A few months passed before Rupert and I found ourselves heading back up the coast of Wales to investigate yet another oddity. This time it wasnt a place but a person that needed further investigation. Unlike Marshbier this little trek was not officially sanctioned. In truth Cardiff was not terribly keen to talk to me these days as they seemed unable to make a firm decision on what to do with the warped little town on the west coast of Wales.

As even the most crucial of decisions was made by committee it was hard to see anything being done for many a moon. One of the major problems was that no-one was willing to take a “fact-finding mission” of high mucky-mucks to the town, even though many involved did not believe my report on the matter. The office that I dealt with in Cardiff was in crisis and there soon would be a “reorganisation.” I got so fed up that I told them to get in touch when it was sorted. There is no danger of my losing my position, but I have made it clear that I was not willing to put up with bureaucratic muddles.

Rupert, on the other hand, stuck to family tradition and made a considerable effort to contain the problem. It was during this effort that he encountered the problem we hope to help with on this trek. Rupert decided it might be prudent to enlist the services of some of the monks in coastal Wales to monitor the activities of the cult in Marshbier. There were several small groupings of them up and down the coast of Wales. Anglesey held the oldest of these colonies however, and it was here he found things in a major muddle. The monks were concerned about the daemonic possession of one of their number. I was contacted about the problem a few days later via another source. Rupert and I were driving to the monastery to remove the poor fellow and take him away to see what we could do with him. If we are unable to determine his problem the man would face expulsion or an equally unpleasant exorcism. The exorcism was likely to kill the elderly gentleman if not cause him at least a stroke.

As is typical with Rupert, he drove me up the coast with a minor scowl on his face, concentrating on driving. As I was still learning the lay of the land in Wales and its ample history, I read most of the way. Rupert drove in silence, occasionally drinking from his bottle of water. The one thing I hated about driving with the large Druid was the fact he didnt like listening to the radio. I would have brought a CD player but the last time I tried that, he would only talk to me when I was listening to it. So I was stuck reading a history of our destination, fascinating if dry stuff. I was faxed a dossier on the monk in question, together with his medical reports and his family history back 10 generations. There was some thought, although it was a minority opinion, that he was being channelled by a relative of his from the 16th century, so a monk was dispatched to research his entire family history back to Adam & Eve, or thereabouts.

Rupert referred to the “inquisition” against the poor man, and was instrumental in forcing me to come with him “immediately.” Yesterday the man showed up and told me to “pack my shit” and get ready to leave early in the morning. He then went up to the room he normally used at my house and went to bed. Not even a hello. Rupert apologised over breakfast for his shortness with me, but soon returned to his grumpy ways once we drove out of the drive. There was something that was concerning the demon-hunter but he was not keen on telling me about it. Unfortunately neither my source nor anyone else was willing to tell me too much about the whole saga, so I was flying blind, a situation that was not to my liking. I was sure that Rupert was plagued with the same vile dreams I was getting since our escape in Marshbier. He looked just as tired and drawn as I did. The only benefit to the enforced silence was that I was able to catch up on my scribbling about my work; fortunately my Visor allows me to type, sparing the potential reader from having to suffer with my handwriting.

We finally reached our destination in the middle of the afternoon; it was never clever to go on these sorts of forays and arrive at night. As Rupert was not his normal fountain of information, he never bothered to tell me we were heading to a small guest house on the coast of the island, not the Monastery. I was relieved to see a pub attached and surprised to hear my companion speak for the first time in over 2 hours.

“Here we are! We have to meet our friends here instead of at the Monastery for political and religious reasons.”

What?” I said, slightly surprised by the statement.

“Well the political is to be expected, and I am sure we will hear more about it inside. The religious is a bit offensive and really fucked me off.” He sat next to me, a vein on his neck popping out from time to time.

“That might explain your chirpy nature. What the hell did they say to you?”

“Well, we are not allowed anywhere near the Monastery because of our pagan and anti-Christian beliefs!”

“What, they are insulting you as they ask your help? That is pretty bloody hypocritical.”

“Well, to be fair, it was a quote to emphasise the problems the order was having with this. Seems that fucking American crank joined the order a decade ago and is leading the movement to expel our poor friend here. He is the one pushing for the exorcism option. He will not be pleased when he hears Brother Maynard and Brother Taylor have snuck their Brother out. We are waiting for them to arrive.”

“Well since they dont like us, anyway, why dont we go get a pint?”

“I will wait here…you go ahead. I will bring them in if they show up. ”

“Then I suppose someone might tell me what is wrong with Brotherum the troubled Brother.”

“I gave my word not to tell you too much, as they are deathly afraid that the tabloids might get a hold of the story. They are paranoid the News of the Screws is going to grab this one and not let go.”

“Oh, good point…well, I will see you in a bit. The owner of this place knows we are coming, right?” I said as I was getting out of the Land Rover, which still held a slight stench from our last foray against the dark side.

“Either this place is haunted, or that face I see in the window over there is the owner. Dont let on anything, will you? We are staying here, one way or other, so just stay in there. You might want to take a book, it could be a long wait.”

I walked into the guest house and headed for the bar. The “ghost” smiled when he say me walk into the bar. “Welcome to Anglesey, sit. Sorry the weather isnt up to much or you could see to Ireland!” He showed me to a seat near the window, “what can I get you? A cup of tea? Coffee?”

“Actually a pint of some sort of ale would do me fine.”

The look of shock on the mans face was clear for all to see. He chocked a bit and looked straight at me. “I am sorry sir, I am used to getting religious men in here and they dont normally partake.”

“Dont worry, I am not a man of the cloth, per se, well that least not a “cloth” that forbids a tipple now and then.”

“Sorry, but the way you are dressed.”

It became obvious to me that my fame as Sage of Wales was not as universal as I was led to believe. I didnt bother to correct the mans ignorance and it would no doubt hold up my pint even more.

“No problem, that is a common mistake.” Remembering what Rupert said in the Land Rover I stopped my explanation. “Do you have any peanuts to have with that pint?”

Service won out over curiosity and the man rushed off to the bar to get my pint and peanuts. There was a local newspaper on the table beside me which would have to entertain me until Rupert joined me. I would guess the proprietor felt guilty for his gaff, so he offered me a cigar from his small but well stocked humidor. I guessed he figured if I drank I must smoke as well, it was not until we got the bill much later than I realised the Cuban maduro was on the house. I was able to determine that the well stocked bar and humidor were for the fishermen who came to the area in the summer, and were not for “monks on the piss.”

The local paper was bereft of information about the goings-on in the Monastery, and was actually lacking in any useful information whatsoever. Although the paper cost 30p, it was filled with the same sort of rubbish as a big towns free circular. I puffed on my cigar and drank my pint while occasionally noticing the look of contempt on my hosts face at my behaviour. He made a rather pathetic attempt to look like he wasnt staring at me. I must have looked quite the site in my robes, puffing on a big stogey, and drinking a pint of strong ale. The owner was saved from his being more scadalised by the appearance of Rupert with a small man in tow.

Rupert peeled off and spoke to the owner of the place, while the small man in plain clothes came and sat down next to me. He didnt speak but acknowledged my presence with a short bow of his head. He sat in his chair with both hands in his lap and his lips crushed together as if he was afraid they might open on their own accord. I watched Rupert, who was having a fairly animated discussion with the man behind the bar. I was able to hear what they were saying but the man behind the bar spent much of his time shaking his head.

“Look how many other people are going to come in here tonight? I bet there is no one on the hotel, either. Its a Monday night on a cold and rainy March day. I just need some privacy for an hour or so. I will pay you for anything we drink or eat, trust me. ”

“I promise you that is impossible, I am legally obliged to be in here with my guests. I wont listen to what you are talking about, I promise; if you need so much privacy, why not go to your room?”

“This is rather delicate and I would like the gentleman over there to feel as comfortable as possible.” Rupert was getting annoyed with the man he was chatting to, and desperately worried the monk would have an “episode” and blurt out something impertinent. He sighed: “alright I will give you 300 for the rent of this room for 3 hours, plus dinner for 3 when I ask for it. Either that or we all leave, and you lose 3 rooms rent for the night.”

“But you have booked in advance”

Rupert growled, “look, dont give me that crap! You have no one in your hotel tonight, you wont be losing a damn thing. Do we have a deal or am I leaving right now?”

“Uh… alright, but I will have to take you credit card and charge you for the whole lot in advance. That will be 400 in total.” And as if the guy really wanted to get hit, he added. “I am giving you a $20 discount on your three rooms.”

Rupert kept his cool and glared at the man. “Alright but you charge the card right now and make it sharpish. Then leave us alone until I come get you, and make sure no one comes in here or I call my credit card company and cancel the charge. ” Rupert handed over his credit card and took his pint, taking a few sips as he watched the owner charge his card. It happened very quickly and then he disappeared.

Rupert looked stern until he got close to us. “Hah, what an arse, what he doesnt realise it we now have all we can drink. What a plonker that guy is?” He turned to the monk and handed him a glass of wine. “Sorry, Brother Thomas, I didnt mean to embarrass you with my language. Is there anything else you want right now?”

The little man finally opened his pursed lips. “No, this will be fine, ah Rupert.” What neither of us realised was this was the last time Brother Thomas would be a sheepish little monk in front of us. “I havent had a glass of wine in over 20 years. Thank you very much, you are a very perceptive man, young Rupert.”

He then turned to me and smiled. “You must be the Sage of Wales! I have look forward to meeting you since you were installed. A fascinating development, this country finally admitting to its pagan roots and culture.

I would be the first to admit I was stunned that the monk was so knowledgable about me. He could tell.

“Ever since my “little problem”, I have been banned from the main area of the Monastery and forced to live in a one of the small houses on the edge of the Monasterys land. What no one remembered when they stuck me there is that is a fully modern house! It has Sky television, a computer, and a radio! I am suppose to be suffering, haha!” There was nervousness in his voice, and he was not being totally honest about his feelings. His Welsh accent did not hide his pain and anguish.

With that, Thomas, as he wished to be called, now that he was exiled, went on for 30 minutes straight about the intrigue that his problem caused in the Brotherhood. The event solidified the two factions in the organisation between the “reactionaries” and the “realists.” He laughed at times, sometimes in mid-sentence, especially when talking about his treatment by the reactionaries. He was convinced that were it possible he would have been burnt at the stake by now. He repeatedly thanked us for “rescuing from his terrible fate.” The only trouble was, I was still in the dark about what the “problem” entailed. I could not get a word in edgeways; let’s just say that the Brotherhood was filled with as much intrigue, scandal, and petty infighting as any soap-opera.

What troubled me is that the description I read about the man, and what I saw before me, bore little resemblance to each other. Part of me thought “Brother Thomas” was an imposter. The man blithering on before me was not “a quiet little man who was studious and introspective in his devotion,” in the slightest degree. I would soon learn that what I saw was a manifestation of his “affliction.” The man was possessed with the “gift to gab,” fine for a chat show host, not a good thing for a monk. I was beginning to understand why so many wanted to get rid of him. I would have to wait until after a rather good dinner to find out what was going on with Thomas. It would be 16 hours or so before I understood why he was called “the Reader.”

Considering the behaviour of our host earlier in the evening I was rather impressed by the dinner we were served. No doubt the fish and vegetables were all local. Rupert, the former monk, and I shared a bottle of wine, and it went rather well. While we finished the wine we were able to have nice natter with Thomas. He was curious to know all about me and my work, as well as more mundane topics. During the port, Thomas began to tell us some more about the goings-on in the Monastery which I found to be most amusing. I kept getting visions of a new radio program called “As the Monastery Turns.” The petty squabbles were much more amusing than the larger more serious ones. By 10 pm, a few people started to trickle into the bar, and Rupert seemed unperturbed.

We stayed and chatted until past normal closing time, since we were allowed to stay in the bar as residents. After the other patrons had begun to arrive, Rupert began to pay for our drinks again. It was not until midnight that the three of us decided that it would be prudent to go to bed.

“We best be up early tomorrow, as I want to head south as soon as possible, I am sure Brother ThomasI mean Thomas here would like to get things going as well.”

He sighed and for the first time, looked like his description. He shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the table. “Yes it would be nice to sort this out so I could return to my Brothers. I miss my devotional work, and think I am beginning to remember why I left the outside world in the first place. But my fate is now in your hands. May God have mercy on me.”

Rupert put his hand on the little mans shoulder and smiled. “I am sure the Sage will be able to help sort this out one way or tother. I am not promising you will be able to go back to the Monastery, but we will figure something out for you, Thomas, I can promise.” Rupert lowered his voice a bit and spoke sternly. “I think the way you have been treated is appalling. ” I could see he wanted to swear but held himself back. ” I cant imagine such “godly” men treating a Brother so badly.”

“Rupert, you are too kind. My condition is very alien to them. I should not be surprised some of them think I am one with the devil ”, I could see Thomas wince when he said this in obvious pain at the term.

“Thomas, I hardly think it likely that you are possessed by a demonif you were, how would you be able to stand being on such hallowed ground as the Monastery?” I then attempted a joke which worked, for a change. “Dont they teach you monks anything these days? Have you lost your copy of Maleus Maelificarum? You werent doing your best impression of Linda Blair in the Exorcist and not told us, have you?” I smiled when I said this. trying to make sure it wouldnt bomb.

Thomas smiled a little, “I suppose you are right. No I havent done any floating in the air, or twisting my head around. I just blurt out things in certain places in the Monastery.”

“What?” I was interrupted.

“Look gents, its time we went upstairs, we shouldnt be chatting about this in public, one of these drinkers in here might be on the payroll of one of the tabloids.” He rose from his seat and headed towards the door, Thomas and I followed. “I will be right back, let me get the bags out of the Land Rover.”

“Thomas, dont you have anything?”

“No, I just have what is on my back I am afraid. I wanted to stop off at a local shop and get some new kit but my Brothers would not permit it.”

There were two keys sitting on the front desk, which I assumed were for us. I was about to make a mistake, an almost fatal mistake. “Why dont you have a room to yourself, you might want some privacy to say your devotions tonight.”

“Thank you that is very kind of you. God forgive me, but I think I will be going right to sleep tonight. I am knackered.”

Rupert walked in the front door and handed me a my small backpack. He handed Thomas a package to a look of bemusement.

“Whats this?”

“I took the liberty of getting you some basic supplies and clothes.”

“Ahhh, thank you. ”

“We can stop in one of the shops along the way tomorrow to get you some more clothes. I would rather you looked a bit more normal, so as not to draw undue attention.” Rupert headed up stairs and we followed. Our rooms were at the top of building and at the far end of a narrow little hall. Room 12 was the room with the two beds and room 14, was the single. I handed over the keys and we all disappeared into our rooms. Rupert use the bog first, and I soon followed. Sleep came quickly and I went dreamless for a change.

My dreamless sleep was loudly interrupted 2 hours later. The first thing I heard was the door slamming open and Rupert swearing in Welsh. I grabbed my cape and ran after Rupert. I could see his prey at the end of the hall; two robed figures were struggling with a wriggling Thomas. He didnt cry out but was putting up a fight as if it were for his life.

Rupert launched his bulk into the air at the farthest “Monk”, managing somehow to clear the banister and the struggling Thomas. He knocked the robed figured down the stairs and into the wall on the landing. I was standing behind Thomas, but I managed to get another shoulder around to give the figure a good shove. It was pretty pathetic but just enough to shove the figure off Thomas. The robed figure decided all was lost and rushed to help his friend extricate himself from the fracas. The two of them combined and easily shoved Rupert away, as they sped down the stairs and out the front door. As we collected next to Rupert, we noticed something about our fellow combatants, or at least I did. The robes were in fact floating over the carpet. I could not see any sign of feet or legs, even though the robes would have been calf-length. For something that put up so much of a fight I was relieved to see they needed to open the front door. Rupert pursued them to the front door, barely managing to avoid crashing into the owner.

“What the?” Was all he managed before the air was knocked out of him and he collapsed into a bundle on the floor. He went unconscious as his head bounced off the chair beside the front door.

“Well, that is a stroke of good luck!” Rupert decreed, and he closed the front door and propped the man against the wall.

“What?”

“Well there will be less to explain than if he actually caught sight of those things that just left.” He paused to catch his breath. “I am afraid our nights sleep is at an end; we must get out of here as soon as possible.”

“Shouldnt we at least wait till daybreak? I doubt those things are a danger in sunlight. If they are what I think they might be.” I added.

“Well we better get this guy into the bar and put him on one of the benches. I think it will be coffee all around. We should sit with him till he comes round and get out of here as soon as dawn hits. I want to be well away as soon as possible. Sage, could you go get our things? Thomas and I will handle this downstairs.”

“Yes, no problem, I will get changed as well, while I am at it. I would try to keep away from those windows in the bar though, sit with your backs to the wall if you can. They dont seem to be able to get through solid matter.”

“Good idea.”

“Why dont you tell our host that we stopped a robbery attempt and he got knocked out in the process?”

Brother Thomas, who was pale and look very upset, managed a witty quip. “Well they were trying to steal away with something. Me!”

We all laughed, and I rushed upstairs, but not before Rupert used a chair to barricade the front door. By the time I was downstairs again, changed, with all our things, the owner was coming round, and there was hot coffee going. I heard Rupert telling him our “story”, and, as he was groggy, there wasnt much resistance. I believe he even managed a thank you, before trying and failing to get up.

I decided we would forget to call the police, as they would no doubt delay our escape from the island. Sunup came quickly, and we managed to get some sunlight despite the heavy dark clouds over the sea. The owner was relatively coherent by the time we left, but not enough to be able to stop our exit. The sunlight held out just long enough for us to get across the Menai Bridge without incident.

Thomas sat in the backseat, clutching the Giddeon Bible I “borrowed” from the hotel. He held the book to his chest with his eyes tightly closed and quietly prayed to himself. His eyes were so tightly closed that it was hard to see that his face was so equipped.

Rupert was no more forthcoming about our attackers either, but from the haste which we were flying down the A499, they worried him. Yet again I was stuck reading a book…this time it was the Mabignogian, a book of Welsh myths. I was sure that our floating friends would not show up in this volume.

One thing I noticed as I read in Welsh was the fact that the mumblings of Brother Thomas seemed to drift between at least 3 different languages. I noticed Latin, English, and Welsh, but there might have been a few others.

“I didnt know the Monks prayed in Welsh? Hrm, will wonders never cease?” I said that myself as I began to hear a snippet of what could only be Middle English. As I looked back I still saw Thomas with his eyes tightly closed, but he was holding his mouth closed as he had the night before; it was very odd to behold.

He returned to his chirpy self when we stopped in a petrol station for a pee and a few snacks, but soon he was back to his contemplative state. I was able to figure our where we were headed when we pulled in the parking lot of St Davids Cathedral. As to be expected it was already drizzling when I got out of the Land Rover. In all my years I never once visited St. Davids without it raining on me, not even when I managed to make it on his day, the 1st of March! It was obvious to me that St David was not appreciated by the Druidic gods of Wales. They still held it against him that he managed to convert some of their people to the cause of Christ.

The monk hopped out of the car with gusto, and seem to be keen on visiting this sacred location. He trotted off towards the Cathedral, mumbling to himself. Rupert quickly locked the Land Rover and ran after the little man. I walked calmly behind them as we headed off towards the Cathedral.

Rupert motioned to me to catch up as we neared the grounds of the Cathedral. It would not be long before I knew why. Brother Thomas became agitated as we neared the first grave in the grounds, he didnt say anything but became flustered looking. He then began to search the graveyard in a rather random way, as if guided by wires, his change of direction were pronounced and not the least bit normal. Because of the poor weather, there were few people about to notice the mad-man drunkenly wobbling around the place. Despite the randomness of his actions, it was clear at least to me that the man was looking for something. Unfortunately when he found it, we were unable to understand what the man was saying.

He stopped next to a wall and near a badly faded gravestone and began to speak in a tongue I was unable to understand. Rupert was as bemused as I was and looked at me. What Thomas said was neither Welsh, Latin, or Gaelic, and it certainly was not English, either. It was unlike any language I had ever heard, filled with guttural sounds and odd clicks. We stood entirely aghast at what the little man was doing. He seemed to be telling us something, but, alas, we were unable to understand. After fifteen minutes of this, Thomas stopped and slumped against the wall. Over the rest of the afternoon we began to understand his nickname. Rupert and I were both fascinated by Thomas skills. However, it became apparent over the day and intervening weeks that he was horrified by his “gift.”

He was able to begin to control it better and learned to function more normally. Rupert stayed with me for a week or so with Thomas. Whenever possible we took Thomas to places that would “trigger” his ability to help him train himself, much of the time his ramblings were merely the history of a location or other. His ability honed in to major events of emotion, whether it be a birth, a death, a betrothal, or a fight. It was an interesting, if random way of learning the history of a village in Wales. Some of it was interesting, some of it curious, much of it was trite. Thomas read the scene and was able to narrate the goings on. It was an odd form of radio drama, and I began to understand why the monks were not more appreciative of his abilities.

I was unaware that Thomas attackers made an attempt on him again until Rupert disappeared one day for most of the afternoon. He returned with a beast which looked as if it were a hound of hell, the huge Scottish Wolfhound stood to Thomas chest and must have weight 15 stone. Rupert led the “dog” into my farm house and returned to his Land Rover to bring in the dogs supplies. There was an uneasy calm as the dog sniffed the two humans in the room in such detail that he was almost a pat-down. During its examination, the dog looked firm in its resolve, but once we passed muster her enthusiasm turned dangerous. She knocked poor Thomas on his arse in the front room and pushed me into a chair in order to lap my face.

Rupert returned just in time, “ah I see you have made your peace with Edin.”

Thomas looked up at Rupert from floor in total astonishment.

“Why did you bring this beast here? Are you mad?”

“Quite the contrary, Andrew, what you have before you is one of the most expert daemon hunter dogs in the world. She comes from a lineage almost as long as mine, and I would advise you keep her on your good side because she will probably end up saving your life someday.”

“Ah? You dont mean she is mine?”

“Yes I do, in fact, she was a gift from a elderly Scottish mage in appreciation for your service to Scotland. He sends his compliments, anonymously, but assures me you shall meet soon.”

“Er what? I havent done anything for Scotland, I am barely doing much for Wales?

“Well, Sage I am just doing as I am told. The dog is all checked out and there is nothing dodgy about her or her background. Besides, we need her, someone tried to get in last night, again, and I am not going to stay here all the bloody time. I am a daemon-hunter not a bloody bodyguard.” He paused and smiled as he helped Thomas onto a chair.

Edin was now calmly lying down on the rug with her head on her paws staring at me.

“You know you spend time cheesing off the forces of evil, you sleep too damn soundly. ” he laughed.

We must have looked right prats, Thomas, Rupert, and I with a huge dog trampling all over the Pembrokeshire countryside. The dog settled in well, and guarded poor Thomas like a hawk, sleeping at the end of his bed and blocking the entrance to his room. To be fair, the two got along well taking walks during the day on my land. The only time Edin ever barked, I could hear the window panes in the house rattle.

Once Thomas was feeling better and I was more comfortable with Edin, we ventured farther north on the coast of Wales. In retrospect we ventured a bit too far north or rather too close. I am sure what we heard that day was a warning, alas the warning was in a language none of us understood, it was so alien I was even unable to write it down. We drove to a town near Marshbier to test my guests abilities. Thomas was keen when asked to do it; he spent much of the time feeling guilty not being useful, his bread-making skills notwithstanding. After the first week, Thomas insisted on making dinner at least one night a week, for the first few weeks we were able to help the local hostel with their meals, as Thomas had never cooked for less than 20.

We all went to a country-pub in the next town down the coast from Marshbier. It was an interesting if harrowing afternoon, but fortunately for us there were few people in the pub after lunch hour, so the outburst was unseen by many. We all enjoyed our ploughmans’ in relative peace, so it was not until after lunch that things got hairy. Thomas and Edin both began to look north at the same time, Edin sniffing the air and looking concerned. Thomas on the other hand, experienced a fit of sorts, his eyes rolled back in his head as he stared towards the town. He began to speak in Latin, but then it degenerated into something much older and darker. This went on for 30 minutes or more. Rupert and I watched in awe as our friend began to speak as though he were speaking to an assembled multitude. It stopped almost as soon as it started.

We drove Thomas back to the Monastery exactly 2 months from when we collected him . He was clearly anxious to get back to his old life. I was able to convince the Monastery to take him back, convincing them that his affliction was under control.

It was several months until we heard about Brother Thomas again. After a period of exile he was allowed to return to the Monastery. His outbursts were in “re-mission” and he was able to continue his life of devotion and prayer. This tranquillity was not to last very long. Not much is known of the exact details of The Readers disappearance but what is known is rather unpleasant.

On the night of the 3rd of June, Brother Thomas disappeared from his rooms, as well as his “minders” Brothers Maynard and Taylor. Their disappearance was not noticed until morning, and not one of the other Brothers heard a thing, naturally. Rupert and I attempted an investigation, but the Brothers were less than forthcoming, and the police were unable to find any evidence of foul play. In the end the official story was that the three men “succumbed to temptation and ran away.” A strange conclusion to be sure, since none of the men took any of their things with them. It would be a month till the bodies of Brothers Maynard and Taylor were found washed up in Caernarvon on the town beach. Brother Thomas body was never found.