It takes a lot to surprise a ghost, even one as young (at the time of her death) and impressionable as Lady Margaret D’Avening. The sight, however, of Hopeless, Maine’s most recent visitor, Brigadier Reginald Fitzhugh Hawkesbury-Upton, standing in the privy of The Squid and Teapot, almost caused her to drop her head.

“Uncle Henry,” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

The brigadier, who preferred to be called simply Reggie, had always prided himself upon his good manners and nonchalance in every situation, and he was determined that this encounter would be no exception.

“My dear lady,” he said, with a slight bow of his head, “I am jolly delighted to make your acquaintance, but can promise you that I am definitely not your Uncle Henry.”

“Are you sure?” demanded Lady Margaret, imperiously. “You certainly look like Sir Henry Upton.”

“Ah… that would maybe explain things,” said Reggie. “I have Uptons lurking in my family tree, as it were. I can only imagine that you and I share a common ancestor.”

“How dare you?” screeched Lady Margaret. “I have never been so insulted. None of my ancestors were common.”

It was some home hours later, at breakfast on the following morning, that Reggie found himself relating the exchange to Philomena Bucket.

“That must have been tricky,” Philomena commiserated. “She can be a haughty one, and no mistake.”

“I made my peace with her, eventually,” chuckled Reggie. “I just turned on the old Hawkesbury-Upton charm; it seemed to do the trick.”

“Thank goodness for that,” said Philomena. “Oh, here comes Drury. I don’t believe that you’ve met him…”

The aforementioned nonchalance that Reggie had always prided himself on slipped visibly when Drury came bounding in.

“What the deuce…?” he exclaimed, getting to his feet in alarm.

Drury wagged a bony tail and rattled down onto the floor, next to Philomena. Realising that this skeletal creature was just another facet of the island’s oddness, Reggie regained his composure and settled back down into his seat.

“There’s a good dog,” he said to a somewhat puzzled Drury. If it really was the case that he was thought to be a good dog, that was something that needed to be rectified at the earliest opportunity.

“So, have you any plans today?” asked Philomena, conversationally.

“I thought to wander about a bit and take in the sights. I’ve always been something of a flâneur.”

“A flannel?” Philomena was confused.

“A flâneur,” corrected Reggie. “Someone who just saunters, observing society generally. Since leaving the army I have flâneured in London, Paris, Berlin and Vienna. I fully intended taking my flâneuring to New York, but alas, it was not to be.”

“Well, just be careful, when you go flannelling around out there,” warned Philomena. “And is it wise wearing that lovely suit?” she added, eyeing his Harris Tweed three-piece. “Things tend to get a bit messy on the island.”

“My dear Philomena,” replied the brigadier, “part of the pleasure of being a flâneur is to dress in one’s finest clothes when exploring the world. I would not be seen dead going out and about in anything else.”

Philomena reflected that Reggie may not have picked the best choice of words, given the hazards of Hopeless, but said nothing.

It was late afternoon, and more than one islander marvelled at the spectacle of the dapper military man with the bristling moustache, who wandered, seemingly aimlessly, around the island. He wore his hat at a jaunty angle and swung his cane with all the carefree panache of one strolling down the Strand, on the way to his club.

Hopeless is not known for having any great degree of criminal activity, as no one on the island has anything much worth stealing. In any society, however, there is always an element who will take advantage of those whom they perceive as being weak.

Certainly, the dandy standing on the street corner looked like an easy target. He was in late middle-age and, with his watch-chain and silver-tipped cane, seemed to be begging to be robbed. At least, that was young Roscoe’s opinion, and he decided that it would be a pity to let such an opportunity pass by. After all, if he didn’t relieve the old fool of his valuables, someone else would.

“Hello, mister. Can you tell me what the time is, please?”

Roscoe added the ‘please’ to put the dandy at his ease. It was not a word that he was accustomed to using very often.

The brigadier pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket and reported that it was precisely four twenty-three.

“Four twenty-three is it?” said Roscoe. “Then it must be time for you to hand over that watch and silver-topped cane. Come on now, or you’ll be sorry.”

Reggie smiled disarmingly at him, and said, “I don’t think so young man. The watch belonged to my father and I have owned this cane for over forty years. I am extremely attached to both.”

Roscoe raised a meaty fist and lunged towards the older man, who sidestepped neatly out of the way. Within an instant the innocuous looking walking cane had shed its sheath and become a swordstick.

“My turn, I believe,” said Reggie, and, for an instant, the swordstick seemed to flicker in his hand.

Roscoe looked down aghast, in the general direction of his stomach.

“Oh no,” he said, horrified. “Now look at what you’ve done…”

“I almost felt sorry for him,” Reggie said with a grin, holding court that evening in the snug of The Squid and Teapot.

“You see, after I cut through his belt, his trousers fell down. What made things worse for him was the appearance of a party of young ladies from the orphanage. Oh, how they laughed.”

“I’ll bet they did,” said Norbert Gannicox. “D’you have any idea who he was?”

“No, never set eyes on the chap before, though I seem to remember that one of the girls called him Roscoe.”

“Roscoe?” said Norbert, suddenly alarmed. “I reckon that was Roscoe Chevin. He’s trouble, that’s for sure. You’ve made a bad enemy there.”

“I have been surrounded by enemies throughout the whole of my army career. I’m not going to lose sleep over one scallywag who can’t keep his trousers up,” said Reggie.

“But he’s a Chevin,” broke in Seth Washwell.

“I don’t care who he is,” said Reggie. “Why, I pulled the same trick on Jan Smuts back in ninety-nine, and have lived to dine out on the tale on several occasions.”

“Maybe that Smuts guy didn’t have the back-up that Roscoe has,” said Seth.

“Only the entire Boer army,” replied Reggie, carelessly. “Anyway, enough of this fighting talk. Anyone for another drink?”

Despite his airy dismissal of their warnings, Reggie could not help but be a little concerned. He looked down at Drury, snoozing in front of the fire.

“All the same,” he thought to himself. “One doesn’t necessarily have to flâneur alone. Maybe I’ll take the dog with me, next time.”

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