This is the first time that the Knolly Estate has allowed the great man's memoirs to be published. What follows is the thirty-eighth section of 'The African Adventure'.

Bertie turned to face me, but for once he seemed quite calm and hadn't started shaking.

'Do we know who, by any chance?' he tentatively enquired.

'Well actually, no — except to say they are pretty amateurish, as they were easy to spot, so that rules out the Countess.'

Bertie relaxed even more — I was impressed by his control.

'Could be Portuguese, someone working with Da Silva?'

'Yes, yes, that is a possibility, but what I didn't mention to you earlier was the fact that there were people on the train with us with German-made footwear. Could be nothing, or could be the Kaiser doesn't trust our dear Fräulein.'

'Knolly, you have a twisted mind.'

'Thank you, Bertie. From you that is a compliment. In any case, we need to be alert; I do hope that we have not landed Mr LeTang I too much trouble, though.

Bertie looked out of the window. 'Oh dear, it would seem that we are heading out of the better part of town.'

I looked over his shoulder and then out of my own window. Bertie was, unfortunately, very correct in his observation. The dwellings either side of us were becoming rather older and more uncared-for and I also noticed that we were heading downhill towards the sea.

'Bertie, I do believe we are heading towards the docks. No wonder our driver was a bit alarmed by the address you gave him. Still, he did come back. Your lady friends didn't happen to mention whether their lodgings were land or water-based?'

Bertie opened the door and leant out to attract the driver's attention. 'Ho there my man, we seem to heading towards the docks, no offence or anything, but this is not one of your 'cabbie' ruses to make the journey last longer, is it?'

Inside I tried to hide, but alas, there was nowhere, nor did I have the power to shrink to the size of a mouse.

'No sir, not at all, this is the right way indeed. We are almost there.'

The cab pulled up outside what at first glance was a row of very tall buildings, but on closer inspection the windows were wrong for a building — but perfect for a ship.

The driver got down, coughed theatrically and spoke up. 'I can see what you're thinking, sirs, but proper buildings are scarce at the moment and so a lot of folk live down here on converted vessels like this.'

'Knolly, what a brilliant idea — and look, it even has a gangplank,' piped up Bertie.

'Hmm, and rats too. Bertie, did you ever visit the prison hulks along the Thames?'

'Oh pooh, Knolly, it's only for a couple of nights and it shouldn't cost us much.'

I nodded and pointed with my chin towards the corner of the street — or was it dockside? 'Interesting neighbours, too, I see.'

Our driver smiled his toothless smile. 'Like I said before, sirs, bed but not much sleep in this area.'

Bertie craned his neck to see what I was looking at.

'Oh dear, I fear I may have made a mistake after all,' he muttered.

Our driver overheard and spoke up 'That one, oh, she only comes out at night, but watch out, gents — she'll eat you up. Man-eater they tells me, oh ho!'

'Quite so. Well then, Bertie, let's see what you've gotten us into, shall we?'

'Goodnight to you both then, gentlemen, enjoy your stay.' Our driver then hoisted himself back into the seat, chuckling to himself, and pulled away.

'Dash it all! I had a tip for him, too.'

'Really? I think, Bertie, that he'll be able to wine and dine on our story this evening for some time, so don't feel bad about it. Come on then, all aboard, eh?'

We ascended in a most bouncy manner, but we were soon stopped in our tracks, stunned into impasse by a brilliant white light from the top of the gangplank. As we shielded our eyes, there came a voice from within this incandescence.

'Ahoy there! Good evening, good sirs!'

Bertie and I tried to detect the owner of the voice. It appeared to emanate from a figure dressed top-to-toe in a pristine uniform so brilliantly white that it might have been illuminated from within by limelight.

'Please excuse me. My launderer was rather heavy-handed with the bleach this week.' From somewhere, he produced a dark cape and draped it around his shoulders, thereby considerably diminishing the debilitating dazzlement. 'Allow me to introduce myself. I am your Chief Steward, Keith Stewart.'

Bertie blinked: SHOULD WE CALL HIM CHIEF KEITH OR STEWARD STEWART? TEE HEE.

'Pleased to meet you,' I compromised. 'My name is Mr Knolly — with a silent 'kay' — and my colleague here is Mr Harrison-Harrison — with double-barrelled 'aitches', both of which are capitalised. I believe that we have a reservation for accommodation aboard this fine vessel.'

The steward acknowledged our names with a smile and, with a slight bow, he bade us follow him.

We found ourselves in a well-appointed office where six clerks were busy receiving monies from a caucus of gentlemen, each of whom were studiously avoiding making eye-contact with any other. I thought this a little odd — as did Bertie, judging from the look on his face.

Before I had the chance to converse with my colleague, the steward said, 'Gentlemen, if you will excuse me one moment, I will familiarise myself with the particulars of your, erm, accommodation.'

He sat at a desk and opened a large, leather-bound box that contained thousands upon thousands of cards. The steward proudly explained that the cards were indexed by date, sub-indexed by time, sub-sub-indexed by surname and further sub-sub-sub-indexed by forename. There was a smaller set of cards within the box that contained a complex system of cross-references to the main set of cards. He referred to this system as his 'base of data'.

Bertie mumbled as he observed, 'Hmmmm... just imagine if this could be mechanised...' and something about Babbage's tool, and then occupied himself with scribbling and sketching rudimentary designs in his pocketbook.

I waited patiently as the steward flicked through several cards, carefully absorbing the information thereon. His nimble fingers executed a typing-like motion as they flowed through the cards, seeming to know what they were looking for independently of the steward's attention. It reminded me of someone.

'Excuse me, but do you by any chance know a fellow called LeTang?' I asked.

The steward stopped momentarily and smiled. 'Why, yes! I worked with him for several years at the telegraph office. Splendid fellow. Great mover.' Thereafter, he tapped his feet as he searched the cards. I wished that I had not interrupted him.

After a few moments, Bertie emerged from his pocketbook. STILL LOOKING? he blinked.

HIS SYSTEM IS NOT AS GOOD AS IT APPEARS, I replied.

The steward sighed, uttered something like 'control c' and broke off from his search.

'I'm sorry, but did you say "control c"?' asked Bertie.

'Yes. It means a 'controlled cessation' of the search. I cannot find your names in the primary index. Pardon me for asking, but who booked your sessions?' he asked.

I looked at Bertie. SESSIONS? I blinked.

'Two ladies,' said Bertie, choosing to ignore my blinkage. 'And very charming ones, to boot.'

'Any two ladies in particular?' asked the steward.

'Yes. They were particularly called Eugenie and Lillian.'

'Ohhhhh! You're with them, are you?' asked the steward, with a raised eyebrow.

Bertie looked lambish (that is, a little sheepish), as he replied, 'Errrmmm. Yes. Is there a problem with that?'

'No, no! Not at all! We don't dally with problems here, everything aboard La Mer is an opportunity to be exploited. Let me search my alternative cross-references.'

Several minutes later, there was success.

'Ah! Here we are! There appears to have been a basic error. You are registered as 'Mr Gnolly' and 'Mr Harry's Son.'

I turned to Bertie. He just shrugged. The steward explained to us that it was quite common for names to be misspelt or for people to be registered under homonyms and, indeed, his search of homonyms had found us.

Hearing this, Bertie became very agitated, first taking off his jacket and then rolling up his sleeves. It appeared that he was about to launch into a steaming funk at the steward.

BERTIE! WHATEVER IS THE MATTER? I blinked.

I AM GOING TO ASK HIM TO STEP OUTSIDE! he replied.

I grabbed his arm. WHATEVER FOR?

YOU HEARD HIM! YOU HEARD WHAT HE ACCUSED US OF! HOW DARE HE! I WON'T HAVE IT!

I was confused. He had obviously heard something that I had not. OF WHAT HAVE WE BEEN ACCUSED? I blinked urgently.

HOMONYMITY! blinked Bertie.

I quickly took Bertie to one side and advised him that the word 'homonym' had absolutely nothing at all to do with a passion that might exist 'twixt two men that was perhaps inclusive of certain palpations 'twixt the two, but that it had everything to do with words that sounded alike. Thus, the steward was merely saying that our names as they appeared on the register were sound-a-likes of our real names; he was not in any way questioning our preferences and practices.

Bertie stood quietly, nodded and said 'Oh!' as he rolled his sleeves back down and put on his jacket.

As the business in the office continued about us, Bertie offered a conciliatory handshake to a bemused-looking steward, said 'I'm terribly, terribly sorry' and then sat on the floor with his head in his hands, wondering what might have been had I not given him this brief but important lesson in grammar. The rest would do him good.

'Sir,' said the steward, 'I am afraid that we are exceptionally busy at the moment, so we have had to book you in to the Couchettes. Is that an issue? I can see from my data-basis that there will be more luxurious rooms becoming available on a regular basis. Perhaps you would care to wait awhile?'

We were both tired and cared not where we laid our heads, as long as it was safe and comfortable and quiet. 'The Couchettes will be fine, thank you.'

'Very well. You are in Room 13, which is on the lowest deck area. I will have some handlers retrieve your luggage from the stowage and assist you to your room. Enjoy your session!'

We thanked him and started to leave the office. But there it was again; that word 'session' made me a little uncomfortable.

'Oh, Mr Harrison-Harrison!' called the steward. 'There is a message for you.'

He handed Bertie a slip of paper. He read it and passed it to me. I first noticed that it was subtly perfumed. In elegant handwriting, it read:

See you for drinks in the Innuendo Bar. Make sure you have a sauna first!

With affection, E and L xx.

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