Daily Whisper editor Samuel 'Toffie' Barr looked up
from
the pictures on the desk in front of him.
"You say you took these inside The Thirteen Apostles?"
he asked.
"Yes, sir," society shooter Mars Ripley
replied.
"The first photographs ever smuggled out."
The
ancient gentlemen's club called Thirteen Apostles
was possibly the most secretive club in London.
Speculation as to what went on inside the imposing,
somewhat sinister
old building just off St. James Place
was fervid and far-ranging, and had been for centuries.
"We ran a picture of architect Norris Dapprington-Rusé
eating soup in the Hunter's Nook last week."
"If
not precisely the first photos, then some of the first."
"And this picture,"
he said, "well, it wasn't even taken inside, was it?"
"Not inside
per se," Mars allowed. "But people
always enjoy
seeing pictures of Lady Dangereux.
And you can see the club entrance there behind her.
It's
almost like being inside."
"Almost," Toffie said
drolly. He picked up
the second pictured. "As for this..."
"Brilliant,
isn't it?"
"Is it?"
"That,"
Mars beamed, "is Sir Edmund Whittle-Spittlefield
himself, the Social Director of The
Thirteen Apostles."
"You don't say."
"In
the flesh."
"But really it's just a picture of Sir
Edmund
Whittle-Spittlefield's haircut, isn't it?"
"Taking
pictures with a spy camera is a tricky business."
"Doubtless."
"May
I also point out," Mars said, "that this is the first glimpse
of the ceiling of
the dining room at The Thirteen Apostles
ever to see the light of day."
"A
considerable treat for The Whisper's
many moulding enthusiasts," Toffie said drily.
"Bingo," Mars said eagerly. "Bingo."
