January 19th, 1925 (cont.)

In short:

Gertrude, Evelyn and William, in a daring heist, managed to infiltrate the Carlyle Mansion in West Chester Country. While Evelyn and William did little other than swan about, Gertrude brought the goods and broke into the family safe. They recovered the following texts:

Two Panktic Manuscripts.

Selections De Livre D’lvon (in French)

People of the Monolith (This appears to be bound in skin!)

A pamphlet.

The following day, Gertrude and Evelyn meet with Erica Carlyle, who offered the menial sum of $1000 when presented with our evidence that the ill-fated expedition may have surviving members, including Rodger. By the sounds of it she would prefer we provide proof of death rather than attempt a rescue. I fear that this goes much deeper than a missing brother and disputed inheretence.

With little more to keep us in America, we are now (at least for me) homeward bound.

January 19th, 1925

The first thing I did when I got back from the stake out was to buy William and myself Lugers. Not so hard to find in America so soon after that damn forsaken war. Plenty brought back from German hands and no doubt hawked for what booze they could find. Imagine that – fighting down the Jerry and all for what? To be denied a damn drink.

Quite the eventful day all around. Determined to get to the bottom of Juju house, William, Llewella and I met with our police contact, testified to acquire a warrant  and went back with the full force of the law to speak to the proprietor. The shifty little fellow didn’t fool us and after a brief scuffle they handcuffed him and we took that little key of his. We found a trap door under the rug and proceeded downward.  We came across a door with a Kikuyu symbol upon it – I was able to decipher it as symbolising ‘evil’ – Though that we came to a large stone room – a gigantic stone stopper was in the middle of the floor and a curtain to the side in an alcove. It was covered in symbols we managed to identify as bellowing to The Great Old Ones – a bad omen indeed - William pulled back the curtain and there was a giant brute of a negro in some awful African mask. What flanked him though was far worse – four zombies – I thought I had seen the last of their kind on Scotland. Anyway, to cut it short, William’s, well, affliction, caused him to turn on our policeman, I was going to run for my life, but as the giant was staying to fight, I thought better of it. Not going to be outdone by a Welshwoman now am I? With my new pistol I managed to dispatch a few, William eventually snapped out of it, and Llewella summoned that beast of hers from another dimension. We were shaken, but not defeated. I took the brutes mask, his gloves (I believe they are a weapon made from the paws of a lion), a mysterious silver headband and the stolen Harvard copy of Africa’s Dark Sects. Llewella has a new staff and a mysterious copper bowl. Our police needed medical attention, so we promptly left – and unfortunately, when the Police returned the next day in force, the place had been cleared out – The stopper gone and a hole filled in. It appears though that the hole lead to the sewer.

We were tailed the following day by some dark men, but we managed to shake them. I must say,

I am awfully glad to be leaving New York soon.

January 18th, 1925

Headed back to New York first thing this morning. Not a dramatically productive day, but we did manage to follow up on a host of threads we discovered yesterday.

Gertrude and the solider have managed to convince the catering company seeing to Miss Carlyle’s party that they are fit as wait staff. Lord knows how they did it, but don’t ask, don’t tell, what? It isn’t until the 20^th, and from the sounds of it they may be predisposed for some time over the next few days preparing. I hope that this doesn’t interfere with their meeting the following day.

Dr [Chris] and Evelyn attempted to chase down the boat in the photograph.

Samii and Chris went to the coast guard. No dice sadly; Not enough information.

The Welsh Giant and I investigated Miss Masters by speaking to one of her associates. Turns out the poor girl underwent an abortion shortly before the trip and that was why she went on the exhibition. Still ,what awaited her sounds far more ghastly if you ask me. We met up with the Cricketer and went back to that Juju shop. I saw something around his neck that looked remarkably like a key. He was reluctant to speak about it, and when pressed his crony in the corner became agitated. We decided to case the joint and spent many dull hours waiting for the shop to close. However, not long after dark, upwards of 30 (35 is my guess) mostly black men entered the premises, touting two inebriated hobos with them. There is no possible way that they could all have amassed inside the shop, so there must be a basement area, or back yard? Either way, the police were useless and it wasn’t until dawn that the progression eventually left, sans the homeless men. I’m starting to get rather worried – First thing tomorrow, I am going to acquire a handgun – This is after all the land for it – It may be wise if we speak to our police contact to see if anyone keeps an eye on the numbers of homeless around the city. Sinister things are no doubt afoot.

I have penned this before I sleep and will inform the others of what we saw as soon as I wake.

January 17th, 1925

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January 17th, 1925:

The three of us went to Arkham. The two birds were struck with an awful sickness, no doubt brought on by this vile American swill we are eating. Anyway, I left them at the hotel and spoke to Prof. Anthony Cowles at Miskatonic University. He is a Professor at the University of Sydney, but he is currently lecturing in Massachusetts. He gave me a copy of his lecture notes from the compendium he gave on ‘Blood Cults’ in the Southwest Pacific at NYU. They are most fascinating, I must say; they detail the cultish activities of Aboriginal Australian’s on the western seaboard. Professor Cowles and I had an understanding of sorts regarding the occult, and he confided in me that the death of Jackson Elias was quite disturbing indeed. I gave him my card and told him to remain alert. In addition to his notes, Professor Cowles also gave me a contact in Australia – The name escapes me for the moment – But undoubtedly he will be most helpful if we find ourselves in the land down under. I must also note that Cowles will be back in Australia in 7 months time – right in time for the savage Australian summer – he asked that I seek his advice if need be if I reach his continent

Meanwhile, Evelyn and Gertrude attempted to contact Erica Carlyle, Rogers sister. Due to her profile, they were unable to speak to her directly. They have, however, caught wind of a party she is hosting in three days time. Quite the social affair I am lead to believe – gaining access will be difficult, no doubt, but they are industrious ladies, despite their, ahem, questionable morals. They managed to speak to the lawyer who manages the Carlyle’s estate and the expose the fact that Rodger could still be alive – after all, Brady had been seen alive by Jackson in Hong Kong - and this would jeopardise their entire position – He promises to contact them in regards to meeting Ms Carlyle.

The good Doctor and [Dentist] managed to dig up some information on the ‘late’ Rodger’s questionable psyche… the poor bastard was stark raving by the sounds of it. The plot thickens, however, as it turns out the batty fool managed to blackmail Dr Huston to go along on his ill-fated trip. I’m vague on the details myself, but I have been assured they managed to secure a copy of his notes on Ms and Mr Carlyle – Thank goodness for small mercies, no? I was told by that empty beer bottle that the dreams Rodger was having involved contact with some long limbed gentleman. I will read into this further later on.

That decaying cricketer and that Welsh giant (what a pair!) contacted that policeman about the vagabond Jack Brady. He has quite the criminal history as it happens. They mentioned something about a nickname? The phone had a terrible line, I didn’t quite catch it. Must be the Arkham curse, no? Anyway, what I did catch was that they went to Chinatown and found out that the photo of the junks was taken at the base of the Huangpu River… It’s just our luck, no? The Orientals being behind this. That match book stats to make a lot more sense now… Stumbling Tiger indeed.

I feel, that in light of recent events I simply must buy a handgun. This country is cultural wasteland, yes, but at least that amendment means I can stay knee-deep in bullet casings.

Australia? Hong Kong? My oh my. At least somewhere else I’ll be able to muster a drink that isn’t bathtub gin.