Wilmsley-on-Thames, June 1898

The older man most of the neighbors just called "the Captain" came down the lane, with his cane in one hand, and a paper wrapped parcel in the nook of his arm. Mrs. Orman's shaggy dog hung his tongue out and wagged his tale as the Captain came through the gate and went up the short path to the cottage. It was a sunny and mild morning, and the Captain seemed to be walking better than sometimes, with no chill in his joints. Mrs. Orman heard him open the door, and ascend the stairs to his rooms, not looking up from her knitting. The Captain didn't like climbing up and down stairs very much, what with his bad back and gimpy knee, but the rent was cheap, and the big bay window of his sitting room looked out over the river. He leaned his cane into the corner inside the door, and carried his parcel to the little kitchen. That was another good thing, a place to fix his own meals, which he found to be cheaper than paying board as well as room, plus he thought he was a better cook than Mrs. Orman anyway. Back in the sitting room, he went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of black port, and then lowered himself into his favorite chair, looking out through the window. A few high white clouds scudded through the sky, on the breeze coming up off the sea. He could hear children laughing and playing along the riverbank. It was the 15th of the month, so he had two more weeks until another deposit would come into his bank, but he had enough food money on hand, and no outstanding bills of any sort. He put money out of his mind, and picked up the book he had been reading for the last few days, slipping away into the days of the Eastern Roman Empire. Down the lane, a gentleman in a somewhat threadbare suit strolled along, looking for the house number he had been given by the Chinaman in Soho, looking to find the old Captain, who had hidden himself away from his former confederates for some years now......