text: It was as i was preparing the morning cup of tea that a telegram arrived for me from Mike Kelly. Quickly scanning the contents, I put the note carefully into my jacket pocket, and entered the bedroom to find Sir Bartholomew already up in bed.
  “Ah yes Sir – I completely understand. If you will have your breakfast, I will see your clothes are laid out and the bag packed.”
  As he sipped his tea and ate the bacon and pancakes, I packed his clothes into the bag, and laid out the clothes for the day before running his bath. As I came into the room, he said “Jayes?”
  “Sir,” I said quietly, “no matter what happens, there will be Gentlemen, and therefore the need will continue for the Gentlemen’s personal Gentlemen. If I may be more informal for a moment...”
  “In the war, we were equals, and helped each other. It is my privilege and honour to repay that support from you by supporting you. Your bath is ready when you are, Sir.”
  We managed to find our seats on the north bound train, and settled for the journey back, relaxing more as we left the industrial areas and watched the lights on the darkening sky over the Atlantic. Not a lot was said during the journey – Sir Bartholomew was attempting to read the latest book by Dashiell Hammett, but it was obvious his mind was in Switzerland, while I had other matters on my mind.
  As Dr. Huntingdown would later tell me, she and Mrs. Rockland had not been exactly idle whilst we were in Washington. With Mr. Rockland off on a business trip to Chicago, Mrs. Rockland had moved into her friend’s apartment from the hotel. Together they tried calmly to analyze the information they had to hand as to the likely whereabouts of Mr. Laszlo Victor.
  Working with the idea that Victor was being shielded by a screen of ex-Nazi’s and former Nazi sympathisers, they ran a check in the records of the FBI, and discovered little except the fact that drinking the coffee in FBI headquarters in Boston was certainly a bad idea.
  It was, however, the very lack of information though that triggered a thought in the good doctor’s head. As it was told to me and Sir Bartholomew, she realized that given the fact that Boston had been a hub of the anti-interventionist and anti-British movements before the war, then there really should have been a lot more in the records. “It was although they had been cleaned with Pepsodent,” was her pithy way of putting it, “files had been removed and expunged.”