Mr. Phipps

It all began on one of those nights when anything seemed possible, a stormy what-the-hell midnight burgeoning with Beginnings, when wine and firelight mingled with the blustery rantings of some New England blizzard god to give the three of us a good spiritual buzz and a warm, comfortable glow in the depths of our collective stomach.

It was in the midst of all this, right when Belmont, earnest as always, was leaning tipsily toward Veronica with an arch eyebrow raised conspiratorially above his twinkling eye and about to say for the fortieth time "But what if," that the front door slammed open and Adventure walked into our parlor.

It took us quite a while to identify the Stranger, wrapped as he was in dark wool, layer upon layer of scarves, coats, hat and fingerless gloves, like a Dickensian tramp let loose in a Siberian tragedy. His face was as muffled as that of an ancient mummy as he stamped the quickly-melting snow onto the desultory Persian carpet that graced our parlor floor. Unintelligible sounds were coming from what we took to be his mouth as he began to unwind himself, scattering droplets of snow as he exposed a new cache of blizzard within the folds of his garments.

"Excuse me, Sir, but do we know you?" asked Belmont, his eyebrow now arched in a completely different curve.

At this point the Stranger exposed the upper half of his face and we were treated to a view of fabulously bushy brows the color of the snow melting sadly on the carpet. As he continued unwinding, these brows waved up and down in concert as if trying to convey by semaphore what his still-muffled mouth could not. A few more turnings of the muffler and a nose came forth, every bit as merry and roseate as the fabled proboscis of the Gentleman from the North Pole.

"My dear," came the voice from within the wool wrappings with which the Stranger had chosen to protect himself from the blizzard, "my dear, dear friends. Surely you remember me?" And by this time his whole face was unwrapped, from those fabulous eyebrows overshadowing the piercing blue eyes of a Siberian Husky to the jowled chin that protruded from between the snowy muttonchops he wore in apparent imitation of a popular senator of the time.

"You!" I cried, recognizing him for the first time, and I was surprised to discover that Belmont and Veronica had gasped the same word as if from the same breath.

"Uncle," Veronica continued, "How did you come here tonight, in this storm?"

"Uncle?" Belmont inquired, "My employer is your uncle?" The incredulous look on his face momentarily caused his deft eyebrows to raise in concert, in a completely unrehearsed wide-eyed astonishment. "What brings you here at this hour, Mr. Phipps?"

Our visitor continued unwrapping himself, but addressed himself now to me. "Good Evening, Jack," he said, completely unruffled by the attention his somewhat dramatic entrance had made.

Flustered, I greeted him in return in the only way I knew how.

"Master," I replied, bowing low, my forelock sweeping the carpet.

"Master?"

* * *

Our visitor brooked no more questions until he had finished unwrapping himself and had settled himself down by the fire with a snifter of my best brandy.

"I come," said that worthy, "bearing news that will affect all of you."

Knowing my master's flair for the dramatic, I believe he was thoroughly enjoying himself there, the center of all of our attention.

"But first," he said, "I must clarify a few things. I have known you — all of you — for a good many years." He took a long fragrant sip of his brandy and favored our Veronica with an affectionate glance.

"Veronica, here, though she has called me her uncle, is no blood relation. I have been a friend of her family, and I have been watching over her since before we met some twenty years ago. You were all of three, my dear."

"Yes, Uncle," she said. "I remember you used to bring me such fabulous gifts from all over — and helping my father pay to send me to school! I've always been grateful." The doting smile she lavished on Mr. Phipps fell just short of fawning — but only just.

"Yes, well, I took my duties as your godfather seriously, my dear," rejoined our visitor. "And as for you," he continued, turning toward Belmont, "you have been in my employ for the past seven years, at the small occult publishing house I own in the city. What you don't know is that I knew your father, and have been quietly watching over you since your conception."

If Belmont was shocked at the news, he showed no sign. Perhaps he was used to being surprised by his employer.

"And you, James," he continued, turning to me, "had no idea I had a name until this evening, did you?"

"No Master," I replied, eschewing the newly learned name in favor of the honorific I had used all these years.

"You, too, have been under my scrutiny since before your birth," he said, and turned toward the others. "James here, whom I have until this evening addressed by another name I'd rather not share at this juncture, has these past years been my protégé in a secret society called simply The Society of the Red Hand. Even James, here, doesn't realize all the Society is about, or his true position in it."

"Then it is an extravagant coincidence that we are all friends, isn't it?" asked Veronica.

"Not at all, my dear," he returned. "If you'll all think back to who recommended that quiet little cafe to you, you'll see I have indulged in a bit of quiet manipulation to bring you all together. I assure you though, your friendship is genuine, and none of my doing."

I shuddered at this, for I had no doubt my Master had the ability to manipulate us that far if he had felt it necessary.

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