Alias 'The Magpie'
J. J. Guest
built-in hints Colossal Cash Prize Comedy cover art crime Farce feelie map heist humor IFComp 2018 IFComp Game IFComp Winner magpie male protagonist Miss Congeniality Winner slapstick walkthrough Xyzzy Awards 2018 XYZZY Best Individual PC
Sir Rodney Playfair, gentleman thief, has a simple plan: impersonate a psychiatrist, infiltrate a country house, steal a priceless Egyptian scarab and make it back to London in time for cocktails. All in a day's work for the illustrious 'Magpie'.
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It always pays to keep one's ears free of wax, as one never knows when one is going to overhear some titbit of information that later proves invaluable. Such was the case at the Dionysus Club, yesterday afternoon, when you happened to overhear the noted psychiatrist, Doctor Cornelius Drake, he of the ginger moustache, talking over the phone to his secretary.

"Cancel all my appointments for tomorrow, Miss Henshaw," said the shrink, "I've been summoned down to Hamcestershire by the Earl of Hamcester. Never met the fellow, but he'd heard of me by reputation. Wants me to give his brother-in-law the once-over. Apparently, the poor chap thinks he's exploring the Congo. Sounds like a clear case of incorrigible delusion to me."

This telephone communication piqued your interest, and the reason it piqued your interest was that you happened to know that the Lord Hamcester to whom it referred was a collector of sorts, and that amongst his collection was an extremely valuable Egyptian jewelled scarab. In fact he had outbid you at auction for the very piece. It is a sad fact that amateur collectors are rarely aware of the true value of the pieces they possess, and it is not uncommon to find them displayed among a plethora of inferior items. Who knows what other gems might be squirrelled away amongst the bric-a-brac at Bunkham Hall?

It was the work of a moment to call Miss Henshaw, posing as the Earl, and cancel the appointment. And it was an equally simple matter, the following morning, to don a suitable disguise and take the 10.15 to St Bartholomew-on-the-Bog, Hamcestershire, in Doctor Drake's place. All in a day's work for Sir Rodney Playfair, alias the notorious gentleman thief known as "The Magpie"!

A small, cosy study, impeccably neat, with walnut panelling and a leather-topped desk of a similar complexion. There are a few homely touches; a framed newspaper clipping and a photograph hang on the wall beside you. A sturdy wooden chair faces the desk. The door, leading south into the library, is closed.

A ghastly amateur watercolour hangs above the desk.

On the walnut desk is a pamphlet.

Lord Hamcester regards you haughtily from behind his desk.

"Good of you to come at such short notice, Doctor," says Lord Hamcester. "You've read my telegram I take it?"

(You could say yes or no)
You say no
(to Lord Hamcester)
"Allow me to refresh my memory as to the contents," you say. Before the real Doctor Drake left the club yesterday you had the presence of mind to filch Lord Hamcester's telegram from his coat pocket. This charming missive reads as follows:

COME BUNKHAM HALL IMMEDIATELY STOP REQUIRE YOUR SERVICES AS ALIENIST STOP BROTHER IN LAW BARKING MAD STOP THINKS HE'S EXPLORING CONGO STOP ONE GLANCE SHOULD BE ENOUGH TO CONSIGN HIM TO COLNEY HATCH STOP COME BEFORE HE DESTROYS ENTIRE HOUSE STOP PRICELESS ANTIQUES AT RISK STOP HAMCESTER

"Take a seat, Doctor," says the Earl, "there's a rather — ah — sensitive matter I'd like to discuss with you before you proceed."

(You could ask him about the sensitive matter)
You ask him about the sensitive matter
"Please, speak freely," you say. "We shrinks are famed for our tact and discretion vis-a-vis matters sensitive."

"The thing is," he says. "My wife dotes on her little brother. She'd be terribly upset if she knew I'd got a loony-doctor in to look him over."

(You could ask him about the Major, or about Lady Hamcester)
You ask him about Lady Hamcester
"I see, so you'd like me to go incognito, as it were?" you say, winking.

"That's the ticket. I've told her you're the famous Belgian detective chappie, Hermes Perroquet. He's a member of my club, and my wife's been on at me to invite him over for ages. Can't stand the fellow myself, but the wife's dotty about detective stories, so if you happen to run into her, just play along, there's a good chap. Tell her you're on the trail of the notorious 'Magpie' or something. Haw haw!"

"No problem," you reply. "Deception and subterfuge are all in a day's work for a practising psychoanalyst."

Well, well, Hermes Perroquet! That old bloodhound has been on your trail for months, following you around like a bad smell. Fortunately you've always managed to stay one or two steps ahead of him. You've impersonated people before, of course, but never your own arch-nemesis. This has all the makings of a very interesting afternoon.

"Now," says Hamcester replacing his monocle, "if you don't mind I have some business to attend to. Tomorrow is the St Bartholomew-on-the-Bog annual Village Fête, and I have to write my acceptance speech for the 'best cucumber' prize. I've won it for the last six years, and despite the best efforts of Sir Humphrey Leghorn, I  have every expectation of winning it again tomorrow. If you need anything at all, just ring for Hives."
Look around
A small, cosy study, impeccably neat, with walnut panelling and a leather-topped desk of a similar complexion. There are a few homely touches; a framed newspaper clipping and a photograph hang on the wall beside you. A sturdy wooden chair faces the desk. The door, leading south into the library, is closed.

A ghastly amateur watercolour hangs above the desk.

On the walnut desk is a pamphlet.

Lord Hamcester sits at his desk, working on his speech.
You examine the clipping
It seems to be from the St Bartholomew Advertiser, twenty-second of July last year.

"Lord Hamcester Wins Again!" is the headline, and underneath are the words, "Earl wins annual cucumber competition for the sixth year running" and a photograph of the man himself receiving a trophy from the Mayor. In front of them is a gigantic cucumber on a trestle table, and behind them stands another man, stocky and well-built, wearing a cloth cap and an expression of contempt.

"I think you will have better luck looking for the Major in the gardens, Doctor," says Hamcester sarcastically, "I'm fairly certain he isn't hiding in here."
You ask him about Major
"I imagine you would find it easier to locate the Major if you were to leave my study," says Lord Hamcester, pointedly. "The door is over there. Please close it on your way out."

"I think you will have better luck looking for the Major in the gardens, Doctor," says Hamcester sarcastically, "I'm fairly certain he isn't hiding in here."
You take the pamphlet
Lord Hamcester very deliberately places his elbow on the pamphlet, preventing you from reading it.

"Was there something else you needed, Doctor?" says Hamcester, "I really am quite busy."
You examine the pamphlet
Lord Hamcester very deliberately places his elbow on the pamphlet, preventing you from reading it.

"I think you will have better luck looking for the Major in the gardens, Doctor," says Hamcester sarcastically, "I'm fairly certain he isn't hiding in here."
You examine the photograph
The photograph shows Lord Hamcester decked out as the Pirate King in a local production of the Pirates of Penzance. He's almost unrecognisable behind a bushy black beard.

"If you'll excuse me, Doctor, I really must get on with writing my speech." says Hamcester.
You examine the watercolor
A small framed watercolour depicting Bunkham Hall at sunset as rendered by Lord Hamcester himself. Somehow it contrives to make the Hall look even more ill-proportioned than it is in real life. The painting sticks out from the wall rather further than you might expect it to.

"If you'll excuse me, Doctor, I really must get on with writing my speech." says Hamcester.
Go south
(first opening the study door)
"Thank you, Doctor," says Hamcester, "you'll more than likely find the Major in the grounds on a day like this, decimating my hollyhocks with a machete. Let me know when you've got something to report." He closes the door behind you.

The library of an English country house is an oasis of calm amid the hubbub of domestic life; the perfect place, should one feel so inclined, for a spot of light murder. The library at Bunkham Hall has a long and chequered history, and its chequered floor still bears the faint traces of numerous chalk outlines. Tall walnut bookcases line walls of crimson silk damask. East is the great hall, and a closed door to the north takes you to Lord Hamcester's study.

A leather wingback armchair lounges invitingly against the south wall. Today's edition of the Times lies discarded on the seat.
You look at the bookcases
A quick perusal of the bookcases reveals the usual stuff of a country house library. There are the interminable rows of leather-bound books on animal husbandry, an ancient set of Shakespeare's plays in pristine condition, peerages both Burke's and Debrett's, and biographies of the great, the good and the ugly. The lower shelves are enlivened by the rather more striking spines of innumerable mystery novels, adorned with lurid illustrations of skulls, daggers and bottles of poison.

Ignoring the dusty leather-bound tomes, your eyes light upon a volume entitled Murder on the Razzle.
You examine the razzle
You pull the book from the shelf and peruse it. This one has a rather lurid picture on the cover of a champagne bottle, gushing with blood.

But there is no time for reading, so you replace it on the shelf.
You examine the armchair
A Chesterfield back-buttoned wing chair upholstered in a quality chestnut brown leather, exquisitely soft.

On the leather armchair is today's edition of the Times.
You examine Times
You are disappointed to see that your audacious and high-profile theft of Lady Ponsonby's diamond stomacher last week has taken second place in the headlines to the story of Bongo the gorilla's equally audacious escape from London Zoo. Apparently the beast was last observed heading up the Finchley Road in the back of a black cab. A fare's a fare, after all.
You get Psychology
You pull the book from the shelf and peruse it. Now this is interesting — the author is one Doctor Cornelius Drake! You flip through the pages randomly until you come upon a chapter that interests you:

Chapter 5: The Psychology of the Obsessive Collector

"The desire, and hence the innate propensity to collect, begins at birth. The infant first desires the emotional and physical comfort of the nourishing breast, then the familiar baby blanket the child clings to for comfort and security. Stuffed animals, favourite toys are taken to bed and provide the emotional security needed to fall asleep. A sense of ownership and control is facilitated through possession of these items for the vulnerable child. The loss of such a 'security blanket' at too early an age is a common feature in the development of the obsessive collector."

You decide to hang on to this one, for now. One never knows when one will need to use a little psychology.
Go east
This commodious entranceway is dominated by a broad flight of white marble steps leading up to the first floor. Alabaster columns keep the gilded ceiling in a state of harmonious separation from the marble floor. On the south wall, facing the front door is a carved escutcheon representing the Hamcester coat of arms, beneath which is the entrance to the saloon. To the east is the drawing room, and to the west, the library.

From a room to the east comes a blood-curdling scream, followed by the tinkle of breaking porcelain.
You go to the east
Once one of the finest rooms in the house, the drawing room is in a state of disarray. Elegant armchairs lie on their backs, priceless ornaments lie in fragments on the floor and the walls, lined with red Genoa velvet, are spattered with crumbs of Genoa cake.

To the west lies the great hall. The dining room is to the south and the music room to the north. In the corner of the room hangs a tasselled bell pull.

Standing in the midst of all this chaos is a stocky, red-faced man in the act of beating the stuffing out of a striped draught excluder with a poker.

"Major Hilary Buff-Orpington, I presume!" you say, delighted by the spectacle.

"Blighter must have crawled in under the door," says the Major, prodding the draught excluder with the poker to make quite sure it is dead. "tricky coves, boa constrictors."
You examine the excluder
A long, soft, fabric tube filled with sand and placed against the bottom of a door to keep out draughts. It does look a bit like a snake.

"Can't abide snakes!" says the Major, slinging the stricken draught excluder over his shoulder. "This place is riddled with the blighters — but don't worry. If you see one, just refer it to me." He swings
the
poker through the air, demolishing a small vase. "Only language they understand!"

He bounds out of the room with the energy of a small child and tears off across the great hall.
Go west
This commodious entranceway is dominated by a broad flight of white marble steps leading up to the first floor. Alabaster columns keep the gilded ceiling in a state of harmonious separation from the marble floor. On the south wall, facing the front door is a carved escutcheon representing the Hamcester coat of arms, beneath which is the entrance to the saloon. To the east is the drawing room, and to the west, the library.
You examine the escutcheon
The charge consists of a boar rampant inside a wheel representing commerce or somesuch. Unfortunately the boar, rendered in stone by one of Addams' sloppy workmen, more closely resembles a rodent of the family Cricetinae than any sort of wild hog. You noted with
some amusement during your research yesterday that even Burke's Peerage describes it as a 'hamster'.
You examine the columns
A colonnade carved of Staffordshire alabaster, handily keeping the ceiling where it belongs, at ceiling level.
Go south
By far the grandest room in the house, the saloon was once the state dining room. It is now rarely used for entertaining and has instead become a repository for old Hamcester's hideous collection of porcelain. The Axminster carpet is decorated with a delicate pattern of daisies.

To the north and east are the great hall and the dining room respectively. The collection room lies to the west, whilst to the south, French windows open onto the terrace.

Striding across the room from the other direction is a woman who, with her long neck and dumpy undercarriage, resembles nothing so very much as a turkey which, instead of being stuffed with Paxo, has been stuffed into a fashionable dress. From her carriage and bearing you surmise that this can only be Lady Hamcester.

"Aha," says she, "you must be Monsieur Perroquet! Welcome to Bunkham Hall. It's a great pleasure to finally meet you. I don't know if my husband has told you, but I'm a bit of a fan!"

"Not at all, Madame," you say, doing your best to affect a Belgian accent, "as you say in your charming language, the pleasure, it is all mine." The Countess looks about her from side to side, and having established that the two of you are alone, she continues in a hushed tone.

"The thing is," she whispers, "it's a bit of a stroke of luck that you're here. We have something of a mystery of our own here at Bunkham Hall. If you'll follow me." She motions in the direction of the doorway to the west.

"Monsieur," says Lady Hamcester, motioning in the direction of the collection room, to the west.
You go west
You follow Lady Hamcester into the collection room.

This small, oak-panelled room serves as sort of miniature museum for Lord Hamcester's collection of objets d'art, if one can use that term. Objets d'ordures might better describe the grotesque items residing on plinths around the perimeter of the collection room. Still, even the most inept collector occasionally gets lucky.

The collection room is dominated by a glass display case in the centre. The items contained there are, presumably, the most valuable. The display case is currently closed, and locked.

From here, the only exit leads east, into the saloon.

"A few weeks ago my husband bought a jewelled scarab thingy at auction," says Lady Hamcester, indicating the glass display cabinet in front of you. "It was the pride of his collection. This morning I came in here and lo and behold, the bally thing's gone walkies. Fortunately, he's been holed up in his office all morning working on a speech, but if he finds out it's missing, he'll blow a fuse. He's bound to blame it on poor Hilary."

"I see, Madame," you say, "You would like me to find zis, zis scarab then?"

"I know it's a frightful liberty, since you're a guest here."

"Not at all Madame! Not at all! The great Hermes Perroquet is always on duty!"

"I say," says the Countess suddenly, grabbing your arm, "you don't think this could be the work of the notorious 'Magpie', do you?"

"Hmm. Could be, Madame, could be. The 'Magpie' is a very cunning, and some say very charming and handsome fellow."

"Very well then, I'll leave you to it. Keep me posted, and don't let on." The Countess winks and taps her nose, before stepping off in the direction of the terrace.

Well, this complicates things somewhat. You turn up at a place to steal something, only to find that someone's beaten you to it. But you came here to pinch it, and pinch it you will! There's no sign of forced entry. Whoever stole that scarab opened the display case with a key. It has all the hallmarks of an inside job, and you'd bet your last penny that the scarab is still in the house somewhere. The question is, where?
You look at the case
(the glass display case)
There are generally two types of collector; those who strew their objets d'art about the place willy-nilly, and the fastidious type who prefer their antiquities arranged according to category. Lord Hamcester is of the latter variety, but the meticulous mind is all too often lacking in artistic taste, and the best that can be said for most of these objets is that they're very neatly organised. The items on display include a black amber statuette and an Eighteenth Century cow creamer.

The display case is currently locked. Lucky thing you have your set of lockpicks, cunningly concealed within the monogrammed cigar case in your secret pocket...

Great Scott! It's gone! Your cigar case with the secret panel, in which you keep your five-piece set of lock picks, your three torsion wrenches and your diamond glass cutter; all the tools of your trade!

Suddenly it dawns on you. That snot-nosed kid who walked right into you on the platform at Paddington — the perisher must have snaffled it! And to think that you apologised to him, patted his tousled locks, and waved as he ran off to join his parents in the queue for the Underground! Kids of today.

Well, there's nothing else for it, old boy. The 'Magpie' never gives up. You'll just have to get by without it.
You check your inventory
and a telegram.

Stashed safely in the secret pocket of your form-fitting tweed suit, is a black and white feather.

You are also wearing a ginger moustache, rendering you indistinguishable from Doctor Cornelius Drake, the noted alienist.
You examine the feather
The distinctive feather of Pica pica, of the family
Corvidae; the unmistakable calling card of the notorious
'Magpie'. You like to leave them at the scene of the crime. It's pure vanity, of course, but you'd hate for someone else to take credit for your work.
You examine the moustache
A fabulously bushy fake ginger moustache, one of your extensive collection of disguises.
About yourself
You are Sir Rodney Playfair; dashing, debonair and devilishly handsome. Not perhaps in the first flush of youth, but very sprightly for a man of sixty. That touch of grey at the temples lends you an air of authority, a useful attribute for getting one out of a scrape.

Not that anyone would recognise you now; the 'Magpie' is a master of disguise and right now you're the spitting image of Doctor Cornelius Drake, the noted alienist.
You examine the statuette
A curious artefact that would appear to have been crafted by a skilled artisan whilst blindfolded, wearing boxing gloves and suffering from a severe toothache. Hideous.
You look at the creamer
A little silver cream jug shaped like a dairy cow, with a looped-over tail providing a handle and an open, lowing mouth serving as a spout. This one, however, is modern Dutch, something a cow creamer ought not to be. Worthless.
You look at the plinths
Various artefacts are displayed around the room on plinths. Amongst these are the Booby Prize and a bust of Julius Caesar.
You look at Booby
A truly hideous silver-plated cup; first prize in the St Bartholomew-on-the-Bog village fête cucumber growing competition.
It's
named the Booby Prize after one Gertrude Booby, who won the competition four years running in the 1870s. Lord Hamcester appears to have held the trophy for the last six years, before which it was in the possession of one Sir Humphrey Leghorn.
You examine the bust
There are various ways to tell whether a purported Roman artefact is real or fake. The quality, condition, colour and patination, for example, are all good indicators of age. We can also feel the texture of the surface, whether it is rough, smooth or polished. But the real give-away with this bust of Julius Caesar is its undeniable resemblance to Fritz Leiber (Sr.), the American actor who played him in the 1917 film 'Cleopatra'.
You go east
By far the grandest room in the house, the saloon was once the state dining room. It is now rarely used for entertaining and has instead become a repository for old Hamcester's hideous collection of porcelain. The Axminster carpet is decorated with a delicate pattern of daisies.

To the north and east are the great hall and the dining room respectively. The collection room lies to the west, whilst to the south, French windows open onto the terrace.
You go east
The state dining room is a splendid rectangular room with flamboyantly decorated walls and ceilings; a little overdone, perhaps, but that's the Regency for you. The room is dominated by the vast, antique mahogany dining table and a set of matching chairs. The only other furniture of note is a small glass-fronted curio cabinet which stands between the two south-facing windows.

North is the drawing room, and west the saloon.
You examine the cabinet
A late Victorian mahogany curio cabinet with beaded glass doors and a mirror back interior. Displayed inside are a porcelain rabbit in a red jacket, a pearlised cut-glass unicorn, a china shepherdess, a pair of white alabaster doves and a pottery figurine of a wretched-looking seal; in other words, a lot of worthless tat.
You examine the rabbit
It appears to be a collectible figurine of Barnabas Bunny, from the cautionary children's tale by Enid Potter. You seem to recall that he ended up in a pie at the end of the book, an indirect result of a partiality for tasting his own earwax. He's a cute enough fellow, and might fetch a couple of bob at auction, but scarcely the sort of thing to attract the attention of "The Magpie".
You look at the unicorn
One wonders where Lord Hamcester acquired this little trinket. Perhaps it was the runner-up prize at a coconut shy.
Examine shepherdess
The china shepherdess looks somehow familiar; no doubt you've seen other examples.
You examine doves
A pair of doves, or love-birds, inexpensively made in white alabaster. There is damage to the wing of one and a chip in the beak of the other.
You examine the seal
The well-intentioned artisan responsible for this object probably intended it to resemble a seal, or perhaps some rare species of earless sausage dog. Whatever it was meant to be, it doesn't look much like one.
You look at your surroundings
The state dining room is a splendid rectangular room with flamboyantly decorated walls and ceilings; a little overdone, perhaps, but that's the Regency for you. The room is dominated by the vast, antique mahogany dining table and a set of matching chairs. The only other furniture of note is a small glass-fronted curio cabinet which stands between the two south-facing windows.

North is the drawing room, and west the saloon.
You look at the table
A George III mahogany, inlaid double-pedestal extension table featuring a reeded top with rounded corners and matched-swirl mahogany veneers crossbanded with quartered pau ferro and satinwood stringing. Rather fine.
You examine the chairs
A number of mahogany dining room chairs are positioned around the table.
Go west
By far the grandest room in the house, the saloon was once the state dining room. It is now rarely used for entertaining and has instead become a repository for old Hamcester's hideous collection of porcelain. The Axminster carpet is decorated with a delicate pattern of daisies.

To the north and east are the great hall and the dining room respectively. The collection room lies to the west, whilst to the south, French windows open onto the terrace.
You look at the carpet
The Axminster carpet is decorated with a delicate pattern of daisies.
You examine the porcelain
Nowhere is Hamcester's egregious lack of taste more evident than in this collection of porcelain. One can only imagine that he picked it up as a job-lot in a local jumble sale. The worst of these plug-uglies include a Ting Dynasty vase, a Staffordshire pearlware figure of an orange-haired clown and a china lamb.
You look at vase
The short-lived Ting Dynasty is considered a low point in Chinese cultural history, in which the Oriental ceramicists allowed themselves to be influenced by the inferior Dutch artists, instead of the other way around. This vase, with its tasteless pattern of windmills and clog dancers, is typical of the period. It might fetch a couple of bob at a jumble sale, but is scarcely worthy of your attention.
You examine the figure
This little figure of a leering clown appears to be authentic, and might actually fetch a few bob. It is, however, the stuff of nightmares. You wouldn't be seen dead with it.
You examine the lamb
A little china baa-lamb, blue and white, with a pink bow, and the words "I Love Cuddles" painted across its stomach. Worthless.
You examine the windows
A set of French windows leading outside. They stand open and unlocked.
Go north
This commodious entranceway is dominated by a broad flight of white marble steps leading up to the first floor. Alabaster columns keep the gilded ceiling in a state of harmonious separation from the marble floor. On the south wall, facing the front door is a carved escutcheon representing the Hamcester coat of arms, beneath which is the entrance to the saloon. To the east is the drawing room, and to the west, the library.
Go east
Once one of the finest rooms in the house, the drawing room is in a state of disarray. Elegant armchairs lie on their backs, priceless ornaments lie in fragments on the floor and the walls, lined with red Genoa velvet, are spattered with crumbs of Genoa cake.

To the west lies the great hall. The dining room is to the south and the music room to the north. In the corner of the room hangs a tasselled bell pull.
You go to the north
This modestly proportioned music room, located north of the drawing room, has a somewhat neglected feel, and is almost entirely bereft of musical instruments. This is not altogether surprising; Lord Hamcester is regarded throughout the London club scene as something of a "wet blanket". A dusty, yet impressive grand piano occupies most of the room, its lid closed.

An alcove, originally intended to be occupied by an organ, instead contains a small mahogany side table, on which are a framed photograph and a gramophone. The hotch-potch of furniture also includes a sagging Victorian day-bed and a green tub chair.

Propped up against the green tub chair is a contrabassoon case.
You examine the piano
A nine-foot concert grand, covered in dust. Like the tomb of Tutankhamun, it would appear to have lain undisturbed for centuries. Its lid is closed.
You examine table
An early Georgian inlaid mahogany side table.

On the mahogany side table are a framed photograph and a gramophone.
You look at the photograph
It appears to show a somewhat younger Earl and Countess of Hamcester at the Henley Regatta. The Earl is wearing a somewhat fatuous spotted dickie whilst the Countess — good grief! Of course! The Jaroda
pearls!
Worn for centuries by the Indian Maharajahs, the famous Jaroda pearls are now in the possession of Lady Hamcester — and therefore, presumably, somewhere in this house!
You examine the gramophone
A handsome HMV table gramophone, Model 104, in an oak case. There is currently a gramophone record entitled La Gazza Ladra on the turntable. A brass winding crank on the right hand side operates the device.
You examine the bed
A sturdy Victorian day-bed, draped in a rich Persian rug and scattered with well-worn cushions. It reminds you strikingly of the one you've seen in photos of Doctor Freud's office.
You look at the chair
A beautifully upholstered Victorian button-back tub chair, rather worn.
You look at your surroundings
This modestly proportioned music room, located north of the drawing room, has a somewhat neglected feel, and is almost entirely bereft of musical instruments. This is not altogether surprising; Lord Hamcester is regarded throughout the London club scene as something of a "wet blanket". A dusty, yet impressive grand piano occupies most of the room, its lid standing open.

An alcove, originally intended to be occupied by an organ, instead contains a small mahogany side table, on which are a framed photograph and a gramophone. The hotch-potch of furniture also includes a sagging Victorian day-bed and a green tub chair.

Propped up against the green tub chair is a contrabassoon case.
You open it
You open the contrabassoon case. Nothing inside but a lot of empty air.
Close case
You close the contrabassoon case.
Go south
Once one of the finest rooms in the house, the drawing room is in a state of disarray. Elegant armchairs lie on their backs, priceless ornaments lie in fragments on the floor and the walls, lined with red Genoa velvet, are spattered with crumbs of Genoa cake.

To the west lies the great hall. The dining room is to the south and the music room to the north. In the corner of the room hangs a tasselled bell pull.
You examine the armchairs
Several elderly armchairs, upholstered in red velvet, lie stricken on their backs.
You examine the amphora
This amphora would be worth a small fortune if it was genuine. Unfortunately it's a late Victorian fake, worth not a sou.
You look at the milkmaid
The porcelain milkmaid looks somehow familiar; no doubt you've seen other examples.
You examine the cow
A fine example of vile Victorian tat, which, in spite of its size, manages to lower the tone of the whole room.
You look at the cake
It looks as though some one has had their cake and trampled on it.
Go south
You step out into the bright sunshine.

A charming terrace, surrounded by an Italian balustrade, and replete with statues of dancing fauns, ornamental urns and what-not. In the centre is a set of cast-iron garden furniture, doing what cast-iron garden furniture does best.

Stone steps lead southwards onto the lawn, east and west to the gravel sweep, whilst to the north French windows invite you to enter the saloon.

Lady Hamcester sits on a cast-iron garden chair, leafing through a brochure for the R.M.S. Aquitania.

A small dog, resembling a sort of mobile feather duster, is hovering around Lady Hamcester's ankles. Dogs, no matter their size, have an unerring instinct for spotting the cuckoo in the nest, or in this case, the 'Magpie'. Many's the burglar who has met his match in the form of one of our four-legged friends. At the very sight of you, the feather duster begins yapping to beat the band. Fortunately, help is at hand, in the form of the butler, Hives.

"Hives, be a dear and take Pompon upstairs," says the countess, "I think the heat must be making her overtired."

"Very good, Madam." says the butler, and scooping up the animal, he retreats into the saloon.

"Beautiful day, Monsieur Perroquet! I do hope my little task isn't too much of an imposition."

"Not at all Madame, not at all." To your relief, the sound of Pompon's yapping fades away, to be replaced with the blissful peace of a summer's afternoon in an English garden.
You ask her about Major
"Ah, so you've met my brother, I take it?" says Lady Hamcester sadly. "The poor dear."

"He is a man of great charm and vivacity, Madame, but perhaps, how do you say, a little troubled, non?"

"He suffered a terrible shock, Monsieur Perroquet, whilst on a trek through the Amazon. I won't trouble you with the details now —
perhaps
later — but oh dear, I do wish there was something I could do for him."
You ask her about Lord Hamcester
"His Lordship is quite the collector, Madame," you say. The Countess sighs.

"Oui, Monsieur. Sometimes I think he values those objets d'art of his more than he values me."
You ask her about the scarab
"Do you have any idea where zis Egyptian scarab might be, Madame?" you ask.

"I've a horrible suspicion that Hilary has taken it, Monsieur. If it could be returned without Emerick ever knowing it was missing, I'd be awfully grateful."
You examine her
Lady Alicia Buff-Orpington-Welsummer, Countess of Hamcester, is a tough old bird in a fashionable summer dress. The gleam of mischief in her eye jostles for attention with a hint of wistfulness, which rather puts you in mind of a caged bird that yearns to fly. One gets the sense that not all is boomps-a-daisy in the house of Hamcester.
You ask her about the dog
"What a delightful dog you have, Lady Hamcester."

"Isn't she a darling?" asks Lady Hamcester.

"Zat is one word to describe her, Madame, oui."
You ask her about Hives
"Pardon, Madame, but where might I find your butler?" you ask.

"There's a bell pull in the drawing room, Monsieur, if you need something." says her Ladyship. "If he doesn't answer, you'll probably find him in the dining room."
You look at your surroundings
A charming terrace, surrounded by an Italian balustrade, and replete with statues of dancing fauns, ornamental urns and what-not. In the centre is a set of cast-iron garden furniture, doing what cast-iron garden furniture does best.

Stone steps lead southwards onto the lawn, east and west to the gravel sweep, whilst to the north French windows invite you to enter the saloon.

Lady Hamcester sits on a cast-iron garden chair, leafing through a brochure for the R.M.S. Aquitania.
You examine the brochure
A brochure for the R.M.S. Aquitania, pride of the Cunard Line.
You ask her about the brochure
"Planning a holiday, Lady Hamcester?" you say, with a slight nod toward the brochure.

"One can but dream, Monsieur Perroquet. I've been badgering Emerick to go on a cruise for years, but he balks at the cost. Goodness knows he spends enough on that collection of his! I almost wish that the notorious 'Magpie' would strike and pinch the lot — we're insured up to the eyeballs. Enough to pay for twenty cruises!"
Go west
This gravel sweep is a path that extends from the terrace steps to the east and runs along the south front. To the south is the ivy-grown wall of the kitchen garden. A large rhododendron bush grows against the wall here beneath a first floor balcony.
You look at the bush
A fine example of a flowering shrub in the family Ericaceae.
You examine the balcony
A small, first-floor balcony, directly overhead. It is connected through a set of French windows to a room beyond.
You look at the ivy
The south wall of the kitchen garden is covered with ivy.
You climb the ivy
You attempt to climb up the ivy, but succeed only in tearing out clumps of the stuff. Your best bet is to go around the side and use the archway provided.
You climb the bush
You should look exceedingly foolish.
Go east
A charming terrace, surrounded by an Italian balustrade, and replete with statues of dancing fauns, ornamental urns and what-not. In the centre is a set of cast-iron garden furniture, doing what cast-iron garden furniture does best.

Stone steps lead southwards onto the lawn, east and west to the gravel sweep, whilst to the north French windows invite you to enter the saloon.

Lady Hamcester sits on a cast-iron garden chair, leafing through a brochure for the R.M.S. Aquitania.
You go east
This gravel sweep is a path that extends from the terrace steps to the west and runs along the south front. A side path winds south into a pretty shrubbery. Directly above is a balcony.
You examine the balcony
A small, first-floor balcony, directly overhead. It is connected through a set of French windows to a room beyond.
You examine the shrubbery
That way lies the shrubbery.
Go south
A very pretty shrubbery, with a gravel path that winds between banks of hardy shrubs. Hollyhocks and azaleas add a splash of colour to the proceedings. The path weaves north to the gravel sweep surrounding the house, and west to the lawn.

Amos Bunyon, the impossibly hirsute head gardener is going about his business.

Amos plucks a thistle from the ground without so much as flinching.
You look at Amos
A giant of a man in size 15 wellingtons and a leather jerkin. His face is almost entirely hidden behind a spectacular black beard that gives him a somewhat piratical air.

Amos mops his brow with a spotted handkerchief.
You ask Amos about Lord Hamcester
Amos mutters something unintelligible about dwarf fuchsias, or is it pork futures? You get the feeling you're not going to get much sense out of this fellow.

Amos stoops to pull a dandelion from the herbaceous border.
You ask Amos about the lady hamcester
Amos mutters something unintelligible about periwinkles, or is it Rip Van Winkle? You get the feeling you're not going to get much sense out of this fellow.

Amos weeds the flowerbeds with his hoe.
You go west
An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he glances around, as though looking for suspicious characters.
You look at the man
The under-gardener, Harry Boyle, is a small, wiry man of indeterminate age. His sunburned face wears an expression of weary resignation, befitting a man who has been tasked with trimming a hedge that has already been trimmed to within an inch of its life. The true reason for his being stationed here, you suspect, is to guard the entrance to the kitchen garden.
You look at the archway
An arched entranceway thoughtfully provided to allow access to the kitchen garden, without the inconvenience of climbing over the wall.
You ask Harry about the kitchen garden
(kitchen garden)
Unaccustomed to hob-nobbing with the nobs, the under-gardener merely tips his hat and says "Very good, sir, I'm sure."
You ask Harry about Lord Hamcester
"His Lordship is rather fond of cucumbers, I take it?" you ask.

"Yes, sir. I find them rather bland, myself sir, if you don't mind me saying so."
Look around
An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he peers through the archway into the vegetable garden, as though making certain there is nothing amiss.
You look at shears
A large, and rather lethal-looking, implement for the trimming of hedges.
You go west
"I'm sorry sir," says the under-gardener, stopping you, "but no-one is allowed in the kitchen garden 'cept fer Amos and his Lordship hisself, sir. Beggin' yer pardon sir, but it'd be more'n my job's worth if anything 'appened to that blessed cucumber. You might be workin' for Sir Humphrey Leghorn for all I know."

(You could ask him about the cucumber, or about Sir Humphrey Leghorn, if you liked)
You ask him about the cucumber
"His Lordship seems extraordinarily protective of this cucumber," you say. "Important, is it?"

"Oh, yes sir. On account of the annual competition, you see. 'is Lordship 'opes to beat Sir Humphrey Leghorn again, like 'e does every year, on account of the secret ingredient, sir."

(You could ask him about the Sir Humphrey Leghorn, or about the secret ingredient, if you liked)
You ask him about Leghorn
"This Sir Humphrey Leghorn," you say, "I take it he and Lord Hamcester are not perhaps on the best of terms?"

"Oh no, sir" says the under-gardener, "they're fierce rivals you see. Sir Humphrey's got the hump about his Lordship winning the cucumber competition every year. He's desperate to know what his secret is."

(You could ask him about the cucumber, or about Lord Hamcester's secret, if you liked)
You ask him about secret ingredient
"What is so special about the fertilizer Lord Hamcester uses?" you ask. The under-gardener shuffles his feet and fingers his collar nervously.

"I shouldn't like to say, sir."
You ask him about Amos
"This mister Bunyon, the fellow with the beard," you say, "major-domo of the gardens, I take it?"

"That's right, sir. Mister Amos is the head gardener. You'll find him working in the shrubbery at present."
Go down
"Well, tootle-pip, old fruit," you say, and gesturing towards the balding box hedge, add "keep up the good work."

"Right you are, sir," sighs the under-gardener.

A sort of trench, designed to prevent cattle from running amuck all over the house. To the south it slopes up to the park. One could also climb up the north side, which is faced with stone, to reach the lawn.

You can see a banana here.
You examine the banana
A curved yellow fruit, somewhat mottled with age.
You take it
Taken.
Go upward
An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south, on the other side of the ha-ha, lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he casts you a suspicious glance.
You go south
You tumble head-first into the ha-ha.

A sort of trench, designed to prevent cattle from running amuck all over the house. To the south it slopes up to the park. One could also climb up the north side, which is faced with stone, to reach the lawn.
You go to the south
There used to be a village of Bunkham right here in this field, but the fifth Earl had it moved because it spoiled the view from the house. The new location was the middle of a local bog, and within three months it had sunk without trace. They say you can still hear the peals of the church bells if you stick your head in the water.

Now, the park is used by for the grazing of Lord Hamcester's prize herd of longhorn cattle, the finest in all England. To the north, on the other side of the ha-ha, lie the formal gardens, whilst to the east, at the end of a yew alley, is a small folly in the shape of a Greek temple. West of here, surrounded by a low fence, is a little orchard. A fruit-picking ladder can be seen leaning against one of the trees.

Sparkenhoe, Lord Hamcester's prize bull, stands between you and the orchard, steam billowing from his nostrils.
You look at the orchard
That way lies the orchard.
You look at the cattle
Hamcester's prize herd of longhorn cattle can be seen grazing contentedly all over the park.
You look at alley
That way lies the yew alley.
You go to the east
At the eastern edge of the park, at the end of a yew alley stands a modest folly, if such a paradoxical thing can exist. It's a fanciful thing in the form of a small Greek temple, all the rage in the Eighteenth century. A sturdy iron door bars the way inside.

You can see a banana here.
You get the banana
Taken.
A curved yellow fruit, somewhat mottled with age.
You look at the folly
That way lies the folly.
You examine the door
A sturdy door leading inside. It is closed and locked.
You look at your surroundings
At the eastern edge of the park, at the end of a yew alley stands a modest folly, if such a paradoxical thing can exist. It's a fanciful thing in the form of a small Greek temple, all the rage in the Eighteenth century. A sturdy iron door bars the way inside.
You go west
The park is used by for the grazing of Lord Hamcester's prize herd of longhorn cattle, the finest in all England. To the north, on the other side of the ha-ha, lie the formal gardens, whilst to the east, at the end of a yew alley, is a small folly in the shape of a Greek temple. West of here, surrounded by a low fence, is a little orchard. A fruit-picking ladder can be seen leaning against one of the trees.

Sparkenhoe, Lord Hamcester's prize bull, stands between you and the orchard, steam billowing from his nostrils.
Go north
You hop nimbly over the ha-ha.

An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south, on the other side of the ha-ha, lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he peers through the archway into the vegetable garden, as though making certain there is nothing amiss.
You ask the Lady about Amos
"Amos is our Head Gardener," says Lady Hamcester. She raises her hand and squints in the direction of the shrubbery. "I think he's working in the shrubbery — yes, there he is."
You ask the Lady about the bull
"My husband's prize bull, Monsieur Perroquet," says Lady Hamcester. "You'll find him down in the park, if you're interested in that sort of thing."
You go north
By far the grandest room in the house, the saloon was once the state dining room. It is now rarely used for entertaining and has instead become a repository for old Hamcester's hideous collection of porcelain. The Axminster carpet is decorated with a delicate pattern of daisies.

To the north and east are the great hall and the dining room respectively. The collection room lies to the west, whilst to the south, French windows open onto the terrace.
Go upward
From here the grand staircase descends to the great hall. The landing forms part of the long gallery, a grandiose room stretching from east to west across the entire frontage of the building. The long gallery at Bunkham Hall, of course, was built in 1768, a century after the invention of the corridor had rendered such spaces redundant. A large picture window to the north affords splendid views of the drive, whilst to the south is a closed door.
You examine the window
The large picture window affords a splendid view of the drive.

From somewhere to the east of here, you hear the sounds of a struggle. It sounds as though some heavy object were being wrenched from side to side.
Go east
At the east end of the gallery are doors leading north and south giving access, presumably, to family bedrooms. The gallery continues to the west, passing the head of the stairs. Here, the oak panelling has been disfigured by portraits of Hamcester's forebears.

Chief among these plug-uglies is the eighth Earl, Lord Hamcester's father, who casts his disapproving, beetle-browed gaze along the entire length of the gallery.
You look at Earl
From a stiff Victorian collar protrudes a face like a bulldog with a mouthful of lemon sherbet, froth included. With this pugnacious old blister for a father, it's little wonder that Lord Hamcester turned out the way he did.

From somewhere to the north of here, you hear the sounds of a struggle. It sounds as though some heavy object were being wrenched from side to side.
You go north
This, the smallest bedroom in the house, is crammed to the gills with souvenirs of the Major's various expeditions. In one corner a narrow cot lies beneath a tent of mosquito netting; a gigantic wardrobe dominates the corner opposite. The wardrobe is closed.

From here, the only exit leads south, to the east gallery.

Hanging on the wall is an Amazonian blowpipe.

The wardrobe rocks back and forth upon its feet, as though a wild animal had been shut up inside it.
You look at the cot
A no-nonsense metal army cot. Not one for creature comforts, this Major.

The wardrobe gives a sort of violent shudder, as though something untoward were going on within.
You talk to wardrobe
The wardrobe does not respond.

The wardrobe hops a few inches across the floor, as though playing host to some Herculean struggle.
You examine the blowpipe
A weapon favoured by tribesmen of the Amazonian rainforest. As you understand it, one simply inserts a curare-tipped dart, or similar projectile in the one end, takes aim, blows into the other end, and Bob's your late uncle. It's rather like the pea-shooter you had as a lad, only more deadly. This one is empty.

The wardrobe is rattling and shaking from side to side, as though a wild animal had been shut up inside it.
You get it
Taken.

The wardrobe hops a few inches across the floor, as though playing host to some Herculean struggle.
You examine wardrobe
A Victorian mahogany wardrobe with a moulded cornice and two arched panelled doors, currently closed.

The wardrobe gives a sort of violent shudder, as though something untoward were going on within.
You open it
The Major tumbles from the wardrobe with his arms wrapped around a large mink coat.

"Blasted grizzlies," he says "you never know where they're going to turn up next." He stamps up and down on the unfortunate coat until he is quite satisfied that it is dead, before slinging it over his shoulder. "Piece of advice," he says, "never step on the cracks in the pavement." With that he leaves the room, hopping from one tile to the next like a child playing hopscotch.
You look at the wardrobe
A Victorian mahogany wardrobe with a moulded cornice and two arched panelled doors, currently open.

In the wardrobe is a shoebox.
You look at the shoebox
A cardboard box, formerly home to a pair of brown Oxfords, size nine. A number of holes have been punched in the lid, and the words "coleoptera incertae sedis" are scrawled in childish letters on the side.
You examine the scarab
For a moment you were fooled — this looks almost exactly like the jewelled scarab, a Cheops of the Fourth Dynasty, that you saw a few weeks ago at auction. It is, however, a very clever reproduction.

Of course, there is only one reasonable explanation for why old Hamcester would keep a fake scarab in his display case. The reputation of the illustrious 'Magpie' has by now spread far and wide. No doubt the original is stored somewhere more secure, and you've a sneaking suspicion that he'd keep it somewhere close at hand. If only there were an opportunity to make a thorough search of that office.

One might as well play the role of the great detective, and show the thing to Lady Hamcester.
You get scarab
Taken.
Look around
This, the smallest bedroom in the house, is crammed to the gills with souvenirs of the Major's various expeditions. In one corner a narrow cot lies beneath a tent of mosquito netting; a gigantic wardrobe dominates the corner opposite. The wardrobe is open, suffusing the air with the delicate smell of mothballs.

From here, the only exit leads south, to the east gallery.
You get netting
Those seem to be a part of the cot.
You examine the souvenirs
Dotted around the room are various African masks, canoe paddles, snow-shoes and other mementos of the intrepid Major's expeditions. Interesting though they are, there is nothing that strikes you as being particularly useful.

The walls are lined with maps of the Amazon basin, the Belgian Congo, and other remote places he has visited, and over by the cot, a faded photograph is tacked to the wall.
You look at photograph
The photo shows the Major and another man, slim and sensitive looking, arm in arm against a backdrop of lianas, ferns and gigantic jungle flowers. They are seated upon a large wooden trunk, and beaming from ear to ear.
You go to the south
At the east end of the gallery are doors leading north and south giving access to family bedrooms. The gallery continues to the west, passing the head of the stairs. Here, the oak panelling has been disfigured by portraits of Hamcester's forebears.

Chief among these plug-uglies is the eighth Earl, Lord Hamcester's father, who casts his disapproving, beetle-browed gaze along the entire length of the gallery.
You go south
This room, decorated in shades of green and charcoal, can only be the bedroom of Lord Hamcester. Like the study, it is sparsely furnished and neat as a pin. The green room is dominated by a spectacular green velvet four-poster bed, which though staggeringly tall appears to have been built for someone well under five feet in height. Beside it sits a mahogany bedside cabinet.

To the north, a door leads into the east gallery. To the south, a set of French windows leads out onto a small balcony overlooking the park.
You look at the bed
You seem to remember reading that Mary Queen of Scots once slept in this bed. Presumably this was after she had lost her head.
You examine the cabinet
A fine Regency period mahogany bedside cabinet. Its door is closed.
You open it
You open the mahogany bedside cabinet, revealing a small brown bottle.
You examine bottle
"Dr. Turkee's patent Knockout Drops — the world's most effective specific for the treatment of insomnia. DOSE: One drop before bed-time, no more. Safe and reliable."

In the small brown bottle are three knockout drops.

The most potent of all soporifics; just one of these innocent looking pea-sized pills could knock out a horse. Poor old Hamcester must suffer terribly from insomnia.
Close cabinet
You close the mahogany bedside cabinet.
You go south
You step out into the bright sunshine.

The balcony offers splendid views of the park and grounds. Directly ahead is a shrubbery where a hirsute gardener busies himself among the azaleas. French windows lead back into the green room.
You look at Gardener
Amos Bunyon, Lord Hamcester's head gardener busies himself among the azaleas.
You look at door
A sturdy door leading south. It is closed and locked. This door, wherever it may lead, appears not to have been used in a long while, since it is painted shut.
Go west
The west gallery does a very efficient and commendable job of linking the landing with a number of bedrooms. Where we would be without these dependable passages is anybody's guess; presumably back on the landing. At the end of the gallery are doors leading north and south.

Maude, the maid, armed with a can of Brasso, is polishing the handle of the door to the south, in rather a desultory sort of way.
You examine maude
A young girl of somewhat impish appearance, with a short brown bob and freckles. She is polishing the doorknob of the room to the south, though one suspects that her mind is elsewhere.
You ask Maude about the doorknob
"Are you going to be very long, in polishing that doorknob?" you ask, innocently.

"I should say so, sir. 'You'll get those doorknobs shiny if it takes you all year,' says 'e. Well, I'm going to bloomin' well make sure it does take me all year, and see how 'e likes that!"

"By 'e, I assume you mean your employer, Lord Hamcester?"

"Yes, sir, beggin' your pardon, sir. Was you a friend of his?"

"I barely know the man."

"I should keep it that way, if I was you, sir. In a right huff, 'e was, on account of the Major 'aving broken 'is favourite vase. But there was no need to take it out on me!"
You ask Maude about Amos
(Amos Bunyon)
Unaccustomed to hob-nobbing with the nobs, Maude merely curtsies and says "Very good, sir, I'm sure sir."
You go to the north
This gloomy, out-of-the-way room is used as a storehouse for furniture not currently in use. There are a great number of such pieces here, draped in dustsheets, along with sundry other items such as rolled tapestries and quaint candlesticks of dubious taste. There is very little, at first glance, to tickle the fancy of a discerning gentleman thief. The room is dimly lit, a dusty pair of velvet curtains allowing only a sliver of summer sunshine into the room.
You look at the curtains
The curtains are shut, shrouding the room in darkness.
You open them
You sweep open the curtains, allowing light to pour into the dusty room. Hello, what's this? An old trunk, previously unnoticed, now lies illuminated by a ray of sunshine. You have a sixth sense about these sorts of things, and it's tingling.
You look at the trunk
A nineteenth century carved Chinese camphor wood trunk, heavily battered. The trunk is closed.
You open it
You open the old trunk to reveal a jumble of musty theatrical costumes and other odds and ends. A quick rummage through unearths a gramophone record entitled Maraca Medley and a false beard, but it does
not appear to contain anything else of interest.
You examine the record
A gramophone record entitled Maraca Medley by Señor Carlos
Cordorniz, the Famous Maraca Soloist. It appears to be an album
of popular folk-tunes arranged for solo maracas. Small wonder it ended up in the lumber room.
You look at the beard
A spectacularly bushy black beard astonishingly reminiscent of the one worn by Amos the gardener.
You search the trunk
Well, well, what's this lurking at the bottom of the trunk? No doubt old Hamcester took this Georgian ruby ring for a piece of worthless costume jewellery. Why else would he have tossed it into an old trunk with the rest of his pirate outfit? No matter — it's yours now.

You slip the Georgian ruby ring into your secret pocket, where none but the most astute detective would find it.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You have about your person a false beard, a gramophone record entitled Maraca Medley, a small brown bottle, inside which are three
knockout drops, a priceless jewelled scarab (fake), an Amazonian blowpipe, two bananas, a book entitled Psychology To-day and
a telegram.

Stashed safely in the secret pocket of your form-fitting tweed suit, are a Georgian ruby ring and a black and white feather.

You are also wearing a ginger moustache, rendering you indistinguishable from Doctor Cornelius Drake, the noted alienist.
You look at the ruby
No doubt old Hamcester took this Georgian ruby ring for a piece of worthless costume jewellery. Why else would he have tossed it into an old trunk with the rest of his pirate outfit? No matter — it's yours now.
You close the trunk
You close the old trunk.
Go south
The west gallery does a very efficient and commendable job of linking the landing with a number of bedrooms. Where we would be without these dependable passages is anybody's guess; presumably back on the landing. At the end of the gallery are doors leading north and south.

Maude, the maid, armed with a can of Brasso, is polishing the handle of the door to the south, in rather a desultory sort of way.
You examine the gazza
A gramophone recording of La Gazza Ladra, a melodramma in two
acts by Gioachino Rossini. You're rather fond of it.
Inventory
You have about your person a false beard, a small brown bottle, inside which are three knockout drops, a priceless jewelled scarab (fake), an Amazonian blowpipe, two bananas, a book entitled Psychology
To-day, a telegram and two gramophone records; La Gazza
Ladra and Maraca Medley.

Stashed safely in the secret pocket of your form-fitting tweed suit, are a Georgian ruby ring and a black and white feather.

You are also wearing a ginger moustache, rendering you indistinguishable from Doctor Cornelius Drake, the noted alienist.
You turn the crank
You wind the crank, and a gramophone record entitled Maraca
Medley begins to play.

Upon hearing the sound of Señor Cordorniz's world-famous musical rattles, the Major hurtles into the music room, carrying in his hands an immense medieval mace. He flings open the lid of the piano, but finding nothing inside, shouts "False alarm!" and thunders out again.
You listen
From the gramophone there issues forth a popular folk tune, played solely on maracas, by Señor Carlos Cordorniz, the Famous Maraca Soloist. Which popular folk tune it is, you are, alas, unable to guess. It sounds, to your untutored ear, exactly like a nest of rattlesnakes.
You go south
Once one of the finest rooms in the house, the drawing room is in a state of disarray. Elegant armchairs lie on their backs, priceless ornaments lie in fragments on the floor and the walls, lined with red Genoa velvet, are spattered with crumbs of Genoa cake.

To the west lies the great hall. The dining room is to the south and the music room to the north. In the corner of the room hangs a tasselled bell pull.

From the Music Room, you hear a gramophone record entitled Maraca Medley playing.

The gramophone stops playing.
You go to the south
You step out into the bright sunshine.

A charming terrace, surrounded by an Italian balustrade, and replete with statues of dancing fauns, ornamental urns and what-not. In the centre is a set of cast-iron garden furniture, doing what cast-iron garden furniture does best.

Stone steps lead southwards onto the lawn, east and west to the gravel sweep, whilst to the north French windows invite you to enter the saloon.

Lady Hamcester sits on a cast-iron garden chair, leafing through a brochure for the R.M.S. Aquitania.
You show the scarab to the Lady
"Great Scott, you've found it!" says Lady Hamcester, leaping to her feet in surprise, "Fast work Monsieur! Where on Earth was it?"

"I am afraid to say that I discovered zis trinket in the armoire of your brother, ze Major, your Ladyship. It would appear zat he had mistaken it for a real beetle, and was keeping it as, how do you say? A pet."

"Oh dear," says Lady Hamcester, "I was rather afraid of that. Poor Hilary! The thing now of course, is to put it back in the display case before Emerick notices it's gone."

"For that, Madame, I would require the key. The display case is locked."

"Of course. But oh dear! There's only one key to the display case, and Emerick keeps it in the breast pocket of his jacket at all times. However are we to procure it?"

"Leave that to me, Lady Hamcester. We detectives are not without our methods."
You go east
This gravel sweep is a path that extends from the terrace steps to the west and runs along the south front. A side path winds south into a pretty shrubbery. Directly above is a balcony.
You remove the moustache
You take off the ginger moustache.
You wear the beard
Bit risky going out disguised as Amos when the fellow is standing in plain sight — perhaps another disguise might be more appropriate?
You wear the moustache
You affix the moustache firmly to your upper lip, rendering you indistinguishable from the distinguished Dr. Cornelius Drake.
You go south
An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south, on the other side of the ha-ha, lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he glances around, as though looking for suspicious characters.
Go south
You hop nimbly over the ha-ha.

The park is used by for the grazing of Lord Hamcester's prize herd of longhorn cattle, the finest in all England. To the north, on the other side of the ha-ha, lie the formal gardens, whilst to the east, at the end of a yew alley, is a small folly in the shape of a Greek temple. West of here, surrounded by a low fence, is a little orchard. A fruit-picking ladder can be seen leaning against one of the trees.

Sparkenhoe, Lord Hamcester's prize bull, stands between you and the orchard, steam billowing from his nostrils.
You open the bottle
It's open - the stopper is missing.
Inventory
You have about your person a false beard, a small brown bottle, inside which are three knockout drops, a priceless jewelled scarab (fake), an Amazonian blowpipe, two bananas, a book entitled Psychology
To-day, a telegram and a gramophone record entitled La Gazza
Ladra.

Stashed safely in the secret pocket of your form-fitting tweed suit, are a Georgian ruby ring and a black and white feather.

You are also wearing a ginger moustache, rendering you indistinguishable from Doctor Cornelius Drake, the noted alienist.
You put drop in the blowpipe
(first taking the knockout drop)
You put the knockout drop into the Amazonian blowpipe.
You shoot bull
What do you want to shoot Sparkenhoe with?
Blowpipe
You raise the blowpipe to your lips and give a sharp blow. The knockout drop pings harmlessly off Sparkenhoe and comes to rest on the floor.
You get drop
Taken.
The most potent of all soporifics; just one of these innocent looking pea-sized pills could knock out a horse. Poor old Hamcester must suffer terribly from insomnia.
You go north
You hop nimbly over the ha-ha.

An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south, on the other side of the ha-ha, lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he casts you a suspicious glance.
You go north
A charming terrace, surrounded by an Italian balustrade, and replete with statues of dancing fauns, ornamental urns and what-not. In the centre is a set of cast-iron garden furniture, doing what cast-iron garden furniture does best.

Stone steps lead southwards onto the lawn, east and west to the gravel sweep, whilst to the north French windows invite you to enter the saloon.

Lady Hamcester sits on a cast-iron garden chair, leafing through a brochure for the R.M.S. Aquitania.
You go to the east
The state dining room is a splendid rectangular room with flamboyantly decorated walls and ceilings; a little overdone, perhaps, but that's the Regency for you. The room is dominated by the vast, antique mahogany dining table and a set of matching chairs. The only other furniture of note is a small glass-fronted curio cabinet which stands between the two south-facing windows.

North is the drawing room, and west the saloon.

The butler, Hives, is busy laying the table for dinner.

On the dining table are a red velvet tablecloth and an impressive array of silverware, glassware and crockery.

Hives carefully places a fish knife on the table.
You examine the silverware
The usual array of cutlery; fish forks, fruit forks, silver salvers and salad servers.

Hives carefully places a sherry glass on the table.
You look at the glassware
A set of crystal glassware, including wine glasses, water goblets, champagne flutes and what-have-you.

Hives carefully places a fish knife on the table.
You look at the crockery
A fine set of Royal Doulton crockery, decorated with pink roses and consisting of dinner plates, salad plates, butter plates; the whole gang.

Hives carefully places a sherry glass on the table.
You ask Hives about Amos
(Amos Bunyon)
"Now then, Hives. Who is this Amos Bunyon, of whom I have heard so much?"

"Mister Bunyon is head gardener here at Bunkham Hall, sir," says the butler. "I fancy I saw him tending the shrubbery earlier this afternoon."

Hives carefully places a water goblet on the table.
You ask Hives about Harry
"Who is that chap lurking about outside the kitchen-garden?" you ask.

"That would be Mister Boyle, the under-gardener, sir."

"I don't like the way he lurks, Hives."

"I am sorry to hear that, sir."

Hives carefully places a fish knife on the table.
You ask Hives about the kitchen
"I really could not say, Sir."

Hives carefully places an oyster fork on the table.
You ask Hives about the Lady Hamcester
"Ah, Hives," you say. "Where can I find Lady Hamcester?"

"I think you will find her Ladyship on the terrace, Sir." replies the butler.

Hives carefully places a salad knife on the table.
You ask Hives about Lord Hamcester
"Ah, Hives, the very man," you say. "Where can I find Lord Hamcester?"

"I think you will find his Lordship in his study, at present, Sir." replies the butler.

Hives carefully places a butter knife on the table.
You ask Hives about Major
"So, Hives, old man," you say, "the Major seems like a lively chap."

"I am given to understand that Major Buff-Orpington suffered a grave tragedy whilst on an expedition to the Amazon, sir. This, so I am told, is the reason for his somewhat, erratic behaviour, sir."

"I see, and what was the nature of this grave tragedy, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Not at all, sir. I understand that a close companion of the Major's, a mister Woodcock, was eaten by a snake, sir."

Hives carefully places a salad knife on the table.
You ask Hives about Woodcock
"Who was this Cyril 'Woody' Woodcock, then?" you enquire.

"I know very little, sir. Perhaps Lady Hamcester would be able to assist you."

Hives carefully places a butter plate on the table.
You ask Hives about Maude
"How long, Hives, does it take to polish a doorhandle?" you ask.

"A doorhandle, sir? About ten minutes, to get a good shine."

"I see. Well, that maid of yours seems to be taking a deuce of a lot longer."

"Indeed, sir? I shall speak with her at the earliest opportunity. Is it causing you a particular problem, sir?"

"What? No! Just a general observation. Think no more about it."

"Very good, sir."

Hives carefully places an oyster fork on the table.
You look at the door
A sturdy door leading outside. It is closed and unlocked.
You go west
The library of an English country house is an oasis of calm amid the hubbub of domestic life; the perfect place, should one feel so inclined, for a spot of light murder. The library at Bunkham Hall has a long and chequered history, and its chequered floor still bears the faint traces of numerous chalk outlines. Tall walnut bookcases line walls of crimson silk damask. East is the great hall, and a closed door to the north takes you to Lord Hamcester's study.

A leather wingback armchair lounges invitingly against the south wall. Today's edition of the Times lies discarded on the seat.
You examine the clown
You pull the book from the shelf and peruse it. The dust jacket of this pulp classic is adorned with a picture of a screaming skull. With a red nose.

But there is no time for reading, so you replace it on the shelf.
You look at the jove
You pull the book from the shelf and peruse it. On the cover of this one a woman screams as a dagger-wielding hand emerges from a curtain to smite an unsuspecting vicar.

But there is no time for reading, so you replace it on the shelf.
You go to the north
(first opening the study door)

A small, cosy study, impeccably neat, with walnut panelling and a leather-topped desk of a similar complexion. There are a few homely touches; a framed newspaper clipping and a photograph hang on the wall beside you. A sturdy wooden chair faces the desk. The door, leading south into the library, is open.

A ghastly amateur watercolour hangs above the desk.

On the walnut desk is a pamphlet.

Lord Hamcester sits at his desk, working on his speech.

"Ah, Doctor Drake!" says Lord Hamcester, brightening. "Come to a decision already?"

"Actually, no." you say, "I have found no evidence as yet that there is anything amiss with Major Buff-Orpington."

"Nothing amiss?" cries Hamcester, pounding his desk and turning the colour of a glacé cherry. "What do you mean, nothing amiss? Yesterday he destroyed a garden ornament in the shape of a sphinx, mistaking it for a mountain lion. He's off his onion!"

"He is a little high-spirited, perhaps, but no more, in my professional opinion, than might be accounted for by mere youthful vitality."

"Youthful vitality?" says Hamcester, his colour darkening to that of a beetroot. "Hilary is forty-five!" He pounds the desk again, upsetting the ink pot all over his speech. "Damn it, Drake, now I shall have to start all over again! Get back out there and take a closer look at him. Spare no effort. And don't come back until you've found something amiss!"
You examine lord
Emerick Abercorn Welsummer, ninth Earl of Hamcester is short, stout and stern with jowls that would not look out of place on an English bulldog. One swinish eye regards you with scorn while the other appears to have found something much more interesting to look at on the other side of the room. He is neatly attired in an expensive three piece suit of a style that was à la mode when Queen Victoria was a girl. The corner of a handkerchief can be seen peeking from the breast pocket.
You examine the handkerchief
A white linen handkerchief.
You look around
A small, cosy study, impeccably neat, with walnut panelling and a leather-topped desk of a similar complexion. There are a few homely touches; a framed newspaper clipping and a photograph hang on the wall beside you. A sturdy wooden chair faces the desk. The door, leading south into the library, is open.

A ghastly amateur watercolour hangs above the desk.

On the walnut desk is a pamphlet.

Lord Hamcester sits at his desk, working on his speech.

Lord Hamcester closes the study door.
Go south
(first opening the study door)

The library of an English country house is an oasis of calm amid the hubbub of domestic life; the perfect place, should one feel so inclined, for a spot of light murder. The library at Bunkham Hall has a long and chequered history, and its chequered floor still bears the faint traces of numerous chalk outlines. Tall walnut bookcases line walls of crimson silk damask. East is the great hall, and an open door to the north takes you to Lord Hamcester's study.

A leather wingback armchair lounges invitingly against the south wall. Today's edition of the Times lies discarded on the seat.

The door slams shut behind you.
You go to the east
The state dining room is a splendid rectangular room with flamboyantly decorated walls and ceilings; a little overdone, perhaps, but that's the Regency for you. The room is dominated by the vast, antique mahogany dining table and a set of matching chairs. The only other furniture of note is a small glass-fronted curio cabinet which stands between the two south-facing windows.

North is the drawing room, and west the saloon.

The butler, Hives, is busy laying the table for dinner.

On the dining table are a red velvet tablecloth and an impressive array of silverware, glassware and crockery.

Hives carefully places a service plate on the table.
Search table
On the dining table are a red velvet tablecloth and an impressive array of silverware, glassware and crockery.

Hives carefully places a fish fork on the table.
You examine the tablecloth
Bright red.

Hives carefully places a white wine glass on the table.
You ask Hives for the pepper
You have no reason to discuss that with Hives at present.

Hives carefully places a salad knife on the table.
You ask Hives about the dinner
"I really could not say, Sir."

Hives carefully places a dinner fork on the table.
You ask Hives about the gorilla
You would rather keep your lips sealed about that particular subject.

Hives carefully places a sherry glass on the table.
You go to the north
(first opening the front door)
You step out into the bright sunshine.

Bunkham Hall began life as a modest country house in the Jacobean style. In 1768, the fourth Earl of Hamcester had it remodelled by Robert Addams, a jobbing builder with no architectural training who traded rather lucratively on the reputation of his talented near-namesake Robert Adam. Whereas Adam's buildings are noted for their elegant proportions and scrupulous attention to detail, Addams's by contrast are noted for their inelegant proportions and tendency to collapse if you so much as look askance at them. It's amazing the house has lasted this long.

At first glance, Bunkham Hall is a pleasant enough example of Eighteenth Century neoclassicism, but the more one looks, the less harmonious it appears in its general proportions. The façade is asymmetrical, the scalloped Rococo window frames totally out of keeping. The ionic portico, beneath which the front door leads inwards, is much too squat, and appears to be listing to one side.

Here begins the long driveway that doesn't so much connect the Hall with the village to the north as keep it at a safe distance.
You examine the portico
One wonders whether the architect had been drinking when he built it.
You climb it
You should look exceedingly foolish.
Go north
A narrow country lane connecting the village, to the east, with the railway station, to the west. You walked along it only this morning, and a very pleasant walk it was too. To the north are tall hedgerows, behind which are presumably fields of some sort, whilst to the south, via the drive, lies Bunkham Hall. The chimney of what can only be Bunkham Manor, home of Sir Humphrey Leghorn, can be seen protruding from the hedges to the east.
You examine the chimney
Bunkham Manor, home to Sir Humphrey Leghorn, lies just to the east of here. Only its chimney and part of the thatched roof are visible above the hedge.
Go east
According to your Bradshaw's Guide, the village of St Bartholomew-on-the-Bog has many enticing features including a charming tea shop, an attractive duck pond and a statue of a fat balloonist, but sadly there's just no room in your itinerary this afternoon. The railway station, and London, lie in the other direction.
You go west
You're not leaving without the jewelled scarab. And who knows what other gems might be squirrelled away amongst the bric-a-brac at Bunkham Hall? No, there is a time for catching trains back to London, and this is not it.
Go south
At first glance, Bunkham Hall is a pleasant enough example of Eighteenth Century neoclassicism, but the more one looks, the less harmonious it appears in its general proportions. The façade is asymmetrical, the scalloped Rococo window frames totally out of keeping. The ionic portico, beneath which the front door leads inwards, is much too squat, and appears to be listing to one side.

Here begins the long driveway that doesn't so much connect the Hall with the village to the north as keep it at a safe distance.
You examine the pipe
A weapon favoured by tribesmen of the Amazonian rainforest. As you understand it, one simply inserts a curare-tipped dart, or similar projectile in the one end, takes aim, blows into the other end, and Bob's your late uncle. It's rather like the pea-shooter you had as a lad, only more deadly. This one is empty.
You look at the bottle
"Dr. Turkee's patent Knockout Drops — the world's most effective specific for the treatment of insomnia. DOSE: One drop before bed-time, no more. Safe and reliable."

In the small brown bottle are two knockout drops.

The most potent of all soporifics; just one of these innocent looking pea-sized pills could knock out a horse. Poor old Hamcester must suffer terribly from insomnia.
You check your inventory
You have about your person a knockout drop, a false beard, a small brown bottle, inside which are two knockout drops, a priceless jewelled scarab (fake), an Amazonian blowpipe, two bananas, a book entitled Psychology To-day, a telegram and a gramophone
record entitled La Gazza Ladra.

Stashed safely in the secret pocket of your form-fitting tweed suit, are a Georgian ruby ring and a black and white feather.

You are also wearing a ginger moustache, rendering you indistinguishable from Doctor Cornelius Drake, the noted alienist.
You shoot amos with the pipe
You are too far from Amos Bunyon to do anything but look.
You go to the south
(first opening the door to Lady Hamcester's bedroom)
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but that's the door to her Ladyship's bedroom." says the maid, "I'm sure that's not the room you was lookin' for, sir."

"Is it really?" you say, raising an eyebrow to affect surprise. "How extraordinary! You're quite right, it's not the room I'm looking for at all. I don't suppose you know where it is, this room I'm looking for?"

"It would help if I knew which room that was, sir," replies the maid.

"Yes, I expect it would. Oh well, not to worry, I'm sure it will turn up eventually. These things normally do. Tootle pip!"

How tiresome! At the rate she's going, the maid won't be finished polishing until the middle of next month. However, the notorious 'Magpie' is not going to be deterred by a mere chambermaid. Perhaps there is some other way into the Countess's boudoir?
Go south
(first opening the mysterious door)
(first unlocking the mysterious door)
You lack a key that fits the mysterious door, and at any rate, it is painted shut. Perhaps there is another way into that particular room?
Go south
The state dining room is a splendid rectangular room with flamboyantly decorated walls and ceilings; a little overdone, perhaps, but that's the Regency for you. The room is dominated by the vast, antique mahogany dining table and a set of matching chairs. The only other furniture of note is a small glass-fronted curio cabinet which stands between the two south-facing windows.

North is the drawing room, and west the saloon.

The butler, Hives, is busy laying the table for dinner.

On the dining table are a red velvet tablecloth and an impressive array of silverware, glassware and crockery.

Hives carefully places a fish fork on the table.
You take the tablecloth
The removal of a red velvet tablecloth from right under the nose of a head butler is no simple matter, but you think you have found the right approach.

"I say, Hives, old man — have you ever seen the famous tablecloth trick?"

"No, sir", says the butler warily, "but I am aware of the general principle."

"You've never seen it? You don't know what you're missing. Allow me to demonstrate!"

"I'd rather you didn't, sir," replies the butler, hurriedly interposing himself between you and the table. "I do have to lay the table for dinner."

Hives carefully places a salad knife on the table.
You pull pull
In a distant part of the house, a bell rings.

A short time later, Hives the butler shuffles into the room bearing a silver tray. He places it on the side-table and shuffles off from whence he came.
You examine the tray
A silver tray bearing the Hamcester coat of arms. Old, worn and not particularly valuable. On the tray are a soda syphon (full) and a decanter of whiskey.
Examine
(The Drawing Room)
The Drawing Room
Once one of the finest rooms in the house, the drawing room is in a state of disarray. Elegant armchairs lie on their backs, priceless ornaments lie in fragments on the floor and the walls, lined with red Genoa velvet, are spattered with crumbs of Genoa cake.

To the west lies the great hall. The dining room is to the south and the music room to the north. In the corner of the room hangs a tasselled bell pull.

You can see a silver tray (on which are a soda syphon (full) and a decanter of whiskey) here.
You pull pull
In a distant part of the house, a bell rings, but no butler appears. Perhaps Hives is occupied with some duty or other elsewhere in the house.
You take the tablecloth
"Really, Hives, your lack of simple faith astounds me. Let me assure you I was tutored by the great Maskelyne himself. I shall remove the tablecloth with a single deft flick of the wrist, and return it to the table leaving not so much as a soup spoon askance. Stand aside!"

Reluctantly the butler concedes. You take the edge of the tablecloth and give it a yank. Unfortunately the trick does not go off as planned. Plates and bowls zip hither and thither, dashing themselves to pieces on the walls and floor. Knives, forks and spoons describe graceful arcs through the air before impaling themselves in the soft furnishings.

There is a cry from underneath the dining table. It is the Major, who, unbeknownst to all has been bivouacking there.

"What's this? What's this? Camp under siege! Attacked by Zulus, begad!" Never one to run from a fight, the Major leaps onto the table and takes a swing at his perceived attacker with the candelabra, no doubt mistaking the butler for a Zulu chieftain. Perhaps used to the Major's splenetic outbursts, Hives dodges the blow, and losing his balance, the Major pitches head-first into the curio cabinet, demolishing it completely. Luckily he is wearing his pith helmet, but the porcelain rabbit in a red jacket, the pearlised cut-glass unicorn, the china shepherdess, the pair of white alabaster doves and the pottery figurine of a wretched-looking seal are not so fortunate.

Taking advantage of the confusion, you bundle up the tablecloth and tuck it discretely behind your back...
Go west
By far the grandest room in the house, the saloon was once the state dining room. It is now rarely used for entertaining and has instead become a repository for old Hamcester's hideous collection of porcelain. The Axminster carpet is decorated with a delicate pattern of daisies.

To the north and east are the great hall and the dining room respectively. The collection room lies to the west, whilst to the south, French windows open onto the terrace.
Wave tablecloth
You raise the tablecloth and give it a flick so that the colour catches the bull's eye. The animal's eyes widen, he lowers his head, rakes the ground a couple of times with his hoof and charges.

You stand your ground, and at the last possible moment, step deftly aside, sweeping the tablecloth out of sight and allowing the creature to thunder past in a flurry of divots. Driven half by rage and half by inertia, the stricken beast leaps clean over the ha-ha like a champion show-jumper and tears across the lawn onto the terrace.

Here the bull makes a belated attempt to arrest his progress but his hooves can find no purchase on the flagstones and instead he barrels sidelong through the French windows into the saloon. Borne on the fragrant summer breeze are the distant sounds of shouts and shattering porcelain.
You go to the west
This little orchard is home to Lord Hamcester's apple trees. The apples are not ripe yet, of course. To the east, through a gap in the fence, is the Park.

Leaning against a small apple tree is a fruit-picking ladder.
You take the ladder
You hoist the ladder under your arm.
You go to the east
The park is used by for the grazing of Lord Hamcester's prize herd of longhorn cattle, the finest in all England. To the north, on the other side of the ha-ha, lie the formal gardens, whilst to the east, at the end of a yew alley, is a small folly in the shape of a Greek temple. West of here, surrounded by a low fence, is a little orchard.
You go to the north
"Afternoon, sir," says the under-gardener. casting a questioning eye over the ladder you're carrying.
Go north
A charming terrace, surrounded by an Italian balustrade, and replete with statues of dancing fauns, ornamental urns and what-not. In the centre is a set of cast-iron garden furniture, doing what cast-iron garden furniture does best.

Stone steps lead southwards onto the lawn, east and west to the gravel sweep, whilst to the north French windows invite you to enter the saloon.

Lady Hamcester is standing to one side of the French windows, watching, in horrified fascination, the scene now unfolding in the saloon.

From the direction of the saloon you hear the muffled protestations of Hives.

"Poor Hives — I really must insist he gets a pay rise," says Lady Hamcester.
You drop the ladder
You lean the ladder up against the balcony.
Ascend
You ascend the ladder and step onto the West Balcony.

The balcony offers splendid views of the park and grounds. From here you can see into the kitchen garden, to the left of which is a wide expanse of lawn. French windows lead into the blue room. A ladder leans against the balustrade.

A sturdy-looking cast iron drainpipe runs down the wall beside the balcony.
You examine the drainpipe
A cast iron drainpipe that runs down the wall from the eaves and crosses over to the east balcony. It looks as though it would hold your weight. The manufacturer's name is embossed upon the hopper head.
You read the hopper head
"Flann O'Kipper and Sons"
Go north
This must unquestionably be the bedroom of Lady Hamcester. Tastefully decorated in peacock blue, the room comes complete with a sagging four-poster bed, French dressing-table, and peacock damask curtains. On the west wall is an elegant fireplace, the mantelpiece littered with various ornaments. To the south, French windows lead out onto the balcony, whilst to the north is the door to the west gallery. Another, smaller door beckons you eastward.

Your eye is drawn to the French dressing-table. There, strewn carelessly across its lacquered surface, are the famous Jaroda
Pearls, gleaming enticingly.

A pomeranian dog, which might best be described as looking like the offspring of a rat and a feather duster, dozes fitfully on the coverlet of the four-poster.

In spite of your extreme stealth, the dog seems to sense the presence of another body in the room. It immediately jumps down from the bed and begins yapping loudly.
You shoot the dog with the blowpipe
You raise the blowpipe to your lips and aim for the animal's mouth, which owing to its inability to keep quiet is fortunately wide open. One well-timed puff later and the pomeranian shuts up abruptly, its face a mask of surprise, before keeling over on the rug, a spent force.
You look at the Pearls
The seven-stranded Jaroda Pearl Necklace is one of the most extravagant pearl necklaces ever created. It seems a shame to swipe something of Lady Hamcester's — she's not a bad old stick, but the 'Magpie' would rather die than leave the premises without them. You can always pop them in the post once she's claimed the insurance money.
You take Pearls
You tip-toe around the sleeping pooch and snatch the necklace from the dressing table.

You slip the famous Jaroda Pearls into your secret pocket, where none but the most astute detective would find them.
You look around
This must unquestionably be the bedroom of Lady Hamcester. Tastefully decorated in peacock blue, the room comes complete with a sagging four-poster bed, French dressing-table, and peacock damask curtains. On the west wall is an elegant fireplace, the mantelpiece littered with various ornaments. To the south, French windows lead out onto the balcony, whilst to the north is the door to the west gallery. Another, smaller door beckons you eastward.

A pomeranian dog lies snoring peacefully on the rug, having accidentally taken one too many knockout drops.
You look at the bed
A splendid four-poster bed, which, though solidly made, has seen better centuries.
You examine the fireplace
A marble fireplace surround in the Dauphin French style. Cluttering the mantelpiece are a papier-mâché elephant, a statuette of a shepherdess, a figurine of The Infant Samuel at prayer and a china horse.
You examine the dressing table
An eighteenth century "poudreuse" or French dressing-table, with exquisite marquetry.
Go east
(first opening the little door)

A rather spartan, neglected room which has obviously not been used in years. Hung lopsidedly on one wall is a large, framed painting of a boy in a sailor suit. A door, locked and painted shut, bars the way north to the landing, whilst another leads west into the blue room.

The only indicator of the room's previous existence is a dapple grey rocking horse, somewhat careworn, that casts its indolent gaze upon the painting on the wall opposite.
You look at the horse
A dapple grey rocking horse on a bow rocker. The name stencilled on its harness is "Rosebud".
You examine the painting
A painting of a small boy in a sailor suit. He is clutching to his breast a rag doll of a girl in a pinafore dress, as though his very life depended upon it. A small brass plaque is attached to the frame.
You read the plaque
"Emerick Abercorn Welsummer, heir to the Earl of Hamcester, aged six." It's hard to believe that this endearing, golden-haired moppet grew up to be that old buzzard downstairs.
You ride horse
The old horse groans under your weight, but despite the woodworm, holds firm. As you rock gently to-and-fro, your gaze falls upon the painting on the opposite wall.
You examine doll
A handmade doll in a red gingham pinafore dress. It looks as though young Hamcester was rather attached to it, back in the day. You wonder what became of it.
You stand
You get off the rocking horse.

A rather spartan, neglected room which has obviously not been used in years. Hung lopsidedly on one wall is a large, framed painting of a boy in a sailor suit. A door, locked and painted shut, bars the way north to the landing, whilst another leads west into the blue room.

The only indicator of the room's previous existence is a dapple grey rocking horse, somewhat careworn, that casts its indolent gaze upon the painting on the wall opposite.
Go west
This must unquestionably be the bedroom of Lady Hamcester. Tastefully decorated in peacock blue, the room comes complete with a sagging four-poster bed, French dressing-table, and peacock damask curtains. On the west wall is an elegant fireplace, the mantelpiece littered with various ornaments. To the south, French windows lead out onto the balcony, whilst to the north is the door to the west gallery. Another, smaller door beckons you eastward.

A pomeranian dog lies snoring peacefully on the rug, having accidentally taken one too many knockout drops.
You examine the elephant
The papier-mâché elephant is a slightly boss-eyed but otherwise
genial
example of his species. Utterly worthless, of course.
You go south
You step out into the bright sunshine.

The balcony offers splendid views of the park and grounds. From here you can see into the kitchen garden, to the left of which is a wide expanse of lawn. French windows lead into the blue room. A ladder leans against the balustrade.

A sturdy-looking cast iron drainpipe runs down the wall beside the balcony.

As you step out onto the balcony, you are mildly perturbed to see that the ladder is no longer where you left it. Hearing voices on the terrace below, you duck down behind the balustrade in order to watch unobserved. Through a gap in the ivy, you are able to see the under-gardener, holding the ladder, in concert with Lord Hamcester, who appears to have taken a break from ordering Hives around in order to enjoy a cigar.

"What was it doing there?" says Hamcester.

"I don't know, sir," says the under-gardener, shuffling his feet nervously. "I saw the gentleman carrying it over from the orchard, sir, and there it was."

"The gentleman? Are you referring to, er, ah, our guest?"

"The gentleman with the ginger moustache, sir."

"I see. So you're telling me that you observed the gentleman with the ginger moustache carry the ladder from the orchard towards the house, and lean it up against the balcony?"

"Well, yes, sir. I mean, no sir."

"Yes, no? Which is it, man? You're blithering."

"I mean to say I saw him, the gentleman with the moustache, sir, carry the ladder from the orchard, but I didn't see him lean it up against the balcony, sir, on account of being unable to see the balcony from where I was situated, sir."

"I see. Odd, dashed odd. Very good, Boyle. Don't let that ladder out of your sight. There's some funny business going on at Bunkham Hall today, and I shouldn't be at all surprised if Sir Humphrey Leghorn were at the bottom of it."

Tucking the ladder under his arm, the under-gardener sets off around the side of the kitchen-garden. Hamcester, meanwhile, gazes across from the west balcony to the top of the kitchen-garden wall, as though trying to judge whether it would be possible to jump from one to the other. Shaking his head, he retires into the house.
You climb the drainpipe
The drainpipe looked sturdy enough from the balcony, but no sooner have you entrusted it with your full weight than it parts company with the wall, and you find yourself tumbling headlong into a rhododendron bush that fortunately was growing below.

Gravel Sweep West (in the rhododendron bush)
This gravel sweep is a path that extends from the terrace steps to the east and runs along the south front. To the south is the ivy-grown wall of the kitchen garden. A large rhododendron bush grows against the wall here beneath a first floor balcony.
You go east
You would have to get out of the rhododendron bush first.
You stand
You extract yourself from the rhododendron bush as elegantly as can be managed, brushing a few stray leaves from your clothing.
You look at the bush
A fine example of a flowering shrub in the family Ericaceae.
You go east
A charming terrace, surrounded by an Italian balustrade, and replete with statues of dancing fauns, ornamental urns and what-not. In the centre is a set of cast-iron garden furniture, doing what cast-iron garden furniture does best.

Stone steps lead southwards onto the lawn, east and west to the gravel sweep, whilst to the north French windows invite you to enter the saloon.

Lady Hamcester is standing to one side of the French windows, watching, in horrified fascination, the scene now unfolding in the saloon.

From the direction of the saloon you hear Lord Hamcester barking orders.

"I never did like that tea set," says Her Ladyship.
You ask the Lady about the bull
"You should have seen him leap over the ha-ha, Monsieur," says Lady Hamcester. "It was magnificent. I do hope he doesn't sit on poor Hives."

From the direction of the saloon you hear a sudden crash.

"Careful, Hives!" says Lady Hamcester.
You put the drop in the pipe
(first taking the knockout drop)
You put the knockout drop into the Amazonian blowpipe.

From the direction of the saloon you hear Lord Hamcester barking orders.

"Oh dear, that vase was a present from Emerick's sister Agatha," laughs Lady Hamcester.
You go north
"Be careful, Monsieur Perroquet," says Lady Hamcester.

Bunkham Hall's grandest room has become a scene of devastation to rival the ruins of Pompeii. Barely a stick of furniture remains intact, and Hamcester's hideous collection of porcelain lies in fragments on the floor. The Axminster carpet is decorated with a delicate pattern of daisies and fragrant, steaming cowpats. To the north and east are the great hall and the dining room respectively. The collection room lies to the west, whilst to the south, the remains of some French windows open onto the terrace.

The scene unfolding in the saloon reminds you rather vividly of a country dance you once attended. Sparkenhoe, fully three thousand pounds of prime muscle, and Hives, the emaciated butler, make a rather odd couple as they do-si-do around the room. The latter appears to be attempting to eject the former from the premises, whilst the former, barely aware of the latter's presence, rampages about, upsetting the furniture and reducing the crockery to a mass of fragments. Lord Hamcester, meanwhile, having finally found something more urgent to do than write his speech, stands in the safety of the doorway, surveying the damage and barking orders at his struggling manservant.

"Try lifting him. No, not like that — get right underneath!" bellows Hamcester. There is a crash as Sparkenhoe collides with a Welsh dresser.
You go north
It's too dangerous to cross the saloon with Hamcester's prize bull rampaging about in it.

"Put your back into it, man!" bellows Hamcester. There is a tinkle of shattering glass as the beast backs into the French windows.
You shoot the bull with the pipe
Not relishing the prospect of being gored to death, sat upon or trampled to a jelly, you decide to leave the animal well alone.

"Try to keep him away from the Dresden — oh, for goodness sakes!" bellows Hamcester. There is a sickening crunch as Sparkenhoe steps on a plate that had somehow survived the fall from the dresser.
You check your inventory
You have about your person a false beard, a small brown bottle, inside which is a knockout drop, a priceless jewelled scarab (fake), an Amazonian blowpipe (loaded with a knockout drop), two bananas, a book entitled Psychology To-day, a telegram and a gramophone
record entitled La Gazza Ladra.

Stashed safely in the secret pocket of your form-fitting tweed suit, are the famous Jaroda Pearls, a Georgian ruby ring and a black and white feather.

You are also wearing a ginger moustache, rendering you indistinguishable from Doctor Cornelius Drake, the noted alienist.

"No, not that way, the other way!" bellows Hamcester. There is a crash as Sparkenhoe collides with a Welsh dresser.
You go to the east
It's too dangerous to cross the saloon with Hamcester's prize bull rampaging about in it.

"Try to keep him away from the Dresden — oh, for goodness sakes!" bellows Hamcester. There is a tinkle of shattering glass as the beast backs into the French windows.
Go south
You beat a hasty retreat.

A charming terrace, surrounded by an Italian balustrade, and replete with statues of dancing fauns, ornamental urns and what-not. In the centre is a set of cast-iron garden furniture, doing what cast-iron garden furniture does best.

Stone steps lead southwards onto the lawn, east and west to the gravel sweep, whilst to the north French windows invite you to enter the saloon.

Lady Hamcester is standing to one side of the French windows, watching, in horrified fascination, the scene now unfolding in the saloon.

From the direction of the saloon you hear a sudden crash.

"Oh, dear!" laughs the Countess.
Go south
An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south, on the other side of the ha-ha, lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he peers through the archway into the vegetable garden, as though making certain there is nothing amiss.

You can also see a ladder here.
Go east
A very pretty shrubbery, with a gravel path that winds between banks of hardy shrubs. Hollyhocks and azaleas add a splash of colour to the proceedings. The path weaves north to the gravel sweep surrounding the house, and west to the lawn.

Amos Bunyon, the impossibly hirsute head gardener is going about his business.

Amos tries to take a swig from his hip flask, but finding it empty, replaces it in his pocket grumblingly.
Go west
An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south, on the other side of the ha-ha, lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he casts you a suspicious glance.

You can also see a ladder here.
You go south
"Well, tinkety-tonk, old bean," you say, and gesturing towards the balding box hedge, add "keep up the good work."

"Right you are, sir," sighs the under-gardener.

You hop nimbly over the ha-ha.

The park is used by for the grazing of Lord Hamcester's prize herd of longhorn cattle, the finest in all England. To the north, on the other side of the ha-ha, lie the formal gardens, whilst to the east, at the end of a yew alley, is a small folly in the shape of a Greek temple. West of here, surrounded by a low fence, is a little orchard.
Go downwards
You can't go that way. The obvious exits are north (to the lawn), east (to the yew alley) and west (to the orchard).
You go north
You hop nimbly over the ha-ha.

An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south, on the other side of the ha-ha, lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he glances around, as though looking for suspicious characters.

You can also see a ladder here.
You go downwards
A sort of trench, designed to prevent cattle from running amuck all over the house. To the south it slopes up to the park. One could also climb up the north side, which is faced with stone, to reach the lawn.
You go upwards
An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south, on the other side of the ha-ha, lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he peers through the archway into the vegetable garden, as though making certain there is nothing amiss.

You can also see a ladder here.
You read the book
You flip through the pages randomly until you come upon a chapter that interests you:

Chapter 14: Catharsis

"Catharsis involves the release of pent-up negative energies. It
is believed to produce therapeutic change by discharging deeply felt emotions that have been stored up. By recreating a traumatic event, and allowing the patient to alter the outcome, one allows him the satisfaction of completing 'unfinished business' and prevents future emotional arousal."

Interesting.
Keep going
You flip through the pages randomly until you come upon a chapter that interests you:

Chapter 11: The Psychology of the Kleptomaniac

"Kleptomania may be defined as the recurrent urge to steal,
typically without regard for need or profit. In the case of the gentleman thief, this need may arise from a desire to escape the monotony of wealth; he steals for the thrill rather than out of lack. He chooses his victims carefully, restricting his targets to those who can afford the loss, in order to assuage deep-seated feelings of guilt."

Poppycock!
Look around
An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south, on the other side of the ha-ha, lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he glances around, as though looking for suspicious characters.

You can also see a ladder here.
You take ladder
As you go to pick up the ladder the under-gardener steps forth from his accustomed spot and addresses you thusly:

"Beggin" your pardon, sir, but was there a particular reason why you needed a ladder?"

"No, not especially," you reply. "Why, did you have one in mind?"

The under-gardener appears to have no answer to this, His mouth opens and closes once or twice, like that of a fish, but no sound issues. In the fullness of time, however, a thought occurs to him.

"It's just that, his Lordship asked me not to let it out of my sight, sir."

"Very sensible. Who knows what mischief might be achieved with a ladder, should it fall into the wrong hands? I shall endeavour to ensure that it does not. Furthermore, I shall inform his Lordship that you were vigilant to the last."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it."

You hoist the ladder under your arm.
You go east
A very pretty shrubbery, with a gravel path that winds between banks of hardy shrubs. Hollyhocks and azaleas add a splash of colour to the proceedings. The path weaves north to the gravel sweep surrounding the house, and west to the lawn.

Amos Bunyon, the impossibly hirsute head gardener is going about his business.

Amos mops his brow with a spotted handkerchief.
You go north
This gravel sweep is a path that extends from the terrace steps to the west and runs along the south front. A side path winds south into a pretty shrubbery. Directly above is a balcony.
You drop the ladder
You lean the ladder up against the balcony.
You go upwards
You ascend the ladder and step onto the East Balcony.

The balcony offers splendid views of the park and grounds. Directly ahead is a shrubbery where a hirsute gardener busies himself among the azaleas. French windows lead back into the green room. A ladder leans against the balustrade.
Go west
From here the grand staircase descends to the great hall. The landing forms part of the long gallery, a grandiose room stretching from east to west across the entire frontage of the building. The long gallery at Bunkham Hall, of course, was built in 1768, a century after the invention of the corridor had rendered such spaces redundant. A large picture window to the north affords splendid views of the drive, whilst to the south is the door to the old nursery, locked and painted shut.
Go downwards
This commodious entranceway is dominated by a broad flight of white marble steps leading up to the first floor. Alabaster columns keep the gilded ceiling in a state of harmonious separation from the marble floor. On the south wall, facing the front door is a carved escutcheon representing the Hamcester coat of arms, beneath which is the entrance to the saloon. To the east is the drawing room, and to the west, the library.

From the direction of the saloon you hear Lord Hamcester barking orders.
You go east
Once one of the finest rooms in the house, the drawing room is in a state of disarray. Elegant armchairs lie on their backs, priceless ornaments lie in fragments on the floor and the walls, lined with red Genoa velvet, are spattered with crumbs of Genoa cake.

To the west lies the great hall. The dining room is to the south and the music room to the north. In the corner of the room hangs a tasselled bell pull.

You can see a silver tray (on which are a soda syphon (full) and a decanter of whiskey) here.

From the direction of the saloon you hear a sudden crash.
You take the tray
Taken.

From the direction of the saloon you hear the bellowing of the enraged Sparkenhoe.
Go west
This commodious entranceway is dominated by a broad flight of white marble steps leading up to the first floor. Alabaster columns keep the gilded ceiling in a state of harmonious separation from the marble floor. On the south wall, facing the front door is a carved escutcheon representing the Hamcester coat of arms, beneath which is the entrance to the saloon. To the east is the drawing room, and to the west, the library.

From the direction of the saloon you hear the tinkle of breaking porcelain.
Go downwards
This commodious entranceway is dominated by a broad flight of white marble steps leading up to the first floor. Alabaster columns keep the gilded ceiling in a state of harmonious separation from the marble floor. On the south wall, facing the front door is a carved escutcheon representing the Hamcester coat of arms, beneath which is the entrance to the saloon. To the east is the drawing room, and to the west, the library.

From the direction of the saloon you hear the muffled protestations of Hives.
You go west
The library of an English country house is an oasis of calm amid the hubbub of domestic life; the perfect place, should one feel so inclined, for a spot of light murder. The library at Bunkham Hall has a long and chequered history, and its chequered floor still bears the faint traces of numerous chalk outlines. Tall walnut bookcases line walls of crimson silk damask. East is the great hall, and a closed door to the north takes you to Lord Hamcester's study.

A leather wingback armchair lounges invitingly against the south wall. Today's edition of the Times lies discarded on the seat.

From the direction of the saloon you hear a sudden crash.
Go north
(first opening the study door)

A small, cosy study, impeccably neat, with walnut panelling and a leather-topped desk of a similar complexion. There are a few homely touches; a framed newspaper clipping and a photograph hang on the wall beside you. A sturdy wooden chair faces the desk. The door, leading south into the library, is open.

A ghastly amateur watercolour hangs above the desk.

On the walnut desk is a pamphlet.

From the direction of the saloon you hear the muffled protestations of Hives.
You read the pamphlet
"Rules and Regulations of the St Bartholomew-on-the-Bog annual Village Fête cucumber growing competition. Rule 1: Under no circumstances may radium-based fertilizers be used in the cultivation of cucumbers entered in the competition."

From the direction of the saloon you hear the tinkle of breaking porcelain.
You move the watercolour
Nothing obvious happens.

From the direction of the saloon you hear the muffled protestations of Hives.
Open watercolour
It isn't something you can open.

From the direction of the saloon you hear a sudden crash.
You examine it
A small framed watercolour depicting Bunkham Hall at sunset as rendered by Lord Hamcester himself. Somehow it contrives to make the Hall look even more ill-proportioned than it is in real life. The painting sticks out from the wall rather further than you might expect it to.

From the direction of the saloon you hear the bellowing of the enraged Sparkenhoe.
You pull it
You pull the watercolour.

From the direction of the saloon you hear the muffled protestations of Hives.
You get it
Just as you thought! A wall safe, concealed behind the painting! No wonder Lord Hamcester got so jumpy when you went near it. You rub your hands in anticipation; no safe is safe from the 'Magpie'!

Except, of course, the Biggleman Super-Deluxe, the most fiendishly uncrackable safe ever devised. Which this is. Your smile flickers for a fraction of a second.

The Biggleman Super-Deluxe has an alphabetical dial, rather than a numerical one. The combination could be any six letter word, chosen by the purchaser. To open the safe, one merely needs to spin the dial to that very word. If only you knew what the word was — but discovering it should be child's play to the illustrious 'Magpie'!

You are suddenly aware that it has gone very quiet in the saloon...
Spin dial to Magpie
Click! and nothing else happens.
You open safe
The safe will open only when the dial is spun to the correct combination. The Biggleman Super-Deluxe has an alphabetical dial, rather than a numerical one. The combination could be any six letter word, chosen by the purchaser. To open the safe, one merely needs to spin the dial to that very word. If only you knew what the word was
—
but discovering it should be child's play to the illustrious 'Magpie'!

Lord Hamcester barges into the study, slamming the door behind him.

"What are you doing with that?" says Hamcester, indicating the painting in your hands. He glances over at the wall safe, and back at you.

"I just couldn't resist taking a closer look, your Lordship," you say giving him the old oil, "the brushwork is exquisite. Simply exquisite." His Lordship snatches the painting from your hands and hangs it carefully back on the wall.

"Be that as it may," he says, "I've got my eye on you, Drake. Your behaviour is odd for a psychotherapist. Dashed odd."
Go south
(first opening the study door)

The library of an English country house is an oasis of calm amid the hubbub of domestic life; the perfect place, should one feel so inclined, for a spot of light murder. The library at Bunkham Hall has a long and chequered history, and its chequered floor still bears the faint traces of numerous chalk outlines. Tall walnut bookcases line walls of crimson silk damask. East is the great hall, and an open door to the north takes you to Lord Hamcester's study.

A leather wingback armchair lounges invitingly against the south wall. Today's edition of the Times lies discarded on the seat.
You go to the south
Bunkham Hall's grandest room has become a scene of devastation to rival the ruins of Pompeii. Barely a stick of furniture remains intact, and Hamcester's hideous collection of porcelain lies in fragments on the floor. The Axminster carpet is decorated with a delicate pattern of daisies and fragrant, steaming cowpats. To the north and east are the great hall and the dining room respectively. The collection room lies to the west, whilst to the south, the remains of some French windows open onto the terrace.
You look at the porcelain
Nowhere is Hamcester's egregious lack of taste more evident than in this collection of porcelain. One can only imagine that he picked it up as a job-lot in a local jumble sale. Fortunately, most of it is now scattered about the floor in minute fragments. Amongst the survivors are a Ting Dynasty vase, a Staffordshire pearlware figure of an orange-haired clown and a china lamb.
Go south
You step out into the bright sunshine.

A charming terrace, surrounded by an Italian balustrade, and replete with statues of dancing fauns, ornamental urns and what-not. In the centre is a set of cast-iron garden furniture, doing what cast-iron garden furniture does best.

Stone steps lead southwards onto the lawn, east and west to the gravel sweep, whilst to the north French windows invite you to enter the saloon.

Lady Hamcester sits on a cast-iron garden chair, leafing through a brochure for the R.M.S. Aquitania.

Standing beside the countess is a rather dishevelled Hives. He bears, in his twiglike arms, a silver tray, about which are buzzing a number of wasps. "I regret to report that dinner will be delayed indefinitely, Madam," says the butler, "owing to a mishap in the dining room."

"Not another mishap, Hives?"

"Yes, madam. Bread and treacle is the best I am able to offer, your Ladyship, until a replacement set of tableware can be located."

But before the butler can dish up the comestibles, a wild figure jumps out from behind a statue of a prancing faun. It is the Major, brandishing a slingshot of gigantic proportions.

"Japanese hornets!" he cries. "Beastly devils. Stand back, I'm a dead shot!" Leaping up onto the balustrade, the Major pulls back the elastic and lets fly a large stone. The projectile misses the wasps, but hits the tin of treacle square-on. The badly dented tin sails end-over-end, before clattering to the flagstones not far from your feet, where the treacle oozes into a large puddle.

"I think you had better cancel bread and treacle, too, Hives," says Lady Hamcester. The butler sighs, and retreats into the house, followed by the Major.
You look at the treacle
Ah — this takes you back. When you were a nipper, a piece of bread
and
treacle was the only thing that would keep you quiet. One can hardly yell and shout when one's jaws are glued together. The tin is badly dented and lying on its side; the contents have long since oozed into a large puddle on the flagstones.
You take the tin
You decide, on reflection, to leave the sticky tin alone. The contents have long since oozed into a large puddle on the tabletop.
Go east
This gravel sweep is a path that extends from the terrace steps to the west and runs along the south front. A side path winds south into a pretty shrubbery. Directly above is a balcony.

You can see a ladder (leaning against the balcony) here.
Go south
A very pretty shrubbery, with a gravel path that winds between banks of hardy shrubs. Hollyhocks and azaleas add a splash of colour to the proceedings. The path weaves north to the gravel sweep surrounding the house, and west to the lawn.

Amos Bunyon, the impossibly hirsute head gardener is going about his business.

Amos plucks a thistle from the ground without so much as flinching.
You give the whiskey to Amos
(first taking the decanter of whiskey (drugged))
Amos winks, and taking the decanter in one of his great, grimy paws, knocks back the lot in one go. For the briefest of moments he continues to stand there grinning, decanter in hand, and then, slowly, his eyes cross and he keels over backwards into the azaleas. But for the pair of wellingtons sticking out of the shrubbery and a loud snore, you'd never know he was there.

A stentorian snore issues from within the azaleas.
You remove the moustache
You take off the ginger moustache.

A stentorian snore issues from within the azaleas.
You wear the beard
You hook the beard over your ears, instantly transforming you into the likeness of Amos Bunyon, head gardener.

A stentorian snore issues from within the azaleas.
About you
You are Sir Rodney Playfair; dashing, debonair and devilishly handsome. Not perhaps in the first flush of youth, but very sprightly for a man of sixty. That touch of grey at the temples lends you an air of authority, a useful attribute for getting one out of a scrape.

Not that anyone would recognise you now; the 'Magpie' is a master of disguise and right now you're the spitting image of Amos Bunyon, Head Gardener at Bunkham Hall.

A stentorian snore issues from within the azaleas.
You go west
An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south, on the other side of the ha-ha, lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he casts you a suspicious glance.
You go to the west
The under-gardener nods as you pass through the archway. "Afternoon, mister Amos."

A walled vegetable garden in whose well-tended beds grow runner beans, tomatoes and other worthy comestibles of only passing interest to a gentleman thief. The kitchen garden is connected via a stone archway to the lawn in the east.

Dominating the north side of the garden is a gigantic cucumber frame, containing an enormous cucumber. The frame is securely padlocked.
You examine the cucumber
"A cucumber a day keeps the Parthians away" as the Emperor Tiberius used to say. This one is certainly fit for an emperor, it can't be less than three feet long. There is something almost serpentine in its sinuous curves.
Go east
An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south, on the other side of the ha-ha, lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he peers through the archway into the vegetable garden, as though making certain there is nothing amiss.
You go east
A very pretty shrubbery, with a gravel path that winds between banks of hardy shrubs. Hollyhocks and azaleas add a splash of colour to the proceedings. The path weaves north to the gravel sweep surrounding the house, and west to the lawn.

Amos Bunyon, the impossibly hirsute head gardener lies fast asleep among the azaleas. But for the pair of wellingtons sticking out of the shrubbery, you'd never know he was there.

A stentorian snore issues from within the azaleas.
You search Amos
You find nothing of interest.

A stentorian snore issues from within the azaleas.
You examine amos
A giant of a man in size 15 wellingtons and a leather jerkin. His face is almost entirely hidden behind a spectacular black beard that gives him a somewhat piratical air. He's currently sleeping off the Mickey Finn you slipped him earlier.

A stentorian snore issues from within the azaleas.
You take the wellingtons
The beard alone should be enough to pull off a convincing impersonation. The rest is all in the voice and the gestures, of which you are a true master. You've found in the past that people tend to get a general impression, and not notice the fine details.

A stentorian snore issues from within the azaleas.
You look at the beans
The vegetables, though no doubt delicious, are of only passing interest to a gentleman thief. The contents of the cucumber frame, however, suggest certain interesting possibilities to what Doctor Drake would no doubt have described as your unconscious mind.
You examine the frame
A gigantic cucumber frame, containing an enormous cucumber. The frame is securely padlocked.

In the cucumber frame is an enormous cucumber.
You open frame
(first unlocking the cucumber frame)
You lack a key that fits the padlock on the cucumber frame, and to compound the problem, you are also without your lockpicks. This puts you in rather a sticky situation, but sticky times call for simple solutions — "in case of emergency, break glass".
Break frame
A perfectly creditable idea, but the noise would draw unwelcome attention from the under-gardener, who is standing just outside. Perhaps if there were a way to dampen the sound...
You look at what you're carrying with you
You have about your person a silver tray, on top of which is a soda syphon (full), a small brown bottle (empty), a priceless jewelled scarab (fake), an Amazonian blowpipe (loaded with a knockout drop), two bananas, a book entitled Psychology To-day, a ginger
moustache, a telegram and a gramophone record entitled La Gazza
Ladra.

Stashed safely in the secret pocket of your form-fitting tweed suit, are the famous Jaroda Pearls, a Georgian ruby ring and a black and white feather.

You are also wearing a false beard, rendering you indistinguishable from Amos Bunyon, Head Gardener at Bunkham Hall.
Go east
An expansive lawn, dotted with ancient cedar trees. It is connected, by way of a gravel path, to a shrubbery in the east, and by a stone archway to a walled vegetable garden in the west. To the south, on the other side of the ha-ha, lies the park.

Over by the stone archway, a small, wiry man in a cloth cap snips lackadaisically at a box hedge with a pair of garden shears. Occasionally, he peers through the archway into the vegetable garden, as though making certain there is nothing amiss.
You go to the north
A charming terrace, surrounded by an Italian balustrade, and replete with statues of dancing fauns, ornamental urns and what-not. In the centre is a set of cast-iron garden furniture, doing what cast-iron garden furniture does best.

Stone steps lead southwards onto the lawn, east and west to the gravel sweep, whilst to the north French windows invite you to enter the saloon.

A badly dented tin of treacle is lying on its side in the middle of the terrace. Its contents have oozed into a large puddle on the flagstones, providing a mid-afternoon repast for a number of wasps.

Lady Hamcester sits on a cast-iron garden chair, leafing through a brochure for the R.M.S. Aquitania.
Go north
"Amos!" says Lady Hamcester with some asperity, "I will not have you clomping about the house in those muddy boots of yours. Haven't you got some work to be getting on with?"
Go east
This gravel sweep is a path that extends from the terrace steps to the west and runs along the south front. A side path winds south into a pretty shrubbery. Directly above is a balcony.

You can see a ladder (leaning against the balcony) here.
Go upwards
You ascend the ladder and step onto the East Balcony.

The balcony offers splendid views of the park and grounds. Directly ahead is a shrubbery where a hirsute gardener snoozes among the azaleas. French windows lead back into the green room. A ladder leans against the balustrade.
You go north
This out-of-the-way room is used as a storehouse for furniture not currently in use. There are a great number of such pieces here, draped in dustsheets, along with sundry other items such as rolled tapestries and quaint candlesticks of dubious taste. The dusty velvet curtains have been thrown open, allowing the summer sunshine to flood the room.

The only exit leads south, to the west gallery.

An old trunk, previously unnoticed, now lies illuminated by a ray of sunshine. The trunk is closed.
You look at the tapestries
Rather moth-eaten.
Yes
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