Resurrection. The Underwood and Flinch Chronicles: Volume One.

Prolgue 1 & 2

Underwood watched him go, and then rubbed his hands briskly together. The mist was chill and damp and he wished he’d had Flinch bring him along a warm coat. Still, he’d soon warm up. He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and struck out in the direction in which he’d seen their observer skulk off a few minutes earlier.

His search was brief; as he turned the corner, he almost ran straight into him. The man started and Underwood held up his hands in apology. ‘Oh. I do beg your pardon. I was just out for a vigorous stroll around the deck. I didn’t expect anyone else to be about; it’s such a dismal evening.’

The man in the bowler hat laughed nervously. ‘Oh well, no harm done.’ He made as if to continue, but Underwood laid a hand on his arm.

‘I say, pardon me, but have we met before somewhere?’

The man frowned. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘You’re English, aren’t you?’

‘Well, yes, but, er ...’

Underwood smiled. ‘I know, England’s not exactly a goldfish bowl, is it? But I was just thinking perhaps we’d met in Algeria. You know, ex-pats, small communities?’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not an ex-pat.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. Good evening.’ The man again attempted to walk away.

‘So, are you here on business or pleasure?’

The man stopped and turned back. ‘If you must know, I’m travelling on business.’

‘Ahhh, I thought as much,’ Underwood chuckled. ‘I do hope you don’t mind me being so forward, but as soon as I saw the bowler I thought, ah, there’s a fellow Englishman.’

‘Really? Well, congratulations.’

‘Thank you. May I ask what business you’re in?’

‘Carpets.’

‘Oh? How interesting.’

‘Not really. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for dinner.’ The man turned and walked on.

‘I mean,’ Underwood persisted, walking after him. ‘It’s interesting because I thought you may be something else. A detective perhaps.’

The man stopped. He answered without turning. ‘Oh?’

‘Yes. I wondered if perhaps you might be following my companion and I?’

The man turned and looked back. He frowned. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, just the way you were watching us earlier on. I thought perhaps you might be a sleuth of some sort, perhaps from Scotland Yard.’

The man smiled uncertainly. ‘You have a vivid imagination, sir.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Underwood strolled up to the man and extended his hand. ‘My name’s Underwood.’

The man looked at the hand for a moment before taking it. ‘Jenkins. Harry Jenkins.’

‘Of the Yard?’

‘No, nothing so grand, Mr Underwood.’

‘It’s Lord Underwood, actually. Sorry, I should have mentioned that earlier. I keep forgetting; you’ve no idea who I am.’

Jenkins raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, a Lord, eh? I didn’t notice a Lord on the passenger manifest.’

‘Really, Mr Jenkins? Why were you looking at the passenger manifest?’