being towed to an impound yard.
The Chief inspector interviewed the two camera men separately.
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The first one, a rather burley chap in his forties, sat with a smug look plastered upon his rather doggish mug.
As a witness to the occurrence, the Chief Inspector found that he was not going to be much help.
He was the much more experienced of the team, and when filming his focus was on the director’s direction and the action taking place. He was not paid to watch everything else going on round about him, especially fancy dressed prats with more money than sense in their wee pointed heads!
So you like money, the Chief Inspector asked him?
Why the cameraman asked him?
No Reason The Chief Inspector answered, figuring the gents expression looked innocent enough.
Did he remember talking to a lady in red satin?
No , as I told ye, I don’t mingle, no time if I am going to get the filming done.
Ask my partner, he fancies emself the ladies’ man!
The rest of the cameraman’s story jived with what the director had told him earlier.
The Chief Inspector finished up, and also had the man placed in a cell as a material witness under suspicion.
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The second cameraman was a bit younger, slender with a rather ragged beard upon his quite handsome mug.
Unlike the first cameraman, he had noticed a bit more, at least where the ladies were concerned.
He was able to describe several of the ladies he had observed dancing, and at least one matched the suspected light fingered darker haired lass in green satin.
The Chief inspector asked if he had noticed anyone of her dance partners. He thought a bit, and mentioned two.
The first one he described did not match anyone the Chief Inspector had seen or interviewed.
The second he thought may have been her brother, a man with the same dark complexion wearing a fancy suit. But he had only caught a brief look as they had danced.
Yes he remembered the priest who had greeted them at the door, but he had not seen him atoll the rest of the evening. Wait a minute he said, and the Chief Inspector could feel his hairs rise, as they did when he sensed a clue coming forthwith ( a feeling that he had as yet to have previously since starting this case) .
Apparently he had caught a glimpse of the priest talking to the lady who had those sparkling earrings, as both watched the dance scene being filmed..…
He described a slender lady in a long rather pretty dress that been wearing a pair of quite sparkly earrings that had played the devil with his camera during the second shoot. During the third shoot he had noticed her again in the crowd, but without the earrings. He just assumed the director had had her removed them to prevent the camera glares he must have noticed. Yes she had been dancing both times with the same bloke, the rather smarmy bloke in a fancy tux, rather dark that he had seen earlier with the lady in green…
His description matched the girl who had discovered her earrings missing at the chamber
Do you remember seeing the dark skinned lad wearing the fancy tux at any other time?
The Chief Inspector asked the cameraman.
After a long minutes ponderance his face brightened, jolly right, while they was signing autographs.. He had come u to me with a question. was with a lady in red, asking me about the actor, she was interested in meeting up with him, in private.
Describe the lady please
Fair skinned blonde wearing a rather tight fitting shiny red gown, lots of sparklers, poshy snob if you ask me!
Did you take them to the actor?
I could give then no help, I did not know the gent.
He had the constable remove the second camera man , musing that he at last had a sighting of one of the 3 missing girls, and all tied in with 3 of the suspected thieves.
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The Chief Inspector than entered the room where the Directors assistant was being held,,,
She was a lady in her mid-forties, thick glasses, severely bobbed hair, and a rather school teacher’ish stern look upon her face.
She rather tartly stated that she had been busy helping the director help set up the cameras, and film the scenes. She had also selected the extras for the dance floor, and had helped keep the on lookers back.
She had remembered the priest, but did not know of him. She had only seen him when he had escorted them in, and when he had helped set up with the autographs.
The cameraman, the younger one, did you remember seeing him talking to a couple during the autograph session.
She thought a moment, pursing her lips, which did nothing to help her rather homely looks.
Yes, her face brightened a bit, a rather poshy boy and a lady in red with all these diamonds just dripping off her. They were talking to him, not sure what about. They walked off after a few minutes, and met up with the priest who was with a lady in green
What Priest, the Chief inspector asked, this time his hair did more than just prickle?
The one who had met us at the door! She rather snapped her answer back at him.
Thought you said you only saw him twice.
Yes she said, when he met us and at the autographs.
But you never mention him meeting up with the couple.
Why would that be of any importance, she again snapped, priests are always meeting and helping people , that’s their job is it not!!
Describe the lady he was with please
Black hair, shiny green dress and matching gloves.
And she wore this diamond tiara! I remembered her because she was with the crowd that wanted to be an extra, but I felt the tiara would be far too distracting and out of place.
Was she alone with the priest? he asked Quite she said, though her husband was probably pretty close by, I know I wouldn’t let anyone stray too far flaunting jewels like hers!!
The Millionaires wife and one of the twins, all seen together with the priest and the dark skinned Romeo…..! The Detective Chief Inspector though to himself.
The Chief Inspector gave a long sigh.
That is, what it is, he murmured dejectedly to himself… daylight was finally being spotted at the end of the tunnel, but none of it was making any sense…..
He released the personal secretary from more questions, having her also detained until the whole matter cleared itself.
At 10 pm a report on the van was received
The vans interior was quite taken apart in hopes of a clue being found to prove that the whole filming was a sham, and only done as a front operation to hide the thieves real intent. Though It was clean, its tyre marks matched those of the caste taken near the gardens….
******************
He recalled the first cameraman who had been driving the van and asked him about it.
He had seen the headlights of two cars coming down the road as he was leaving and had swerved to go around them, going off road for a bit.
Did you get a look at the cars the Chief Inspector asked.
No, it was too dark, and they swerved off a bit on the other side, so his eyes had been mainly kept on the road.
Would you say they were in a hurry the chief Inspector asked.
Not particularly, it was more that they had appeared out of nowhere.
No more questions, the Chief Inspector indicated to the guard, who took the cameraman back to the holding cell…
The Chief inspector than went back to his off to go over the facts so far…
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There was not a single clue yet unearthed to connect the director on his crew with the crime that had been committed Saturday evening at St. Davids’ Chambre…. All avenues appeared to be leading to the ring of pickpockets that had been suspected to be working amongst the guests at the event. But as of yet there had been no sighting of them outside that evening.
Could the filming have been all an elaborate ruse set up by the ring of thieves for their own nefarious gain? Leaving a trail of wriggling red herrings scattered about to be followed to as many cold dead ends while they got clean away snickering amongst themselves?
Bloody cheeky of them if it was!
But what part had the missing Ladies played?
That they had been last seen in the company of the thieves, there was no doubt… Could they have been held captive in the automobiles that had passed the cameraman’s van. But why? Certainly not as hostages, for they had apparently gotten clean away. If they had been kidnapped, than certainly the ransom notes would have been delivered by now! There could be darker reasons for the disappearance, but doubtful…
He decided to keep the Director and his crew overnight, and release them in the morning if nothing new developed…
Another report came in, interrupting his line of reasoning…
From an detective inspector whose team had been given Interpol’s list of suspected jewel thieves operating in the area recently.
Only three were tracked down, and all three had alibis. Though one of those alibis proved to be because that evening he was burgling the country of a wealthy Lady. This confession was given light when he was caught red handed with the jewels as the police had come knocking at the door. One of the few bright spots of the investigation, though the Chief Inspectors superior failed to see it that way!
It twas a quite battered and beaten down chief detective who put a call in in to his superior at 10 pm on Sunday to repot the progress that had been made. He, to put it nicely, had his head chewed off and handed back to him on a platter.
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Early on Monday morning a detective sergeant escorted the director back to the Eastminster townhouse where he had spent the weekend in. Going inside to look for any clues that the mysterious secretary may have left. Even though the director had said she had been wearing driving gloves.
The envelope that had held the money had been recovered, and it was placed in a bag for evidence, the detective noting that the envelope was embossed with the seal and address of the Diocese of Eastminster, and had never been posted, or Witten upon.
As they were searching the basement a knock was heard on the door.
The detective opened it and looked down upon a smallish, puckish older lady with grey hair and pince-nez glasses. She identified herself as a neighbor ( snooper he thought unkindly) and excitedly asked the detective if he was investigating a murder, like those in Agatha Christie ! (her eyes lit up at this).
She was disappointed when informed that no, it was not any type of murder investigation!
Oh! I see, she said, sorry to bother, and turning, stated to walk away.
Then, before the detective had had time to go back inside, she stopped . Turning back around she timidly held up a tattered old notebook, don’t suppose you would be interested in me notes than ,, she innocently asked fully expecting to be disappointed again.…..
The startled Detective Sargent took the steps down to her three at a time……….
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End of Act 4
“Quand on rencontre un mystère, on croit généralement être scélérats cachés “
Author Unknown
To be Continued and Ended in Act 5 ( The Pygmalion Ring)
The Magpie Oculus
Part 2
Acte 1
In for a Pound
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Wales, UK
10 years later
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A Midsummers Late afternoon ‘Formal wedding Reception’
Carmarthenshire, Aberglasney Manor House, and Gardens
Enter here to visit the charming place:
www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&s...
An attractive lady is seen swishing about as she demurely makes her way to and then inside, the deserted garden that is hidden from the olde stone manor by an ever-growing strip of woods and olde hedges.
She had heard tell of these gardens while conversing with a group of fellow guests that were gathered around the cheese and wine tables inside the manor’s reception hall with its glass ceilings.
Interest piqued, she had stolen off to sneak a peak around.
After all, as she had been snidely telling the same group, it was quite boring being here alone attending this function, without any escort! Her husband, Sir so and so was a very important man of course! And being so very vital to his business was currently away on one of his overseas business junkets.
She was wearing one of her usual thin, slinking gowns that said husband enjoyed having her wear.
This particular one was made of shimmery silk, dyed the deep blue of a sunny Bahamas ocean. As she moved, it almost resembled ocean waves as the pretty fabric whipped and swirled along her rather petite figure.
Her jewels, as could be expected, were sapphires. Quite the collection of overly expensive gems which royally sparkled like the same ocean that had inspired the matching colour of her evening gown! The Lady’s baubles, though shining with a royal radiance, were no match for those on display at the Tower of London, but could be considered a close cousin to them!
Which begs a question, should someone be flaunting jewels like that under every one's nose then be also telling tales about her husband being away? Can almost hear the thieves smiling wickedly, as well as feel the insurance agents’ shudder, can’t one?
But, totally believing she was out exploring alone, the pretty lady made her way along the cobblestones that made up the pathways amongst the roses, fountains, and ivy-covered statues that were displayed with an almost reverence aire in the interior of the hidden gardens.
As she wandered about, finding herself increasingly bewitched by the tranquillity of the magic garden terrace she had found, she remained blissfully unaware of the two pairs of eyes that had been, with piercing interest, following her every move since she had made her entrance!
From a hidden vantage point that extended out and above the high hedges that surrounded the garden proper, one set of those eyes was watching! They belonged to a large sassy magpie, perched with expectantly fluttering wings in the gnarled branches of an old wytch elm.
The bird penetratingly observes the young female human, especially eyeing the enticing glitters from her jewels. Most noticeably the pricy bracelet that from one wrist is rippling blazing pinpricks of blue and white fire as she moves about.
Enticingly those sparkles are, erupting from around her wrist as she lifts up a rose up to smell its sweet fragrance. Then again, the show is repeated, as she flicks, one by one rose petals into what had been the still water of a fountain.
Spying a bench, she swishes over, adjusting her gown before slipping upon the coolness of the mossy stone bench. Appearing to become immersed in the surroundings as she closed her eyes and leaned back in delight, her long hair spilling out behind her, exposing her longish, glittering earrings dripping down like identical twin blue waterfalls from her earlobes.
The magpie flies in for a closer look, alighting silently upon the sculpted head of a bow drawing cupid statue. The bird instinctively remains mute lest he is noticed.
He then suddenly cocks his head, as he observes a second figure, a human male, and he flies securely away to an even higher perch, letting out a soft caw at the intruder.
The dreaming beauty opens her eyes and catches movement as she spies the gentleman approaching.
Opening her eyes to their fullest she turns and smiles. He had been one of the groups inside, and had also coincidently, been the one to bring up the story of the secret gardens.
She turns to face him, eyes smiling impishly, for a truth to be admitted, she was not lying about being bit lonely, and a brief rendezvous with a charming mystery man may prove quite a pleasing interlude to spend an hour or so!
He comes up, and with a bow, gestures his permission to join. She nods smiling, granting consent, and he slips down upon the bench, keeping a discreet distance between them. He begins to speak, his deep Welsh accent again charming the London born and bred high society lass.
And as it turned out for them both, the rest of their afternoon encounter had indeed produced a quite pleasing interlude, within the isolated secret garden and its’ magic terraces. The whole area they ended up having all to themselves.
The gardens’ charm grew upon the couple, to the point of a dance being offered and accepted. They danced for a long time, with the melody of twittering jays, long tailed tits, and other gremlins like darting bird denizens of the secret garden being used to keep the dancing humans in rhythm.
After that magical afternoon, they made their way back and parted with a hug before going their separate ways. The warm feelings that had intertwined, intrigued and fulfilled the young female beauty, staying with her for quite some time afterward.
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After the pair of humans leave, all is quiet for a few long, waiting minutes, before the wilder denizens deem it finally safe again to prowl about.
One of them being the inquisitively sassy magpie. He flutters down from his perch and lands upon the outer rim of a fountain by a bench. Curiously he pecks at the rose petals floating about in the fountain’s cool waters. The petals still carry a whiff of fragrance from the lilac perfume of the lady who had thrown the petals there.
Then the Magpie’s darting black eyes keenly pick up something else of interest. With a soft inquisitive caw, he leaves the fountain perch and darts down to the base of moss rose bush for a closer examination of the glittering object that lay amongst the roots.
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The girl wearing the swishy blue gown and magnificent sapphires was now indeed very happy.
The yearning pangs for her absent husband had been sated for now by her most excellent experiences encountered during her unplanned tryst in the gardens earlier. This happy, warm feeling lasted well into the late afternoon while she remained at the reception. Lasting right up until she realized, with a chilling cold dawning, that her quite expensively jewelled bracelet, the one that had been dangling from around her gloved wrist, was now gone, rudely vanishing without even giving any proper notice!
She had, at the time, been chatting with a white collar wearing priest who had approached her and began to inquisitively barrage her with questions. She put it down to him being bored because he was there alone, out of his normal realms, and did not really know anyone there. He had asked her a question concerning the unintentional cross-shaped decoration on her cocktail ring, and it was as she held it up for him to see that she made the dreadful discovery that her wrist was bare.
The bloody thing must have snagged on a rose bush and fallen off while she was out in the gardens!
She reasoned this, as she took polite leave of the overly friendly priest without really explaining her reasons why. Happy to be away from him, she anxiously made her way back to retrace her steps in the now moonlit garden.
None of the same eyes watched this time as she fruitlessly searched, alone in the now disenchanted secret garden for her missing jewels!
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The scene fades away.
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Well hello again!
Quite glad to see you have kept up with us for the continuation of our story.
It had now been 10 years since our group’s successful trial run in Monaco at that year’s Bal de l'Eté.
Since that time our team of three had worked hard at perfecting our craft with its employ of our rather unique team and work strategies. The team, whom you’ve met in the first story, still consisted of:
My wife, the charming Irish beauty and undoubtedly the brains behind the scenes. She is also the natural actress of the operation. Her smiling ways having more than once saved the game from being lost.
Myself, the Welsh born frontman, whose light fingers were used more than for lifting up a frothy pint. Though I am a male of course, and so do make my share of mistakes. But with my wife’s loving tutelage, have managed to hold up my own part of the venture.
Then, of course, there is Sammy, the runner of the group. His unmatched skills allowed us to successfully carry off the sparkling fruits of our operation. Sammy adores my wife, and she is the only one who can ever truly smooth out the ruffled feathers he gets whenever I fail to carry out my end of the played game to his satisfaction.
And the game we played?
Well, let us just say it involved the targeting, lifting and secreting away of certain pricy jewels in such a manner that, like a magician uses misdirection, no one knows for certain how or what exactly had happened to cause the loss! The jewels, always worn, were also always found by us exclusively at the various upper-class end functions we were attending at the time.
And admittedly it had been paying off fairly well!
We were careful to live modestly within our means. So we were able to afford the time to carefully select our potential avenues without undue haste and no worries if not one glittering opportunity failed to come within our grasp on those planned evenings out.
So, for 10 rather intriguing years my wife, cohort Sammy, and I were able to satisfy the playful urges whose enticing callings had led us to select this rather unique path to make a livelihood.
And we always had a good time of it, wine, dance and thrill of the hunt…even if we were successful or not! Many adventures over those years led us delving down avenues that created an abundance of daringly bold tales waiting someday to be intriguingly, innocuously told!
For 10 years we had managed to attend some rather glamourous functions, see my pretty wife attired in some rather eye-catching fancy dresses and adorned with the beckoning glittering array of colourful jewels that ever so divinely kept one’s interest! Also at a rather surprising percentage of these events, we had managed to ( with our cohort Sammy ’s unique assistance) guile'ly steal away with a few pieces of select, insured jewels from wealthy ladies who could certainly afford to weather through their loss.
For 10 years we had operated in this manner, throughout the kingdom’s wide realms, staying safely away from our own nesting grounds, as we sagely built up and grew our nest eggs.
And so far, we had apparently not come under any suspicion from any of the local constabularies in the areas where we had operated! Since the jewels had luckily been assumed lost, fallen away like warm pearls will sweat off a lady on a cool evening ( as the olde Victorian saying goes).
But it was to be the autumn of the 10th year when that charmed existence would finally be really put to the test! Although deep down we knew it would all have to come to an end sooner or later. We had always figured, and hoped, that it would be up to us to say when the games we played would be up.
Now, almost two years past that autumn, I have finally begun to write this second chapter, a yearning to tell the tale that has been with me since day one! In that space of time, I now have had quite a bit of freedom to, with a writer’s eye, reflect on those events that led up to and ended in that tenth and final year of our unique team’s operation.
It’s funny how sometimes one can do everything perfectly, not deriving from the pattern they have done hundreds of times before. But by a thin chance someone else with the seeing eyes of a hawk, a bloody nosey hawk at that, happens to put two and two together, and like a house of cards, ones whole life’s plans can start to slightly sway in the wind, precariously threatening to tumble…
Well, quite enough then with the building up of my story’s mystery and intrigue. Let's start the tale properly then, and let the facts speak for themselves, shall we?
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Chalfont St Guiles
It had been an early thaw that year, and several spring birds had already begun to plan parties to celebrate.
Through contact with a mutual friend of the family, we had been invited to their daughter's Debutante Ball.
The fact that we had to secure an invite left this event to be fair game in our books! For it had been our practice that any affair where my wife and I received a personal invitation to attend, were always off limits in our opinion. So, to those, we went with the intent just to enjoy ourselves, not to conduct business. Although a bit of practicing play between ourselves could be expected.
But this private Ball was not covered by that particular umbrella!
This debutant affair also promised to be a late party.
It was being held on the well-lit green that stretched out for a full 2 hectares, starting from the front of the quite large, definitely ugly, olde stone manor, and ending up to the main roadway.
When we arrived, there was a band was playing soft music on a raised stand next to a refreshments table just outside and below the manor’s stone terrace that was being used as the makeshift dance floor.
It was also announced on the invites that it was to be a dry party.
But, of course, was not! For the odd flask or twenty-two, that had naturally been smuggled in must have been fairly large ‘uns judging by the already rather tipsy posh guests that became more and more abundant as the night wore on.
Though I should talk, for my own silver flask of Brandy held enough to keep my wife and me cheerful enough also. Though I had to watch how much I was imbibing. For this venue was going to by no means be an easy walk in the park for us this evening!
We began by splitting up, starting with mingling in and about in order to get a quick lay of the land.
The young debutante, pretty in diamonds and frilly lace, had led her gangly group of sponger friends to hold court in the back gardens. So, in a sense, there were two parties in full swing.
My wife and I did not bother with the finely baubled fillies in the back gardens, concentrating our efforts on the magnificently jewelled thoroughbreds located in the front area.
My wife was the first to get a drift of some of the gossip swirling around, and soon, via a dance, drew me into it also.
It appears that the Elder Daughter (the debutante was her kid sister) had a boyfriend, a rather pointy nosed ner-do-well git from the other side of the tracks (attended Harrow, not Eaton! dontcha know!)
My wife observed that this bloke obviously was eyeing up all the young skirts present, his wandering attentions totally unnoticed by his pie-eyed, doting wealth-blinded girlfriend.
Said girlfriend had also apparently smuggled a flask of her own, probably stuck in her garter belt, hidden by the long swishy skirt of her costly party frock. Judging this by the way she was prancing about and giggling with silly recklessness with her own posse of leeching acquaintances.
This elder daughter was in her mid-twenties, adorably dressed (by one or two maids?) in a sheer silken gown of deep purple. Diamonds beautifully blazed from her gloved wrist, fingers, and necklaces. Two necklaces: one a diamond pendant swinging about on a silvery braided chain, the second one was a blazing collar style necklace of impressive diamonds, that sat just off the high neckline of her gown.
Either one worth the attempt, but the sparkling collar was obviously her mother’s jewels and thus the more intuitively attractive lure of the two.
As the long afternoon threatened to progress into the dusk, I was to be found nursing my drink from the flask, while watching from afar, my wife swishing her way about.
This evening my lady was wearing a newly bought, sleekly enchanting, gown of meadow green satin, embellished with flickering rhinestones. This posh frock had been slickly flowing and ebbing along her fine figure in a most mesmerizing manner all evening She was also wearing her party emeralds, the “good” set, and they sparkled most attractively as she flitted about! So, I found myself, as always, stealing looks upon her whenever the opportunity arose.
I was mulling over this when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I had been so lost in my lubricious thoughts that I had not even noticed her disappearing, nor heard her approach.
“Mon Cher, forget about me will ya, and get to work !” I heard the words softly spoken in my ear..…”Sammy boy is getting twitchy, close to his bewitchin hour ya know…”
I turned and looked into my wife’s smiling (yet stern) eyes.
“Yes commandantee,” I said, with a saluting nod.
Then I admitted sheepishly, “Not to muddle the issue darling, but, ahem, where is she, I sorta lost track?”
“No kidding my love, I don’t think you were on the track of anything but me, and my jewels are not on this evening’s menu, save play for later, but business now please…!”
I felt a brace of ringed fingers discreetly slap me on the tush, and with a flicker of her emerald earrings, my wife nodded her head sideways to where the elder daughter, along with that rippling fire still flaming from her brace of necklaces, was idling in a dark corner of the dance area. She was surprisingly alone, and I should have been the one to notice that!
So, it was to be her, the elder daughter that we decided, with the time remaining would be our victim!
Sammy was more than ready, watching, waiting as he bobbed his head about, which I knew was his habit while holding his lonely vigil. He was stationed high in the shadows of a tree just above a hedge on the west side of the house. There was a narrow cobblestone path meandered its way along the interior of the hedge, and it was pretty much deserted, all the action is behind, and on the opposite side of the stone-built manor that evening.
With the elder sisters leeching friends now apparently watching the elephant in the room, namely the Harrow-educated boyfriend’s antics with a toffy, giggling female, I was able to walk up and easily steal away the older daughter for a dance.
She took me up on the offer, especially after I lyingly mentioned that I had attended Harrow and I was suddenly “in like flint!” She chatted away amiably, if not also a bit slurred, as I led her off. Thick as thieves we had now become, as we went to the large stone patio that had been converted for use as a low lighted Ballroom.
I took her warm, decidedly inebriated figure, sanguinely into my arms and we elegantly waltzed around the stone-floored patio ballroom to the music. I kept her on the outer fringes, making small talk.
As I did, I studiously worked open the clasp, and easily lifted off the collar necklace of dazzling diamonds from around her throat in the process.
Leaving the pendant still intact, swinging ever so vexingly free along with her gown as we finished, I thought that the pendant appeared to sparkle a bit more brightly now that its competition around the lady’s throat had been removed from contention.
Edging close to the low wall of the patio, I dropped the purloined necklace over from behind my back. I could swear I heard it plop onto the grass. I twirled my pretty partner around, and from over her shoulder, I watched as my wife moved in from the shadows of the trees close by.
The dance ended and I walked the damsel back towards the refreshment table. Before reaching the tables, I touched my dance partner on the shoulder and she turned, smiling, to face me. I again apologized that I could not offer her a drink, and she giggled.
During our dance, I had mentioned how boring it was without a swig of any spirits in sight. She had giggled then also and then had confided in me of her secret stash.
Follow me she now said gaily and I did.
Together we ducked around the refreshment table and headed off to a far corner on the east side of the house. There she lifted the hem of her flowy gown, and from a garter, pulled out her small, thin, 14k plated gold flask and offered me a drink.
I calmly took a careful swig of what I found to be warm vodka and handed it back.
For what thief in his right mind would casually hang around drinking with his victim after lifting the darling’s jewels? Not many I dare say!
But soon, right on a hoped-for queue, we were joined by her jealous boyfriend, himself two sheets to the wind. I was introduced and spotting my opening, tactfully made my excuses.
So sloshed was this young man, that he failed to yet notice anything amiss with his lady, and I was not going to give him any length of time to do so.
I left the sniggering couple to their devices. A sojourn into the woods I believe was on their agenda. The idea quite possibly suggestively guided into their lovely drunken minds by me!
I re-joined my wife, we then daringly did one last casual turn on the ballroom dance floor.
“Mission accomplished, Luv?” I pointlessly asked for I could see the answer in my pretty wife’s eyes.
“The package was dropped off onto the cobblestone path as prearranged!” she stated cheerfully, hugging me in turn.
“Bye the bye love, remember Benny C?” she asked me, as I raised her hand and twirled her around me in a circle.
I had to think for a minute, then came the dawn.
“Yeah, the snotty whelp a couple of years behind me at the seminary, always had a thing for you, didn’t he now!” I teasingly answered.
“Me and anyone else in a skirt!” she snorted. “Well its 'Father Benny' now, and he is, or was here at the ball. I couldn’t get away without dancing with him, sends his regards of course!” she informed me with a rather wry look in her now fully green eyes.
“I'm sure he does, suppose I should track him down and say hello. I said a bit wearily, not bothering to hide the snideness from my own voice!
“Well, he said he tried to find you, but told me that you were obviously enamoured off somewhere with another pretty young thing! I think he was trying to make me jealous laddie!”
“What do ya suppose he meant by ‘again’ I wonder? Told you that he always was a bothering one! Becoming a priest hasn’t changed him one bit. Wonder how his congregation finds the git?” I thoughtfully said out loud.
“Well let us not try tracking him down, to find out luv! I don’t think I could handle more of his sweaty palms again dontcha know!” my wife said sweetly enough, though irony was dripping off each well-chosen word.
So instead we sought out our hostess, giving our regards and congrats. She was magnificently attired in a taffeta ball gown that must have cost her husband a mint. Her jewels were sparse though. A pair of glittering earrings, a pair of thin diamond bracelets and her wedding rings. I found myself wondering why her throat was barren of jewels?
Taking leave, we casually strolled out the front gate to claim our coupe.
My wife leaned against me and said to me as we drove off into the night,
“Cette jeune peste d'un beu sera que les dames tombent, mark mes mots !”
She sighed then said
“Loved her pendant also, but that sparkling necklace will be a nice final trick before starting our Holiday, now will it not my love?”
I smiled meaningfully as I placed my foot on the accelerator and started the beast of a car out onto the main road.
We arrived back home to find an excitedly pert Sammy Boy eagerly waiting to receive his worthy praise. For the glittering collar of diamonds that he had gathered for us were now laid out in magnificent sparkling splendour at his feet.
So it was that two quiet weeks later, on a pelting rainful blustery Saturday, we were to be found flying out of the country on a fortnight’s holiday, for a visit to our dear friend Tatiana.
Totally unaware that there were dark clouds of a quite different storm gathering and brewing in from a new, but not entirely unexpected, quarter!
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Chiltern CID
(Covering the Chalfont St Guiles area under its umbrella of protection)
A fortnight after the Debutante’s coming out ball held in the Chalfont St Guiles area.
Inside the old brown brick building that houses the police station.
Scene entirely played out in the Chief Inspector's office.
^^^^
The Chief Inspector looks up as his summoned detective strides, a bit reluctantly, into his superior's office.
The Detective is wearing a slightly abashed expression on his handsomely chiselled face, for he knows that there are questions to be answered, and he wishes that what thin answers he has to give are going to be enough to shield him from probably being properly chewed out by the Chief!
“Drawn and quartered” was the phrase used at the station for some unfortunate Bobby who came under the Chief’s irate wrath for not properly following procedures! Or in the detective's case, tardiness in producing results in an investigation.
The poor sod did not even have time to shut the door when the question, like a stinging bullet, spit out of his superior's mouth!
“Now, what progress on that diamond collar necklace that took a bender at that Lord’s young daughter’s debutante thing last month in Chalfont, Detective Inspector !? Starting to take some heat from the City Super on a seeming lack of any progress! Has the bloody thing even been found yet!”
“N-N-No sir, it appears to have vanished…” the D.I. stammered, wilting under the harsh grey eyes of the Chief Inspector.
“Vanished eh..well tell me this lad how does a £25,000 (insured) necklace of diamonds simply vanish!?“ the Chief shouted, then continued on without waiting for an answer.
“Well Detective Inspector, it decidedly does not! There has to be a quite logical reason, and that reason must be found!! At least according to the Super, and Her Ladyship, the girl’s mother! She insists her daughter's boyfriend played a part in its disappearance… apparently, she also expects results along those lines!”
The Chief paused to catch a breath after decisively snapping all this out at his poor Detective.
The beleaguered detective answered, rushing his words before the Chief was able to yell some more mainly because he knew his answers would be anything but a satisfactory one!
“Yes sir, well the facts are that her Ladyship’s eldest daughter was wearing her mums necklace without permission. But then the lass, her ladyship’s daughter I mean, appears to be a bit vague about any events what went on that evening, even at what time the necklace was actually missed.”
He took a quick breath himself before continuing.
"Apparently 'someone' had smuggled in drinks, and the lot attending in her age bracket was pretty much plastered by the party's’ end.
No one at the party recalls seeing it missing from around her throat and several actually could not say what jewels she had been wearing atoll to begin with! The daughter herself supposedly did not discover it had disappeared until her mother asked about it the next morning!”
The Chief Inspector arches an eye, a habit that was not a good omen, to anyone!
“I know those facts, Detective. I need something new to report to the Super, now don’t I? Didn’t this lass notice it missing as she went to undress for bed, sounds like a bit of tosh if not!?”
The detective answered smartly.
“Well there is some confusion also along those lines: she says she passed out, still dressed for the evening, on the bed in her room. Says that there must have been an Hors de orve which she ate didn’t agree with her. But from what I got, she was fair lit with drink and no one of the servants can recall when she had gone up to bed. Apparently, there was some horseplay going on deep in the woods late that evening if you know my drift, sir!”
“Do go on Detective, this is all so very interesting!” the C.I. said smoothly, not trying to hide the dissatisfaction of his ever disapproving mood.
The D.I. went one, choosing his words like one would carefully choose their steps walking blindfolded amongst a yard full of rotting eggs.
“Well I investigated the boyfriend and he is certainly a gigolo from a toff family of foreigners. Any of whom would probably have no problem lifting the family silver! But there has been no record of any jewels disappearing in his vicinity before this accusation, and he is rather educated, Harrow, (the Chief Inspector snorted rudely at that information,) so not just street, so really nothing definite there in his history, er, to implicate the bloke?
The servants also, most have been with the family for ages, doubtful any of ‘em would have lifted jewels the daughter was wearing while passed out, if indeed she had still been actually wearing it at that point!”
“but…”
Questioned the Detective, rather hopefully, as he ended his statement and saw the fire again flaring up in his Chiefs hard grey eyes.
“But what detective!?” He snarled, sounding ever like a short-tempered feral mutt who someone had the audacity to have chained.
“Well sir, my cousin, the priest, was attending a reception up Carmarthenshire way, at the Aberglasney Manor House earlier this year.”
He paused, cagily watching his superior’s eyes before deeming it safe to continue on.
“Well, he mentioned a lady in attendance there, lost her jewelled bracelet, 22,000 worth! It was reported as being lost in the gardens. That is what she believed happened, that it had simply fallen off in the gardens.
But my cousin, Ben is his name, remembers seeing that she was coming out of the gardens with someone he recognized from seminarian university, a fellow student two years ahead.”
The Chief Detective cut callously in!
“Carmarthenshire is not our jurisdiction lad, ‘AND’ just pray to tell! Why are you discussing a case with your cousin!” The chief exploded, taking a step forward, daring the Detective to satisfactorily explain his reasoning.
The Detective bravely weathered the storm of his chiefs words.
“He is a priest, sir, so he can keep a tongue in check. But he is a bit of a snooper, and when him and his mother, my auntie, were over, he happened to see an envelope I had received from her ladyships jeweller. He asked about what it was all on about. And then, when I stayed mum, my Auntie started inquiring for Ben,and one thing led to another, you see, um, that’s how it went ?”
“Ok, not really interested in yer family tree detective am I! So this bloke fancies himself a Father Brown chap, knows someone? What evidence is that of anything I ask you!? The Chief Inspector snorted in ridicule.
“Well, er, no, not evidence, at least not in and of itself ...”
“Explain yourself quickly Detective, I am running out of both patience and time here!”
“But, so you see.” The detective stammered, visibly afraid that he was not going to be able to sell the Chief on his detecting and make him “see”.
“Make me see, please DI, quickly, I do not ‘ave all night here! And I also may need a new patrolman for the graveyard shift!” The chief said with an evil promise.
The Detective bravely sallied on.
“Well my cousin Ben, as it so happens, was also in attendance at this debutante ball affair. Apparently he is performing deacon duties at His lordship’s, the Girls fathers, parish. And that same man was there, at the ball also.
Saw him with the daughter then, well that...”
But the chief was cut off in correction,
“No sir, he did not see that this boke atoll this time actually, but rather ran into his wife, who told him her husband was somewhere about. But it got me thinking to check back over some of my papers.”
“Papers DI, what papers?”
DI: “well I urm, you see, I had been taking the liberty of checking past occasions in the realm where expensive jewels were reported to have become mysteriously missing to insurance companies. Went back 20 years or so I did.”
“Most of em, the missing jewels that are, were eventually written off by the insurance as simply haven fallen away and somehow being lost, so no information gathered was not bothered with to have been kept on file.. so, no information on guests was collected on that angle.”
“But there have been a few reports over the past years that stated that there was believed to have been shenanigans afoot, and robbery was mildly hinted at, and sharp concerns were filed with local police through the insistence of the insurance companies. Those cases were left open, and still on file at some stations.”
“I was able to collect around 30 files of those unsolved case files that had looked into for signs of robbery going back 20 some years. Well, 18 of those files came with complete guest lists.”
The detective was cut off in his report by the impatient Chief!
“Yes, detective, let us finally cut to the chase, shall we now?!”
“Er yes sir, well you see, on 12 of those lists the some of the same names came up multiple times.”
“So I had been checking those names against the Yards police records, but none had been convicted for thievery, though a few had some minor dalliances against the rules. So, I figured it was all a dead end down that alley. But, after talking with my cousin, I double checked that list and... this blokes name popped up on two of the more recent ones as being a guest. The same bloke that was recognized by twice my cousin at the two other posh functions, from both of which jewels had been reported lost!”
The Detective then triumphantly points to a name on the list.
“Let me see that list constable… right, That’s the name then?”
“Well, a nice bit of detecting here,( this was said with reluctance), But this cousin, I see he was charged with breaking the peace, but that was almost 15 years ago, he and a lady were making noise at a pub, getting the locals stirred up over a price increase on the beer! Hardly a thief's mannerism, eh detective!”
“He’s not my cousin sir, rather a bloke my cousin went to seminary with, and that lady is now this Gents wife”
“But he seems to be the only one connected with these jewel thefts, ours and that one up in Carmarthenshire?
The Detective stammered as the chief inspector shoots him a look!
“Point being detective, where does this all get us to then, are you bringing this chap in for questioning?”
“We will sir, the bloke my cousin saw, that may be a bit of a sticky wicket, bringing him in.”
“Sticky wicket! Haven’t heard that one used in a ripe old age Detective, what make this wicket so sticky concerning this chap?”
“Well sir, he is the fourth son of a sitting parliamentary official, a titled vice-lord no less, and his wife, well, er, her father is a high crown court judge.”
The detective said all this quite sadly, knowing what was coming.
“Good lord Detective inspector! You can bloody well pick em! Do you really think we should stir up a hornets nest like that without solid evidence implicating this bloke!!” The chief inspector blew up at his subordinate incredulously!
The Detective quickly spoke, hoping to quell his Chiefs temper before it continued to grow any worse!
“Well not really, above suspicion, this gent.”
“He is the Earl's 4th son, with no title, no support from the father's house. He appeared to have been studying for the RC seminary, but left before his last year.”
“Since then, for the past 15 years, he and his wife show no real income, he has held no steady jobs outside teaching part-time at university, the criminology department no less.”
He sees his superior arch an eye at that. “I know sir, suspicious that, but apparently one of his ancestors help found the ‘Yard’, so he is teaching a history course based on that subject.”
“He also calls himself an investor, but where is his investment capital coming from?”
“The wife?” asked the Chief Inspector, calming down a bit as his mind began to mull things over.
“No, ‘er parents are still alive and spending it! She receives a small bit as a stipend, but not nearly enough to support their lifestyle of attending parties. Nor is it enough to explain the backing for his investments. Plus, She has also never worked atoll after her university studies!”
“ Money has to come from somewhere I would say, but it is not apparent as to exactly where?”
The Chief Inspector looks over the report carefully.
“Are they living above their means? How much went missing on the other two affaires this bloke was at?”
“The jewels? Two pieces, together valued at around £2.”
“Two Thousand detective?”
“No sir, two hundred thousand.”
Whew, the chief whistled, there is your investment money if it was this gent. So, they are living well above their means.
“Not really. They live on a small cottage on 5 acres, kinda pricey, but not overly extravagant. Bought from a sister of the wife’s father, her Auntie. They don’t throw many parties themselves, but obviously, appear to be able to attend a lot.”
Then he looks up at his chief as if to ask to ask for an opinion.
“But, just saying if, if he is involved, how is the gent getting away with it? The chief's voice had now lowered to a thoughtful grumble.
“Well sir, that lot is known for being, well rather snooty and not believing one of their own would be a thief. And they do like to party, like their drink ya’ know. Not really all that concerned bout their valuables. For to them the value is nothing, not to someone who spends a bloody fortune on their toys and vices. And you know how these rich young things are, they lose a bloody toy, just gives them an excuse to buy a newer, better version.”
“Still detective, a crime is a crime, and if one has been committed in my jurisdiction I’ll be damned to let them get away with it, no matter if the victim doesn't show any worries over it’s loss. Not sure we have enough really to go on here?”
“Either it’s this gent or the gigolo boyfriend, have to be suspected if the necklace was stolen.”
“But then, the necklace could actually have been lost, lord knows what that randy couple could have been up to? If he was pawing her rudely enough, it’s a wonder she wouldn’t have lost all her jewels in that manner!”
“We checked the grounds sir”
“Well, I want them rechecked detective , and then recheck the bloody house, tooth and nail, all of it you see!”
“I will tell the super that we are awaiting further developments on our leads. If nothing turns up, and you are sure about that lover's late-night tryst, then it will have to be written off as being lost somewhere in the woods. And I will not, mark my words detective, be happy about reporting that as an outcome!”
“So, keep an eye out. Keep the shadow on that Harrow-educated foreigner boyfriend!”
“And as for this smarmy professional party guest?”
“All to a bit A.J. Raffles’ish for my liking, just keep out an ear. If he’s our bird, perhaps we can get some salt on his tux tails!”
“Find out also, just what other experience he has acquired that gives him a bloody right to teach criminal history... one never knows what that privileged lot can really get up into and away with!”
“Yes sir, smartly said the detective, relieved at finally being dismissed.
He half salutes and heads gratefully out the door hearing his Chief muttering behind his back.
“A Harrow lad? Really !”
Fini
Part 2
End Acte 1
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"If you think education is expensive -- try ignorance."
– Ann Landers, October 4, 1975.
"Never call yourself a philosopher, nor talk a great deal among the unlearned about theorems, but act conformably to them."
– Epictetus, 'Enchiridion'
"Theories usually result from the precipitate reasoning of an impatient mind which would like to be rid of phenomena and replace them with images, concepts, indeed often with mere words."
– Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 'Maxims and Reflections' (1833).
"How can we possibly test, or improve upon the truth of a theory if it is built in such a manner then any conceivable event can be described, and explained, in terms of its principles? The only way of investigating such all-embracing principles would be to compare them with a different set of equally all embracing principles- but this procedure has been excluded from the very beginning."
– Paul Feyerabend, 'Against Method' (1975).
Waiting, again, for TD Julia to make Landfall. Thought we would get out for a bit before the blow starts.
...it takes both me and you.
So, for whatever reason, last night my husband decided to Google me. I'm not sure if he was more excited that he actually found ME,( along with handful of other Karen Biggs') or that he found a pretty good amount of me. If you Google 'Karen Biggs Photographer' you find a lot of me. Hmmm. Images mostly. Almost all manipulations. heh.
One particularly interesting thing was that I'm actually on a site for 'Top 20 Graphic Manipulations' for some Graphic Design school. Heh. That's kinda cool.
ANYWAY, the reasoning behind me saying that, is I realize that it has been a very great while since I put any real thought into a photo. Not that this is all that awesome, but at least I'm getting the juices flowing in my head again. That's somethin, right?
and.......just like the old days...there are apple bits in my sink. ;-)
Happy Monday. =)
Have a GREAT day! xo
Have you ever wondered how Kylo plans the First Order strategies?
Imagine the logical reasoning of the wise general, the meticulous analysis of the brilliant tactician…then think about the very opposite!
In Kylo’s deranged mind there is no such thing as logic.
Every time he has to make a decision he throws one of his tantrums and then he orders his Stormtroopers to throw dices to choose between the various options.
Today we have the privilege to look behind the scenes of the First Order grand strategy planning, where farce reigns supreme.
May the Brick be with You :)
Built for the WINTER GOURD PARTY
THEME: JET
Technology vs nature, this is the future of hog hunting. A battle between the tools of man and the abilities of animals, is quite the epic duel to behold. As such I have picked the song Duel in the mist from Genshin impact to be this builds theme song. The mysterious melody and high energy convey the hunt and struggle for survival. You are whisked away into this story. Will The Jet Powered Robot catch The Hog, or will the hog escape using it’s attuned reflexes? It truly is an uncertain duel, almost as if it is shrouded in mist…
Quests:
A New New Low - Include a weeb (touhou preferred) theme song for your build (must provide reasoning in min. 100-word short answer).
Dual Degree - Build must consist of 2 or more fully-realized characters (no mini-scale figures).
Sabotages:
Full Disclosure - Back of moc cannot be left unfinished (Back shot required, no editing out stands)
The Ol’ Switcheroo- Switch 2 parts of your build and keep them that way (Switch arms and legs).
Meet The New Guy- Forced to use a part (Piraka Stars Spine).
Whoops!- Stress test video required.
March 14 ( 73/365 )
you know how much I adore rust, and textury goodness.. i needed some last night.
You ever have a conversation and feel like you just can't get your point across, or its misunderstood or not taken in the context you would like . . hate that.
As i was processing this image I was thinking about that about being exposed,, and about having my layers peeled apart. . Maybe thats why I like rust so, i see the beauty in all the flaws and different aspects.. the image to me represents something a bit beaten and worn but still has some character. I guess thats what im shooting for..
And back it comes...
Seemingly having made a recent home for itself on the 7 route group, Trustybus Dennis Dart SLF/East Lancs Myllennium PE55WPP heads along Stansted Road in Stansted Mountfitchet working a Route 7C to Bishops Stortford Interchange.
Some any given reasoning the blind is showing 7E, given to a single AM journey that skips serving Henham in full, the only bus on the 7 group to do so 19/11/19
. . . Love is no hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. A wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower; and when it blooms outside we call a weed; but, flower or weed, whose scent and colour are always, wild!!!
This is a polite dedication, a mute gesture, in return to what she has always been giving and providing me with, with a hope for so much more to come... i entitle that person as special for the reasoning tht my hunt never ended till i met her.... she has a special place in my life, my family and friends.... i would never want her distant ever !! God bless her and her family.....
Well the universe is shaped exactly like the earth
If you go straight long enough you'll end up where you were
The Rider of the Mountain of Cordes
Près de l'Abbaye de Montmajour
LE SITE MYSTERIEUX DE LA MONTAGNE DES CORDES...
Pour maintes raisons, et certainement depuis la nuit des temps, le site de la Montagne des Cordes reste dans la mémoire collective, un lieu chargé de mystères...
Essayons d'y voir un peu plus clair...
Situé au Nord de la ville d'Arles, la Montagne des Cordes faisait partie intégrante du massif Montmajour - Castelet. Avant même les débordements des Durançoles venant de Saint Gabriel (à l'ouest des Alpilles), l'ensemble de ce massif, était d'un seul tenant, tant il est vrai qu'à la hauteur de Saint Gabriel (l'ancien Ernaginum), les archéologues ont trouvé des vestiges à une profondeur de 3.50 mètres ! Dans toutes nos analyses du site, on doit donc considérer que le sol "originel" de la plaine du Trébon se situe vers cette profondeur...
Mais si un tel raisonnement était vrai à l'époque romaine, on peut se demander jusqu'à quelle époque le massif Montmajour - Cordes - Castelet est resté ce massif à part entière de l'ouest des Alpilles, avant même de devenir un ensemble d'îlots...
Ce raisonnement est parfaitement illustré par la carte géologique ci - dessous (Leveau, Provensal et leurs équipes) :
C'est à la fin de l'Antiquité tardive (VIIIème siècle), que l'eau commence à isoler par le nord le groupe géographique Montmajour - Cordes - Castelet, à ce détail prés, c'est qu'entre Montmajour et Cordes, le sol originel est plus haut que celui de la plaine du Trébon... Aprés le VIIIème siècle, les deux "îles" de Montmajour et Cordes, sont donc toujours accolées et forment entre elles une sorte de vallon dont les points les plus bas sont représentés de nos jours par le canal de la Vidange et le marais de Chiavary ... Ce n'est qu'aux Xéme et XIIIème siècle que l'on trouve dans les documents des mentions "isles", et qu'on sait que Montmajour et Cordes ne sont accessibles que par bateau...
Voir l'article complet :
camargue-insolite.over-blog.com/article-le-site-mysterieu...
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Near Montmajour Abbey
THE MYSTERIOUS SITE OF THE MOUNTAIN OF THE ROPES ...
For many reasons, and certainly since time immemorial, the site of the Montagne des Cordes remains in the collective memory, a place full of mysteries ...
Let's try to see a little more clearly ...
Located north of the city of Arles, the Montagne des Cordes was an integral part of the Montmajour - Castelet massif. Even before the Durançoles overflows from Saint Gabriel (west of the Alpilles), the whole of this massif was in one piece, as it is true that at the height of Saint Gabriel (the old Ernaginum ), archaeologists have found remains at a depth of 3.50 meters! In all our analyzes of the site, we must therefore consider that the "original" soil of the Trébon plain is located towards this depth ...
But if such reasoning was true in Roman times, one can wonder until when the Montmajour - Cordes - Castelet massif remained this fully-fledged massif in the west of the Alpilles, even before becoming a group of islets ...
This reasoning is perfectly illustrated by the geological map below (Leveau, Provensal and their teams):
It was at the end of late Antiquity (8th century), that water began to isolate from the north the geographical group Montmajour - Cordes - Castelet, with this detail near, it is that between Montmajour and Cordes, the original soil is higher than that of the Trébon plain ... After the 8th century, the two "islands" of Montmajour and Cordes, are therefore always joined and form between them a kind of valley whose lowest points are represented today by the Canal de la Vidange and the marsh of Chiavary ... It is only in the Xth and XIIIth centuries that we find in documents documents "isles", and that we know that Montmajour and Ropes are only accessible by boat ...
"The mind is the voyager of journeys, the center of questioning, the conjurer of fear, the seed of desire, the door of compassion, the creator of joy." - Larry Kirkland, Sculptor.
This is the CROET (Center for Research on Occupational and Environmental Toxicology) sculpture located on the campus of OHSU. Created out of marble by artist Larry Kirkland in 1993, it rests upon a plinth that depicts "images from throughout the ages and diverse cultures of the world".
Half Head, as it's often referred to, sits in a square surrounded by research buildings. The staff within these buildings work on very left brain ideas that stem from logic, critical thinking, numbers, and reasoning.....yet Vita Mensae is only a right brained. Is he meant to create balance, or maybe he represents the gathering of people and creative ideas in the square?
Here, his bald head has been dusted with snow and he is probably thinking, "Damn it's cold out. Can somebody grab me a hat?"
Image with my Hasselbald 500cm.
J'ai décidé de vous présenter quelques photos que je fais lors des fouilles que je dirige, ou auxquelles je participe, sur la thématique "archéologues au travail".
Ici Fabien et Christelle en pleine discussion. La base, dans toute recherche, c'est l'argumentation...
I decided to present some pics I took during the search I am directing or taking part of, on the theme "archeologues at work".
Here, Fabien and Christelle in full discussion. The basics of all research is reasoning...
When birds of paradise were first brought back from Papua New Guinea to Europe they were prepared by the locals in such a way that they were just skin, beak and feathers. So western Zoologists thought that these birds had no legs, bones or entrails, and that they must just float about among the clouds (ie the heavens or paradise), and it was even thought that the female laid her eggs in a special cavity in the male's back. When Linnaeus described the first Greater Bird of Paradise in 1758 he called it Paradisaea apoda which translates as legless bird of paradise because his type specimen was without legs, flesh or skeleton. Just five years later in 1763 Erich Pontoppidan, the Norwegian Bishop, Author, Historian and Cryptozoologist described the Arctic Tern as paradisaea. I have not been able to find out why he named it after paradise but they are so short-legged they appear as almost legless and I wonder if this was his reasoning. Pontoppidan also argued for the existence of Sea Serpents, the Kraken and Mermaids in his 2 volume Natural History of Norway in 1752 and 1753 so he might well have believed these birds had no legs like the birds of paradise. If anyone fancies deciphering Pontoppidan's original eighteenth century Norwegian manuscript it is here: gdz.sub.uni-goettingen.de/id/PPN391287532 . But Pontoppidan's description was considered to be indeterminate, so Morten Brünnich published a description ( in Ornithologia Borealis 1764 p46). However, Arctic Tern was not generally recognised as being distinct from Common Tern until 1819 (by Johann Naumann, who called it Sterna macrura which means large tailed tern, because its tail is longer than Common Tern), but this was 56 years after Pontoppidan's original description. The name macrura persisted from 1819 until the middle of the twentieth century when it was decided that Brünnich's description amending Pontoppidan's original was the earliest valid description and name.
I photographed this Arctic Tern in Northumberland as it flew past carrying a surprisingly large fish. They usually feed on Sandeels but this looks like a young Herring. But happy to be corrected if anyone out there is a fish expert.
An everyday scene at Sandaoling open cast coal mine sees JS locomotives loading up with coal in the distance next to the loader on the right (smoke plume) and the excavator on the left. Meanwhile, another JS makes its way out of the pit to the wash plant with another load of coal. There is one exception though. The train is travelling along the down line usually used by trains pushing empty hoppers to the loading bay. Due to a coal fire in the old eastern part of the pit, the train had to use the down line to exit the pit, whilst the up line on the right was being used by another JS hauled train to collect spoil to smother the fire (out of sight).
How long such scenes will continue is uncertain but it’s pretty much “last rites” for steam in China. We were told that management were meeting at the end of March to determine the fate of the steam engines. There is talk the trains will be replaced by a fleet of mining trucks to haul the coal. Personally, I can’t understand the reasoning for this. It seems to me it would be far more sensible to continue to use the railway until the mine reserves are near depletion in a couple of years time. But I would say that. We will soon know.
.....actually I believe it's a juvie Cooper's hawk. Reasoning; eye placement more forward on head, head feather colors more of a cap than hood, and the prominent white tipped tail.
Feel free to express your opinion on ID, but please state your reasoning if you think it is Sharp-shinned hawk.
My daughter, Cody, experienced her first family Christmas light expedition last night...Well, technically it was her second; but it was her first at an age where she can actually appreciate, if not the reasoning for the lights, at least the beauty of vivid colours against the stark contrast of night.
Slinking away, still smirking over how rewardingly gullible the bejeweled wealthy girls in silky dresses had proven, Angie unexpectedly came across fresh, opulently inviting, prey.
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Angelique D. at play
Angie D
Circa 1915
Case study 113 subset b
Early development: “Pickpocket” of worn Jewelry
Sub title:
What is it about rich girls that make them so lucratively gullible?
Quoted by Subject: log 1959
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What:
Along a path just outside where a departing congregation of a small church still gathered.
Where
The outskirts of Chestermere:
When:
An early fall day, in the year of our Lord 1915
Who:
An appealing lady wearing a secret smile, clad expensively in a silky top and flowing satiny ruffled skirt, a pair of gold earrings flashing merrily as she strolls.
Excerpted from Diary:
A lady in a cream silk blouse and long blue skirt was walking happily along a path on the outskirts of Chestermere. She was coming from the early Sabbath service of a local chapel, filled with the rousing words of the Parson’s homily. As Angie walked, she hummed a cheerful tune, her conscious, as always, free of any guilty feelings.
Angie was very pleased with herself, and the main source of the pleasure was now bouncing against her thigh as she briskly walked along. For deep in a small pocket hidden well below the waistline of her flowing sleek skirt, was a pretty jeweled pendent on a delicate gold chain.
Only just 15 minutes ago that jeweled pendent was still being worn by a member of a rather wealthy looking family whom had been in attendance at the same Sabbath service. Angie had scoped them out as the family had waltzed in just after the mass had started. The mother was dressed in a pretty white frock with ruffles of lace falling from her throat and wrists, along with a rather nice set of pearls. The rather formal and severe father was in a “monkey suit”, a gold pocket watch and fob stretched across his rather bulging waist. The pair had their hands full with two rambunctious , pre-adolescent twin boys, who had continually distracted them during and after the lengthy service. Which was good, from Angie’s point of view anyway, for it left the parents totally ignoring their seventeen year old daughter , at the end of the pew, standing with a sultry air about her.
The daughter was wearing a rather fancy party dress of thick red silk. Dangling down the front of the sheer red silk bodice, on a thin gold chain, was an attention grabbing deep green emerald starburst pendent that fell swaying from her dress’s high neckline. It had been the sleek dress that had whetted Angie’s interest, but it was the pendent that kept that interest focused during the entire service, delightedly eyeing the pendant’s shimmeriness in the low candle lit church. During the communion procession she had managed to slip in behind her in order to closer scrutinize the prospect, soaking in the expectations of acquiring it from the unsuspecting proper acting young lady..
As the service ended, the family joined in the stream of the departing congregation. Angie followed closely, looking for her chance. It came when the Parson stopped the father to ask a question, a group soon huddled around the mother and the twins. As everyone bent over to focus attention on the twins, including their sister, Angie circled her prey and slipped in close, hovering briefly over her back before darting in. In one fluid motion, Angie lifted with one practiced hand the chain and flicked open the thin clasp, nimbly catching the swaying pendent in her other hand as it fell, whisking the sparkling emeralds and chain away and palming it from sight. Absolutely no one noticed the flashy necklace as it vanished from the front of the sister’s silky dress. Angie had continued on her way, clutching the pendent, and headed straight out the door without looking back. Instead of heading back the short 3 miles to her hotel in the city, she decided to head out towards the woods, where she planned to lay low until dusk.
Angie now turned her head to have a look behind her at the distant chapel and the people milling about, her gold plated earrings flashing as she did so. Good, she thought, no one was following her, and she, in total security that she was out of danger, crossed off the path and went on the road.
Angie strolled along the country lane, trees lining it turning red and yellow in their autumn gowns, for quite some time, before she became aware of a band playing off in the distance.. Then turning a bend in the lane, through the thin wall of woods, she spied a wedding reception up on a hill by a white stone Church. From her vantage point she could see a multitude of colourful , richly shimmering gowns and the occasional sparkle of , she hoped , opulent jewelry.
As good luck would have it, she decides to crash the party. She was dressed for it, she was hungry, and who knows what pickings she may find inside to increase her earthly riches ,as the Parson had been saying! She walked around, skirting the woods and came across a hillside garden with rose covered arbors and bright flower lined paths. Two grubby boys of about ten and twelve were playing in the woods on the opposite side, by a small pond surrounded thickly with Rhododendron s. She entered the Garden and made her way up the winding path, coming out onto a small field with benches that lay on the opposite side of the church and the auditorium entrance to the reception.
Angie entered the crowded auditorium underneath the Church. She helped herself to the food buffet and sat outside enjoying her meal, as she watched the richly dressed crowd. A young man came up and asked her to dance, which she did happily, and just as happily lifted his gold watch and fob. And, too boot, after a few dances with him, she had become a part of his circle, happily mingling, and rubbing elbows with the obviously wealthy guests he presented her to. Including an introduction to his pretty faced teenage sister, who was sporting a pretty diamond ring on all too slender finger, that she kept waving in Angie’s face as she played with her long silky hair.
Angie soon left them and started to stalk about for a bit, noting that most of the guests were older, more mature specimens. There seemed to be a lack of young, well dressed children around, whose shiny offerings had been Angie’s main bread and butter for almost two years.. She had just come to the conclusion that she would have to settle for picking a few pockets or purses before leaving. She started to look around for the bloke with the fancy gold pocket watch who had first asked her to dance….
Then she saw her.
The lady was moving through the crowd, on the arms of a man half her age, giggling, not paying attention to anything else around her. She wore a long gown of a shimmery purple silk. But it was not the gown that had caught Angie’s eye, but the jeweled brooch that hung from the gowns cleavage, shadowed by its mistress’s ample bosom. Like the figurehead in a seagoing schooner it came, shimmering in the dazzling light of at least a hundred diamond chips, surrounded by an oval of blazing sapphires. Angie’s fingers tingled. It was time.
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Now, it had been better than three years ago when Angie had run across an ancient, toothless Gypsy in a long black dress with a faded shawl around her shoulders, who had spoken Angie’s fortune. When she had read Angie’s palm, she looked Angie dead in the eyes, a most knowing kind of look. Then she had risen, motioning Angie to stay and came back with a rather battered old pamphlet she wanted Angie to look over. Entitled the Cutpurse: skilles, artes and Secretes of the Dip by “Gaston Monescu, 1826”, it covered the various tactics and moves used by master pickpockets. Including whole chapters on successful “Methodes” of relieving a wealthe lady of her” jeweles”.
The Gypsy Woman, who had hovering over Angie as she had read deeply into the pamphlet moved and sat back down across from her.
Angie ,who by this time in her quite young life, was already an accomplished cutpurse and picker of pockets, looked up at the gypsy, grinned, and asked if it was worth her while. The Gypsy just smiled, reached up and opened her dirty laced shawl, revealing the silvery necklace that Angie had been wearing when she had come in. Amazed she traded the necklace for the pamphlet on the spot and quickly began putting its teachings into play.
Angie soon mastered this new level of her chosen craft.
She had started on mannequins: clothing them in long silky dresses and jewelry. She had practiced for months, first in a rented studio apartment, then in a secret basement located in an isolated, deserted old barn and then its surrounding woods. Soon she felt confident enough to go out and try it in the crowded streets amongst shopping women. She met with great success, but her gains were only a pittance. Still she practiced, and had gotten so adept that she soon was moved onto more affluent hunting grounds.
She reasonably started out with weddings. For the phamplett had suggested starting out at formal parties where there would be an abundance of youngsters dressed in their best by parents wanting to show their off female issues to an adoring public( in the minds of the wealthy parents, anyway). So she went, seeking out young, easily distracted young girls who were not used to wearing the array of enticing jewels placed on them by overly enthusiastic parents.
Angie’s first time out was met with some rather sweet success. A large day time wedding reception in Nova Scotia, held in a public park by a majestic sweeping waterfall.
Late at the reception, as she was still prowling without making any formal attempts, she soon noticed that the adults at the gathering were becoming quite gay with drink, and noticeably paying less attention to their children. Said children began to wonder off in groups, exploring and starting to run about playing games, their gowns and dresses whispering a Pied Piperish tune to Angie’s ears, their shiny jewels luring her ever closer.
Angie soon started to follow a pair of young ladies who had scampered off to explore.
One was an impish girl with long black hair flowing down, drawing ones attention to the frilly white dress she was wearing. Gold chain earrings dancing merrily from her ears, as a longish gold herringbone chain shimmering brightly in the sun as it lay hanging from her silk dresses’’ high neckline.
Her partner in crime was a most fascinating subject. A charmingly bright green eyed proper young imp, a couple of years older than white dress, with a rather pronounced Welsh accent, much like Agie’s remembered her parents having. Her silken red hair lay down her back in a neat long French braid. A long thin satin gown of emerald green swished as she ran with the awkwardness of youth to keep up with her new friend. A matching satin bow was tied just below her throat, its ends trailing down to her svelte waistline. At the bows center was fastened a glittering rhinestone pin. She also was wearing a small rhinestone necklace that encircled her throat just above the bow. Her ears were home to a pretty pair of clasped rhinestone earrings that matched the pattern of her necklace. Around one short shiny green satin gloved wrist was a brite rhinestone bracelet.
The duo found the waterfall, by which a photographer had set up a camera. Angie approached the lovely pair, and easily started up a conversation, helped by the fact that as an adult, she was not scolding them for walking off. They seemed pleased that Angie was actually doing the exact opposite, like a favored auntie, she was encouraging them to explore.
Angie led them around a bend for a different view of the cascading waterfall, out of earshot of the reception. She helped the black haired lass, Basil, up to sit on a small stone wall for a better look, also helping to slip off the shiny gold herringbone necklace from her throat with an almost effortless ease in the process. As, with itching fingers, she contemplated what to do about Basil’s gold earrings, Angie started to watch Lydia.
Oblivious to what was going on around her, the red head, Lydia, was standing next to Angie, looking over the fence which just reached her shoulders. Here dear, Angie said, after pocketing the purloined gold necklace, you’re messing up your pretty dress. Angie turned the girl towards her, reached over and said, here, let my fix your bow, darling. Lydia allowed Angie to retie it, as Basil, her back to them, happily was watching, enraptured, the splashing water. Angie finished undoing and retying Lydia’s satin bow, neatly removing the pretty rhinestone pin in the process, then as she straightened the girl’s color, Angie had her turn around. As Lydia obediently did so, Angie flicked open the rhinestone necklaces clasp, and peeled off the flashy necklace from around Lydia’s throat as she turned round. Just like that, Lydia’s rhinestone necklace went the same way of er pin, both ending up with the gold chain in a secret pocket hidden in the folds of Angie’s skirt.
Angie stood behind Lydia, placing her hands on Lydia’s slick silken covered shoulders, all three watching the waterfall. Angie’s left hand caressingly, ever so lithely inched down along Lydia’s side, reaching the girls wrist. As Angie engaged them in conversation, she slowly worked off the bracelet, leaving only the pretty earrings as her last challenge.
Angie lifted her right hand and slowly moved it up to one of the girl’s dangling earrings, sparkling in the waterfalls’ reflection.. With her left hand she pointed upstream. As both girls turned their heads to look, off came a rhinestone earring. Angie than playfully lifted Lydia’s long French braid and laid it over Lydia’s shoulder, below her now bare ear. She turned to look down, giggling, and as she did so, Angie plucked away the remaining earring; it easily came off and joined its companion with the rest of the collection of jewelry in Angie’s secret pocket. Amazed that the process of removing young Lydia’s jewels had gone off so easily, Angie almost wished Lydia had been wearing bells like one of her sleekly gowned practice mannequins. Her reasoning being that she would know if it was because her skill level was that good, or just the fact that Lydia was just an unworldly youth easily distracted. Whatever the reason, Angie, feeling fresh inspiration, looked over at the chirpy basil, and her shiny gold earrings.
Angie moved behind Basil, placing her hands upon the slippery waistline of her silk dress, then leaned forward, whispering in the girls ear, tickling it with her breath. As Basil giggled Angie reached up gently lifted the gold chain earring up from the lobe of the girl’s opposite ear lobe. Then nimbly with her thumb and index finger, flicked open the hinge clasp and neatly removed the earring, watching for any reaction from her victim. Basil never felt a thing, Lydia was still watching the waterfall, equally as oblivious. Angie kept her chin close to Basil’s ear, and the remaining earring. Cautiously she moved her fingers up, and then darting in with them, successfully repeated the maneuver. As the earring joined the rest of her collection, Angie could not help thinking that if all her future endeavors were as successful, she could end up living quite a comfortable lifestyle.
Angie stayed a few more minutes, keeping the pair distracted the whole time before she cautiously moved off, leaving the two of them there by stream. Basil happily perched on the stone wall, and Lydia bent down, busily plucking at the moss growing on the old stones. Both girls still quite fetching in their pretty gowns, both a bit less weighted down by any added trimmings.
For the next year, fueled by her early success, she started focusing entirely on wedding receptions. Honing her skills until it became almost mundane for her nimble fingers to lift a jewel, no matter where is was being worn by a squirming young lady upon her fancy dressed person. And, actually, some of her acquisitions where worth a surprising bit of dough when pawned.
Favored Case in Point:
It was in New Hampshire, on her 24th outing late during the wedding season of the following year when she came upon a rather prim young miss of about 13, clad in a long sleeved thick yellow satin blouse, a black velvet vest and matching gold and black vertical striped satin skirt. A young raven haired bumble bee with no stinger, but with pearls, black pearls in a long string dangling down along the front of her shiny back buttoned blouse. She was also wearing matched black pearled earrings, and a small, daintily jeweled pin in the shape of a humming bird on her velvet vest. She was sitting alone at a table, playing with some crayons and a book. Angie, who had been watching her for some time from a bar stool, had come up and caught the pretty little things full attention, easily capturing her interest, then, finally, suggesting they go and watch the activity on the ballroom floor from a small alcove in a corner. Liking the adventurous way Angie had suggested it, the bumble bee had eagerly followed Angie away from the table.
Angie continued making small talk as the pretty thing was watching the exquisitely gown guests on the dance floor, including the girls’ parents. She was met with youthful exuberance by the youth, who was so enthralled with the activity on the dance floor that she was as unaware of what was going on around her , much like one of Angie’s practice Mannequins. After quite easily removing the dainty jeweled pin, Angie’s subtle fingers were able to lift up and flick open the rhinestone clasp of the child’s pearled necklace. Angie than coolly waited for a prime moment before whisking away the wholly distracted young miss’s gleaming black strand of pearls from around the high ruffled collar of her yellow satin blouse.
And also, like one of her gowned and jeweled practice Mannequins, the young girl never noticed anything amiss as Angie continued on with her conversation for quite some time afterwards. It was daring, but exciting as Angie kept stealing looks at the bare front of the glossy yellow blouse where the pearls had hung down so deliciously, knowing they were in her own pocket, so close, but for the young lady, so far.. Finally she decided she was pressing her luck, and she wished the child a goodnight, before beating a hasty exit,( but not before circling back to the now deserted table and heartlessly lifted the fat, expensively made purses, of both the young girl, and her mother!)
The jeweled hummingbird pin, and string of matched black pearls, dainty and long, fetched a pawned price that left whetted Angie’s appetite for more!
So, it was after this that Angie, looking for fresher, richer challenges, decided to seek out slightly older prey in their natural habitats, proms and social teenage dances. Where real gems, usually borrowed from their mothers or Grandmothers, would be replacing rhinestones.
Still very youthful looking despite her twenty something age, Angie’s first attempt was an upscale dance she had come across while out about in a neighboring city. It was held in an old ballroom for a local boy’s prep school and their dates. Figuring the girls attending would be ripe for the picking in tight gowns and loose fitting jewels, Angie stole inside for a closer look. The only obstacle was getting one of the begowned girls away from her group long enough to make a play for something of value that she was wearing.
But, Angie came away with nothing but valuable experience on that first attempt.
And it was actually her third try before she met with success in the form of a gold bracelet. It was at a formal dance being held in a large room of a rather posh hotel called the Red Lion Inn. She had gone in for a peek, and spying a pretty young thing heading for the ladies room, fell in step behind her. She was a long brown haired girl, wearing a short silk dress, blue, forming the perfect backdrop for her mouthwatering selection of shimmering gold jewellery. Waiting in a small alcove, Angie made her move as the young lady came back out the door. Bumping against her, Angie’s right hand held onto the youngster by the waist, drawing her close, as she steadied herself, apologizing. At the same time, Angie placed her left hand on the unsuspecting mark’s left wrist, easily flicking open the clasp of the thick gold etched bracelet and slipping it off and away. The young lady, accepting Angie’s apology, went on her way, and Angie, swiftly darted for the nearest exit, securing the rather overly brite bracelet in her bosum.
Over the spring and early summer dance seasons Angie practiced, acquiring bracelets and rings down pat using her skillfully developing fingers. She soon also was having some success with necklaces, including one with a long gold chain and a flower pendent set with a diamond carpel surrounded by ruby petals that had turned a quite tidy profit.
Then there had been the night of her first big haul, at a private girl’s school homecoming in Connecticut
She had started out by finally selecting and shadowing a young lady clad a slinky black dress, draped in her mother’s diamonds. Angie was drooling over a flashy wide glittering gemmed silver bracelet that hung loosely from the young vixen’s limp wrist. She was sure it was made up of real diamond chips. As the girl squirmed past Angie heading to the dance floor, her bracelet was easily plucked off the wrist of her black elbow length satin glove and secured deep in the bosom of Angie’s dress.
It was now becoming all too easy, smirked Angie as she unflappably headed out of the exit with her trophy. But, as she crossed the street, she was stopped by a hard looking Italian thug who emerged from the shadows. Angie at first thought wanted to mug her for her earrings, but it turned out he just wanted to see a girl who was inside attending the dance . He described her, and Angie, her interest growing, agreed to locate her and give her his message to meet him outside.
Angie went inside and soon found the girl. All her wishes had been answered. The unsuspecting lass was both richly gowned and even more richly jeweled, combined with zero common sense. This fidgeting girl had been seeing the young Italian on the sly, away from her disapproving family and friends. Angie led her out the back way, the opposite side of the Dance Parlor where the Italian was waiting in an alley.
Angie pointed across the street towards an entirely different Alleyway, offering to wait with her when the girl balked about going down it. As they waited, Angie fawned over the poor, beautifully adorned young innocent. Helping her straighten her luxurious gown, and helping her primp her long hair, so she would look just right for her east end Romeo. After waiting ten minutes, Angie instructed the girl to wait, while she went out and peeked down the street to see what was keeping her lover.
As she left, Angie stole a look back at the still primping young lass, eyeing her slinky gown, and remaining jewels, before heading off down the street, looking into her palm at the pair of long Garnet and diamond earrings that lay nestled, glittering fire there. She then placed them into a secret pocket, joining them with the girl’s small, expensive matching pendent, liberated as Angie had helped her negotiate a curb with her stiletto heels. Both pieces of the lass’s jewelry shared the same pocket with the wide silver bracelet encrusted with diamond chips that Angie had taken earlier..
More than once since then, Angie wondered if the ditzy, well jeweled girl ever had made it back out of that alleyway unscathed.
The experience had even more so whetted Angie’s appetite. So, even though she was still practicing on younger females, she was now dying to ply her trade upon mature women displaying the real McCoy.
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So it was with that in mind that Angie now watched, with itching fingers, the beckoning brooch. Though Angie was still unsure enough of trying her abilities on wealthy ladies who would not be as easily distracted as young girls, the timing felt right. As the lady recklessly displaying the brooch passed, her attention lost in the arms of her lover, Angie turned and followed, getting a close look first at the brooch and its pin, noting that it was not tightly clasped onto the gowns thin material.
As the couple headed to a table they passed two wealthy dames arguing vigorously with each other. Pricey rings flashing as they pointed fingers emphatically in each other’s face. On the side of table away from the pair, but near to Angie as she was passing by, lay a small, fat silvery clutch purse . Figuring that any dames loaded down with that many gems should be carrying a healthy wad of dosh in it, Angie, on the fly, took action.
As she passed she snatched it, and slipping it under her arm turned and headed towards the ladies powder room. Just before entering Angie looked back watching as the two still argued, gemmed rings flashing she had gotten away with it! Going into a stall she scrutinized the clutch for its valuables; disappointed to find only a fiver, some loose change, and a silky laced handkerchief. How cheap can you get she thought ruefully over the wasted effort? Hiding the clutch in the folds of her satin skirt, she left the stall, passing a lady applying makeup in a mirror. She was very pretty in a fluid teal gown, wearing dazzling white pearls upon her ears, neck and wrists. Something about this lady seemed familiar, and Angie’s senses started to sound an alarm. Catching each other’s eye, Angie nodded, but the lady appeared not to recognize Angie, nor Angie her, but the feeling still lingered. Angie left ,guardedly perplexed.
Angie went to the bar to have a drink while she thought about who the lady may have been. She was in a position to see the dance floor and she soon spotted the purple clad lady with the brooch Angie had her eye on, again in a deep embrace with her lover. The Brooch would be profitable, but risky as along as she stuck close with the Boyfriend. Angie needed a way to get him out of the picture for a while. It was as she considered several options to carry out the challenge that Angie again spotted the lady in teal , dancing with a tall red headed man. . Cold prickles like ice ran down her spine, It was the pearls! She suddenly remembered who the lady, and her dance partner were!
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Only 5 days ago she had been starting her third week operating in Calgary. She had been following a rather attractive, obviously wealthy woman, wearing an eye catching purple silk dress, carrying a dress bag and some smaller parcels. Close at her side was an unheeded calfskin purse. Alongside the lady was a smaller version, obviously her daughter, a girl of about 14. She was wearing a white shiny turtleneck with an equally shiny long tiered skirt. Both of her hands were occupied with department store bags also. When the ladies darted into a swanky hotel ,Angie had followed, she always had had luck in these types of establishments. They had entered a crowded lift and Angie had worked her way in behind the pair, riding up with them in the rickety contraption. Mother and Daughter got off on 12 and Angie stayed on until 15, exiting with not only the fat wallet from the calfskin purse, but also the shiny gold herringbone necklace that had been flashing from the daughter’s throat, securely in her pocket.
Angie decided to call it a day. She had already made about 30 dollars from wallets lifted at the department store she had been working over when she had spotted the mother and daughter at the checkout. The mother was paying from a thick wad of cash, and judging from the jewelry of both were an indication of how wealthy the family was. She had followed them out onto the street and it had paid off in spades. Now, all she had to do was find an exit. She saw a stairwell next to a slightly open door with a maids cart outside. She stopped and hovered over the cart to peer inside the room. It was at that moment a door opened on the opposite side of the hallway.
A red headed man in an open tux shirt came out of a room, looking at the cart, and Angie standing next to it. Seizing the opportunity, Angie quickly asked if he needed something. I was looking for a maid; I spilled some wine on the cashmere carpet. Seeing the name Bannister above the bell, she said sweetly, certainly Mr. Bannister, I can have someone take care of that for you.. I was just coming up to let you know there is an urgent message down at the desk for you. (Quick improvisation was a special talent of Angie’s.) Why didn’t you bring it, he started to snap, than , never mind, just get a maid, and he headed towards the elevator.
Angie picked up the towels and headed cautiously into the massive suite. From the bedroom off one side she heard running water. She looked around quickly, seeing many valuable articles, but nothing small enough to quickly conceal. She took the towels into the bedroom.
Angie went into the bedroom, expertly taking everything in. A long silver lamee gown lay out on the bed. On the vanity lay a silvery purse, a pair of long silver satin gloves , a silver watch, silver necklace, a pair of long dangling silver earrings, and a small blue velvet pouch. On a side dresser laid a man’s thick gold watch and a money clip with a wad of bills, a tenner showing on top. In less than a minute after entering the room she had scooped up the money clip, watches, silver jewelry and gloves stuffing them into the purse and lifting up her long skirt hid it in one of its secret pockets. She lifted up the pouch and found it was empty. A picture on the vanity showed an attractive lady in a black dress and pearls. She briefly wondered where the pearls were, did not see any likely spot, and so had turned to make a hasty exit, when a feminine voice called out from the bathroom where a shower could be heard running. Steam was coming out from the slightly ajar door.
Dear, a refined voice stated, I have soap in my eyes and cannot find the washcloth. Angie, smelling an opportunity, peaked her head around the corner into the steamy bathroom. There was a shower stall with glass doors at the end of the long room with a double sink running along the side. From the hook by the shower hung a peach negligee and matching long robe. The door was open slightly and a very soapy femine hand was reaching out trying to feel along a towel bar, just missing a hanging washcloth.
A soapy hand from which glittered a pretty gold pinky ring set with small diamonds. Angie went over and pulling off the washcloth, rapped on the glass door , receiving a thank you dear in return as the hand reached out for it. Angie wiped off the protruding hand, and a dry voice said, no, not my hand dear, as the washcloth was plucked playfully from Angie’s grasp , and the door closed. Angie bent down and picked up the diamond pinky ring that had been slipped from the showering woman’s finger by the wash cloth, from the carpeted floor underneath the shower door. she than turned ran a hand along the satin rode, looking around. Bingo, on the counter lay a pair of sparkly long diamond earrings. Dumbstruck at her luck she grabbed them off the sink. , she was jolted back to realty when the voice again called out, are you still there dear? She scurried out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
She was at the apartment door in a flash, opening it a crack to make sure the coast was clear, it was. In the hallway Angie headed for the stairs because she knew that Bannister was far too important a man to take a stairway. She had been in the apartment less than 4 minutes, and had probably looted it of enough valuables to more than double her take so far of the last three weeks since arriving in Calgary. Leaving by a back exit she came out of a small alley. Looking over she spotted the young lady whose necklace she had lifted in the elevator kneeling down and looking in some bushes. Her shiny skirt pleasantly splayed out upon the ground around her. Angie briskly walked past her and off down the street. She made it without incident to the dingy apartment she was renting by the day. Collecting her meager belongings Angie checked out immediately. Leaving by bus for Chestermere, where at a small bank she rented a safety deposit box to stash all her ill-gotten gains for safe keeping until the heat wore down a bit.
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Now Back to the Present
Angie now knew how lucky she had been. The red headed man, Bannister, may have recognized her. Calgary was too close to Chestermere , she should have been more cautious when scoping out the receptions guests. Angie turned and headed to the bar to think the situation over.
She saw the young man whose watch she had lifted, talking to an older, pretty lady laden with pearls. Behind them stood his sister, her diamond ring sparkling as she twirled her hair. Angie circled wide, coming up behind the lad, she grabbed his shoulder, why hello there. He smiled, introducing her to his Aunt, whose jeweled fingers she took into her hand in a gracious shake. He continued talking to his Aunt, it seems that they were discussing a family matter of some importance .Angie, finding the rings were tight on the Aunt’s chubby fingers, let go of her hand and moved over to the sister, and engaged her in conversation, moving a little off so that the sister turned her back to her brother and aunt.
The sister twittered, curling her hair impishly as Angie asked her why she wasn’t dancing. No ones asked, she giggled nervously. What about the boy who has been watching you all eyeing, Angie nodded her head outwards, the girl turned , her hair flying, as she lowered her hand, which Angie took up, petting it in a conspiratorial fashion, go over and ask him, Angie suggested. Go an ask him? I don’t see him she said, but I couldn’t, and she turned back to Angie, flashing her baby blues innocently. That’s okay deary, Angie patted the girl’s hand, keeping her eyes in contact, not allowing her to break the gaze, and perhaps looking down and noticing her loose ring was now gone from her slender finger. Angie took her leave of the sister, and of girl’s annoying nervously twittering giggle. Angie, slipping the diamond ring securely away, continued on until she reached a small alcove from where she could see most of the reception hall.
She lit a cigarette, purple silk and her desirably take able brooch was still safely out of reach on the dance floor, and Bannister’s attention was all on his wife. She thought it over, weighing her options, and the risks that were now in play. The song ended, and the dancers started to head off the floor. Angie’s eyes darted, Red headed Bannister and his wife were heading off to the far side of the room, Purple silk and her partner were heading to the bar. Angie’s heart stopped, no, Purple silk was heading to the bar, her lover was off to the men’s rest room. Angie snubbed out her cigarette, rising to the bait, it was now or never. Like a feral feline, Angie began to slowly stalk her prey.
But then Angie saw her chance slip through her fingers and evaporate into nothingness, like the smoke from her crushed cigarette. For at that moment an older man bumped into the lady Angie was tailing, spilling his drink down the front of her purple silk gown. Angie retreated and watched from a distance. As the man profusely apologized he produced a silk handkerchief and help wipe down the pretty lady. As he did so, the beautiful diamond broach vanished from her bosom. He had been slicker, slicker than Angie was ( for the time being) able to be. Angie felt her heart sink. Not only had she been deprived of the broach, but the existence of another member of her trade meant that she had better scram, not wishing to cross him. She could tell by the look in the man’s eyes that this was one not to be tangled with
Giving up on any plans she had been harboring, she got up, turned her back to the dance floor, headed as quickly as she could to the far exit, keeping her gains, and cutting her (presumed) losses.
Angie reached the door without challenge, opening it, she found stairs leading into the Church above. But first she stole a look back. She observed the man suavely talking to the now brooch less lady wearing purple silk. In that second a long haired (ginger) young lady passed by him, wearing a slinking green satin dress. Angie saw the man watching her walk on bye, and then immediately took his leave of purple silk, and began following the perky girl in green satin, with her savory collection of loosely dangling silver jewelry, heavily encrusted with flickering emeralds.
Angie turned away, and while wondering how she had failed to have spotted that prime prey in green earlier, went to the stairs.
She went up the stairs, coming out into a small chapel in back of the church. A door led to the outside, which Angie took, pouting inwardly, feeling all the world like a child who had been deprived of a desirable toy. She found herself on the side leading down to the Garden from which she had entered. The Church was now in between Angie and the reception, so she felt free to move unobserved. She crossed over to the gardens entrance and headed down the hill.
In front of her was a hedgerow, on the other side, Angie knew, was the small field with benches that lay at the entrance to the gardens proper. It was coming from there that she head the voices of children playing, on the other side, but she paid no heed, her mind was on leaving the area.
As she hurried along the hedgerow she saw something sparkle expensively in the sunlight through one of the gaps in the hedges. She stopped and curiously looked through a small opening. That’s were all the young darlings have been hiding she remarked to herself, her interest peaking. Forgetting all about leaving and lost opportunity of the brooch, she now focused on the new “toy” now dangling its enticement to her. It belonged to a girl in a slithering silvery gown, with her long hair done up in a long plait. Angie eyed the girl’s sparklers, which Angie first took as all rhinestones.. But, as Angie took inventory, her eye focused on a ring that she was wearing on one of her petite fingers. It held a fiery display, diamonds and rubies. There was no way the ring was rhinestone. Looking around to access the situation, Angie decided that by hook or crook, she needed to get a better look.
Watching the colourfully gowned young ladies innocently at play, Angie mused over the golden opportunity just waiting for someone unscrupulous to acquire the jewelry they were wearing. Someone should make them aware Angie decided, surprised that no one older than 16 was watching over them. Knowing that the scene before her was too fertile an opportunity to pass up without at least a long glance, Angie looked around, making sure no adults were about unseen in the woods, or any other nook and cranny of the play area.
Angie had found she had a knack for capturing young, well dressed lady’s interest, much to her amusement, and profit! It was with this in mind that Angie decided to allow herself a few precious minutes to watch from her hidden opening to see what may transpire. There were six children, four young ladies who were obviously dressed for a wedding, and the two urchin boys of about 12 and 10 she had spotted earlier. They were dressed as the local poor farm boys they obviously were. Angie quickly overheard the names of the girls as they called out to one another. .
The group were playing, appropriately enough for Angie’s point of view, a children’s standard game of cops and robbers. All Angie could think about, as she watched the boys with exuberance chasing and holding the giggling, squirming girls, was that there would hopefully be no actual robbing of jewelry as the game was played out. As each girl, Angie quickly memorizing their names, was ”captured” and taken to “prison”, Angie was able to scope them out at leisure.
The youngest Cecilia, about six, was wearing a long smooth gown of deep cream, with a midnight black bolero style jacket of velvet. From her neck was happily swaying a long silver chain with a jeweled winged beetle pendent, her jacket was home to a matching pin.
Cecilia’s older sister, 10 year old Claire, was wearing a puffy blue satin blouse with a long bow dancing down the front. Her long skirt of glistening black flowed in ripples as she ran. Also moving in ripples were the long gold herringbone chains she wore dangling from her neck, as were also her matching earrings and bracelet. A thick, expensively shiny gold ring encircled her middle finger.
Claire’s friend, Abbey, of about the same age, was wearing a longish gown of sunset pink satin, with a white satin sash encircling her waist. At the center of the sash glistened a gold pin set with pearls. Around her throat, dangling from her ears, were glimmering white pearls.
The oldest girl, the one in charge, was a fourteen year old named Amanda. Young and flighty, she kept looking up into the voluminous white clouds in the sky as if trying to see what they were forming. She was dressed in a longish slithering silver princess style gown, the style one may see flowing along the shapely figure of an actress at the moving picture awards ceremony. A fancy necklace with large garnet stones and small diamonds was flapping against her chest as she ran. The necklace matched her long earrings, bracelet, along with her pretty ring. She was wearing a flashy red jeweled head band , with strings of gold and rhinestones interwoven into her long plait of naturally wavy chestnut hair. The head band was all rhinestone, as were the garnets in the rest of her jewels. But what from a distance appeared to be small diamonds in her matching set that separated the garnets, were actually ¼ caret diamonds. Angie, upon realizing this, felt her heart burning with desire at acquiring a piece of the set being so vulnerably dangling from Amanda’s slickly attired person. But a couple of ripping gold herringbone chains, or even a jeweled beetle pendent flicked from a velvet jacket would be nice to acquire also, if only for the practice benefits.
To Angie’s secret joy, Amanda was the last girl to be captured, only because a stone lodged itself in her shoe brining her up lame. She was held by one of the boys, and lead, limping, to the other two girls. As a new game was started, she sat out. She hobbled to a nearby stone bench, brushed herself off , watching the group play before removing her shoe to find the annoying stone.
Angie started to make her move even before Amanda had made it to the stone bench. She reached her as she was shaking her shoe, slipping up alongside her on the cool bench. The girl jumped, but Angie’s special (practiced!) smile soon won her over. Angie soon enticed the young thing into casual conversation, extracting useful information as Angie, feigning a cheerful interest on the outside, while studying the girls expensive gown and drooling over the glistening garnet and diamonds that adorned it on the inside.
Angie tried to direct Amanda’s attention to her young charges, commenting about their pretty baubles, then asking who the boys were, and how well they knew them, about who suggested the game they were playing, how robbers were attracted to pretty things you know, and, were the boys playing the robbers next? Surreptitiously trying to plant seeds of distrust in the immature girls mind, and Angie could see that those seeds had found rich soil. Her intention was to keep the girl distracted long enough for a go at acquiring her necklace.
Angie, not unlike a feral cat, waited patiently for her opportunity to take the necklace from the unassuming Amanda to arise. But the girl was not cooperating; her attention on the playing girls lasting for mere seconds before focusing it back on Angie. Angie decided to use a different tactic. Angie placed an arm around girl’s silken shoulder and pointed up into the fluffy white clouds, asking her if she could see what Angie saw.
In the clouds, Amanda asked? As she leaned back into Angie who drew her close, relishing in the silky , quite scintillating feel of the child’s slick gown. No, Angie thought unkindly, you silly rich twit, the clasp of your necklace is what I see ( her fingers snaked up the backside of the sleek silver gown towards the tantalizingly easy open able clasp). The one you are about to lose to me, she continued thinking before answering the girl.
But seconds later, when Angie did answer, it was with a sweet motherly tone that dripped honey. Yes dear, in the clouds, doesn’t that one look like a soldier, or perhaps a highway man on a horse she inquired to Amanda? No, I think it’s a prince answered Amanda, and Angie thought , not for the first time, about the power of suggestion, for the mass of clouds looking like absolutely nothing but a mass of clouds to her!
But, it was an opportunity opened, and as the guileless girl was happily lost in her thoughts, Angie began to lift the clasp into position. As the necklace move up the girls chest, Angie could see its jewels, all sparkly, as the sun came back, peeking through the clouds. But Angie was not the only one who noticed, for the oldest lad who had been stalking up on the youngest sister’s hiding spot, was attracted by the sparklers now flashing around the distracted girl’s throat.
The boy headed towards them, and Angie’s fingers retreated. As the girl noticed the boy approaching, she gave a nervous giggle, and placed a hand to her throat. Angie began to rise from the bench, feeling the opportunity was slipping away, for the second time that day. But she hesitated a minute, and she was glad she did.
The boy came up and asked Amanda if she was going to play again. He was openly gawking at the necklace Amanda was nervously fiddling as he spoke, and Angie drooled to herself, you dear sweet child. For She could feel Amanda pressing hard into Angie as if seeking protection from his eyes. Angie took action, pointing out the sister the boy had been stalking. Successful diverting the boy’s attention, she sent him after the girl.
Maybe it was the things Angie had been feeding the girl about strangers and playing robbers, or pointing out the highway man in the clouds, but the attention to her necklace by the lad had had an obvious effect on Amanda. Angie, seizing the opportunity, exploited it to the fullest. With an Epiphany like thought, she knew what to say, and do next. And if it worked, then Amanda’s necklace would not be the only bauble acquired by old Angie girl.
Angie shooed the lad away, and he left, reluctantly to rejoin the game in progress. Then, in an inspired bit of deceitful storytelling, Angie related to Amanda a sad tale about an incident in her childhood, one she made up on the spot. The girl listened, still cuddling for whatever reason, as Angie stroked her enticingly attired figure down, relishing in the softness of her gown, along with admiring jewels she was so intent on acquiring. It was not often in Angie’s line of work that she was able to really check out one of her victims in this manner, and she relished every minute of it.
As Angie went full bore into her tale of woe ,she lifted up the attractive necklace from pretty girl’s chest, as she chokingly told the youngster that when she was her age she had been playing dress up in one of her mother’s gowns and had put on some of her mother’s jewelry without her permission.
Angie than took up the girl’s slender hand into hers, fingering gently the pleasingly expensive ring , seeing tin the young ladies eyes that she had struck a chord, and Amanda was totally held captivated with her story. Angie continued on… She had gone outside and over to the playground where a group of older children had convinced her to play a game of cops and robbers. When they had been done playing and Angie had gone home, she discovered some of her mother’s pretty jewelry was missing.
Angie noticed with satisfaction that as she was reaching the end of her story Amanda had stiffened, her heart started beating faster, and she started to check over her own jewelry. Your mother’s than, Angie drooled to herself, she had nailed it on the head. Carpe Diem Angie said to herself, throwing all caution to the wind.
Cops and robbers? That’s the game the boys are having us play, Amanda questioned with visible concern. As she was making this statement, Angie saw with satisfaction Amanda’s open mouth gasping as her eyes went to the boys who were now high in a tree, innocently unaware of what they were underhandedly being accused of eventually attempting to do ( steal the young girls jewelry)!
The two Boys had spotted a bird’s nest and where trying to see if it had eggs as the sisters watched them, backs to the bench where Amanda and Angie sat. Seeing the coast was clear, Angie quickly acted, before her story lost its effect over Amanda. Angie produced the purloined silver purse and pulled out the silky handkerchief. She spread the handkerchief out on Amanda’s silken covered lap, setting the purloined purse down upon her own.
I really think you should put your jewelry somewhere for safekeeping. Why don’t you wrap it up in this handkerchief, you can keep it in my purse. I’ll lend it too you if you promise to bring it back to me when you get back to the reception. Amanda nodded wisely (those earrings were very pretty Angie told herself) , Angie’s heart went to her throat, the young innocent, abroad from the reception, had swallowed Angie’s deviously luring tactic. Here, Angie promised, I’ll start, and she took of her gilded earrings and laid them gently out upon the shiny white surface of the silk handkerchief. This way I won’t lose mine either, she confided in Amanda, who looked back at Angie with her innocently wide blue eyes.
Amanda now showed no inhibitions while reaching up and removing her glittery necklace, laying it gently out upon the handkerchief. It was soon followed by rings and bracelet. Removing the headband and rhinestones chains, undoing her plait in the process, her long hair flowed down her back in curls. It curled up as she laid it upon the ever growing, sweetly glimmering, pile. Then she flung back her long hair and undid the screw backs of her flashy earrings, placing them on top of the heap. Angie’s heart began beating faster as she realized she was going to get away with this! Aw, she thought, as the last of Amanda’s expensively glittering jewels was added to the already glistening pile, wealthy children are so adorably cute when they are being gullible.
When Amanda finished, Angie looked down upon the glittering mound, unbelieving her luck. But then the unimaginable happened. Amanda, laying the handkerchief with its precious cargo on the bench next to her, stood and called back the two sisters and their young friend to the bench.
Angie held her breath as the girls, turned and dutifully ran up to her, the boys still high in the tree, paid no attention to them. Angie watched, almost salivating as the pretty darlings in their fluttering frocks came bouncing back, necklaces flinging in and out, obediently to Amanda’s call.
As they reached Amanda, she told them that they had better remove their jewelry for safe keeping. Why, Challenged Cecilia, with childish accusation? Amanda looked back at the boys in the tree, because I think you may lose them while you play, she scolded. We’re careful Cecilia retorted obstinately, as she looked from Amanda to her sister Claire. Amada looked at Claire, and lifting the girls gold necklace pointed her chin at the tree containing the two boys, and said, they will be the robber’s next game. Claire went wide eyed, and told Cecilia and Abby that they had better do as they were told.
Claire was closest, and with a nod from Amanda, unfastened her necklace and laid it out on the silky handkerchief. They were soon followed by her gold drop earrings, bracelet and ring. She started to back away still wearing her rhinestone hairclips. Don’t forget them… Angie started to say, but was cut off as Amanda told Claire to remove them, which she did promptly. Angie was glad she had been able to hold her tongue.
Cecilia was next. She approached Angie and Amanda, her long dress swishing richly as she came. She politely asked Amanda for help. Turning her back to Amanda she lifted up her long hair, Amanda remover her necklace and pin, laying them upon the growing shimmery pile. Cecilia removed her earrings and ring, happily placing them with the rest. Very pretty Angie said, admiring the dress, she lifted up the sleeve, admiring it, no bracelets, she whispered to herself, as she pulled the silky sleeve back ever so slightly.
Abby than approached, and quietly, obediently, unfastened her pearled necklace, and then removed her glistening matching earrings, and placed them all delicately upon the pile. Momma said to be careful with them, their Grand mama’s, she bleated sweetly, and Angie felt her heart skip several beats, suppressing an evil grin upon hearing those delicious words. Claire then helped Abby remove the pearled brooch from her satin sash.
Angie stood back, her heart had been pounding with cutting swords of mixed delicious pleasure and anticipation as, there on that sunlit church playground, the girls in swishy gowns, removed their valuables for “safe” keeping. She knew she now had to work fast, for there was an ever growing chance that an adult would show up from the reception and ruin Angie’s fun.
Angie than folded up the silk handkerchief, and in a classic bit of misdirection that would have made Gaston Monescu proud, appeared to place it inside the purse she was going to leave in the children’s safe keeping. But she actually palmed it, and slipped the bundle deep into her skirts pocket as she handed the purse over with her free hand. All three sets of eyes watching the purse, not what Angie’s other hand was doing.
Now go and have fun, Angie encouraged the girls as she handed the purse to Amanda. The youngsters seemed thrilled that they had an adult’s permission to keep on playing, and knowing that they would not be in danger of now being yelled at for possibly losing some of their pretty jewelry, they scurried off happily, in waves of whispery satin. Amanda stopped and gave Angie a hug before following the two sisters and their friend. The kind of hug that would have sealed the fate of any jewelry she may have still been wearing, and for which Angie did a double check for. Angie then watched Amanda run off, long gown fluttering out from behind her.
As the four girls rejoined the two boys, Angie slowly slinked away, melting into the woods. She allowed herself to smirk over how rewardingly gullible rich young girl’s in silky dresses ,wearing ripe for the plucking jewelry ,always proved to be.
Folle est l’agneau de la prune qui dans le loup avoue! She whispered to herself as she disappeared from the frolicking children’s sight.
She stopped suddenly as she reached a small clearing with the path leading to the rose covered arbor crossed. Not believing her eyes, as she unexpectedly saw below her fresh, opulently attired, prey.
A young couple was busily snogging in the garden the garden just ahead of Angie. As she looked over the pair of richly dressed pretty young things, she could not help but wonder if this couple had been in charge of watching over the children and had snuck away to be by themselves. She quickly ducked behind some bushes as the girl broke away, and with a come hither look, led her boyfriend through a rose covered arbor. Not a moment too soon, for the couple looked behind them, before crossing over the path and disappearing into the woods.
Angie cautiously snuck forward, and reaching the spot where they had disappeared into the woods, hears the girl giggling along with the unmistakable sounds of kissing. As the couple is otherwise occupied, Angie carefully moves into the woods. She spies the lad’s suit lying over some branches, and sees the shrubs moving underneath as the couple obviously have progressed now beyond kissing.
Angie spies something bright and shiny laying on the ground just in front of the shrub. She inches forward. It is the girls gown, laying spread out like a slick wet fluid purple pond , and there, in a nice neat pile, is the diamond jewelry she was wearing. Angie wonders what would have happened if some miscreant, or unscrupulous hobo were to stumble upon this scene. In her mind she reasoned that they would probably steal the jewels. So, why shouldn’t ole Angie be the one to acquire this one’s jewels also? Since she would probably be losing them anyway!
Angie reaches down and quietly pulls away the fluidly glossy gown, the silky material whispering along the grass as it moves. Angie keeps one ear on the couple just out of sight, the other listens for any noise on the path behind her that may betray her as she melts away back into the woods. Then, when she is a safe distance away, happily scoops up the girls small fiery diamonds. Picking up the gown she carried it back, hanging it from a limb just before leaving the path, she ran a hand along its enticing length, before leaving, snickering to herself the whole way.
Coup-Fourré, Angie thinks too herself as she regains the path, after carefully making sure no one else was about. Off in the distance she can just barely hear the children still at play. The purse where they innocently believed held their jewelry safe, she imagines still sitting on the bench. She thinks for a second about going back and lifting that purse, but decides not to push her luck, now that she had finally found some.
She once again pictured the beaming faces of the three young girls as they were being complimented on their shiny dresses by the pretty lady with the nice smile and gentle fingers as she carefully looked them over for anything missed that those nasty boys may try to take. Naively unaware that they had, in reality, been robbed of the precious gems that they had been convinced to remove for “safe keeping.”
Angie, for the first time, but not the last, imagined in her mind, what the children’s wide eyed astonishment would be like, they opened that sleek little purse , only to find the handkerchief had vanished! . And what the couple snogging about in the woods would make of the missing gown and jewels.
Editors notes:
Even though Angie related this story as having occurred on the same afternoon ,the chronicler felt she was keeping something back. It was never discover what, if anything had been. The answer may lie in the events unfolded above. It may be worth re-reading the story to see if anyone can pick up on it.
Folle est l’agneau de la prune qui dans le loup avoue!
Silly is the plump lamb to whom in the wolf confesses
Our Thanks to Mr Gardner for pointing out the existence of Mr. Monescu’s 1826 guide
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Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
Another POL photo! This one for reasoning.
With this photo, I wanted to convey that I know I am a little fish in a very big pond. There will always be someone more talented, more intelligent, or with more experience than me. But maybe, just maybe, I can stand up for myself.
Joel Robison has a very cool chess photo that this one was inspired by; I highly recommend that you check out his work.
A week ago I joined Lands of Roawia (Merlin's Beard Forum) and here's my character!!:
Name: Nox
Gender: male
Species: Exiled Elf
Faction: Outlaws
Nox was exiled from his Lenfald elf kingdom because of an incident he never talks about. Certainly has something to do with magic. Without any sense of belonging to a nation, which is not very common for an elven foe, He joined the Outlaws for acceptance travelling from region to region of the most mysterious and unknown places of the Magic Island and Badlands. His skills in History and his sense of logic allowed him to work as a personal investigator for those who need his services. Still, most of the time he'll be on his own practicing alchemy, magic and identifying new species.
He may act blindly in some situations for some, but in fact, he's reasoning like no others will. His wandering past may had affect him in what we can call a light madness or a totally misunderstood intelligence. The equality and the liberty between races have always been an important concerning to defend for him.