Portrait of a Gentleman
by Will Rothenstein
Plate V in The Yellow Book, Volume I, April 1894
London: Elkin Mathews & John Lane

The best approach when confronted with upsetting news is to remain calm.  Hysterics and wild accusations rarely accomplish anything.  A fact I hope to recall the next time.

Eventually, however, once I had stopped hyperventilating and regained something resembling my usual composure, I found myself able to put a few questions to Pam, who, I should probably mention, had maintained a steady and unruffled demeanor throughout my emotional outburst.  In fact, she was lounging comfortably on the sofa leafing through an old issue of "Interiors" magazine when I found myself able to breathe normally again and my heartbeat had dropped down from the "hummingbird" to "human" register.  I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes.

"Pam," I began cautiously.  "these packages you say are coming to Didier from Marseilles -- did you "see" them or "learn" of them in a vision perhaps?"

"No," she replied curtly, leafing through a particularly interesting article on the servants quarters and extensive kitchens at Petworth, which you will recall is the stately home of the Wyndham family who -- sorry, I digress.  I resumed my careful line of inquiry.

"You did not learn of these deliveries in some kind of psychic message from beyond?"

"No."

"But your "extrasensory" "powers of divination" nevertheless lead you to "know" that "bad men" are somehow connected to these parcels."

"Stop clawing the air, you look like an old cat," she answered in reference to my air quotes.  'And is that a question?"

"Yes?"

She sighed.  "Rephrase."

"I withdraw the question," I responded,  admittedly a little frustrated. 

I took a moment to ponder the matter.  Perhaps, I reasoned,  there was less than a supernatural solution to the present crisis.  In fact, there had better be a less than supernatural solution, I thought, or I was certainly destined for heartache and disappointment, as my abilities and talents beyond those available to the average human were for the most part sadly lacking, at least in the present circumstances.  Clever yes, but able to read minds or see into the future? alas, only by chance.  As for Pam getting us out of any trouble, I could not count on.  She was strictly a wild card.  There was no telling what she might be capable of.

I decided to take a more pragmatic approach.  "Are you by any chance acquainted with the doting elderly aunt who sends these items to Didier?" I asked. 

"No."

"Do these bad men who are after Didier know her?  Are they holding her hostage perhaps?"  I had a sudden vision myself of an elderly pensioner in a lonely bed-sit in a bleak Brighton-esque version of Marseilles, since I had been to Brighton but not Marseilles and could imagine something of the sort, and by extension could almost see a little old French lady tied up and gagged in bed --

"No."

Then the obvious occurred to me.

"DId I by any chance tell you these packages were coming here for Didier?"

"No."

"Did anyone tell you there were packages wrapped up in brown paper and string coming here from Marseilles for Didier?"

"Yes."

"For the love of -- who told you?" I asked in what could only be described as a tone of extreme exasperation.

"I did," came a voice from the front hall.

It was Didier.  

And he was not alone.