THE HOURS BEFORE: A Story of Mystery and Suspense from the Belle Époque Read Online Free PDF

such a leading question - though he could have responded. He could have drawn his employer’s attention to the cold, aloof manner he consistently presents even to those closest to him. He could have mentioned that in all the twenty-one years of his daughter’s short life she would scarcely have spent more than a few hours at a time with her busy father. He might also have suggested that the forging of empires of commerce and mass communications is not really at all conducive to a normal, balanced family life. But he does not. To venture such a personal observation would be the ultimate folly. It is not part of his brief to do so, nor that of anyone else who might wish to keep their job amid the ruthlessly commanded kingdom of Peters Associated Publishing.
    ‘I am given to understand, sir, there is an organisation already under suspicion and which might have been involved in something similar before,’ he says, endeavouring to be helpful.
    ‘Oh, really?’ Peters responds, his urbane Canadian accent resurfacing as he lifts himself from his rare moment of introspection.
    ‘Yes - a Millennialist group,’ Beezley continues. ‘The Society for the Teachings of Redemptive Mercies.’
    ‘Ah, English, then?’
    ‘No, not at all, sir. In fact they seem to be an Austro-Hungarian-based organisation, despite the use of an English title. There was a similar incident three years ago in Vienna. Twelve months ago near Berlin. These philosophies are quite prevalent here on the continent, especially as the end of the millennium approaches. They say there shall be no twentieth century. That the world will end before we reach it - and this, considering there is only a few months remaining, is viewed with increasing alarm in some quarters.’
    ‘Quite so,’ Peters remarks, his narrow eyes scrutinising the other man’s face more deeply now. ‘But tell me, Joseph, by what means did you come by this - and so quickly?’ he inquires, marvelling as he so often does at the other man’s prodigious memory: an innate curiosity that devours the newswires each and every day with unfailing enthusiasm and stores everything away in some vast internal filing system: a veritable library of a brain.
    ‘Oh, just something I happened to recall,’ Beezley replies with modesty. ‘I shall, of course, do a proper library search once we return to London if ...’
    ‘Do,’ Peters interrupts, almost with admiration. ‘In fact, Joseph, I want you to find out everything you can about them: where they come from; where they get their funding; and - most importantly - the name of whatever mad bastard is in charge of it all.’
    Beezley nods his understanding, albeit a little warily upon the receipt of such a tall order. ‘I shall endeavour to do my utmost, sir,’ he replies.
    To which Peters, after adjusting the knot in his black silk tie, reaches down to cast a quick glance at his fob watch. The departure time of their train is nearing, and Beezley hurries to fetch his master’s overcoat.
    ‘May I ask, sir, if Mrs Peters has arrived here in Munich yet?’ Beezley inquires with polite formality, taking up a clothes brush and applying this to his master’s collar and shoulders - it being his duty also to act as a running valet much of the time.
    ‘No, not yet. I don’t suppose she took the tidings all that well, did she, when you spoke with her yesterday?’
    ‘Er - no sir,’ Beezley replies, remembering with some displeasure, his own faux pas in having broken the news to Mrs Peters so indelicately - the fiasco of his misplaced telegrams.
    ‘Well … we certainly beat her to it, this time,’ Peters remarks, not without some intimation of satisfaction to his voice, as if he had just pipped a rival to some trivial newspaper scoop. Ever competitive in his ways, his own paper, the News Chronicle is renowned for being at the forefront of technology, especially in the pioneering field of photographic journalism. And the allure of being first to capture