In the lounge, besides Sir Sander, there were his two close friends, partners in crime—the President of the underground club, Herbert Asquith, and the pediatrician, David Gladstone.
The gathering today at the Nightingale Club was at Marvin's request.
Of course, to join the Nightingale Club, one couldn't simply have Sir Sander submit a recommendation letter; there needed to be a suitable cause. Conveniently, Russell Benjamin was a businessman, as was Sir Sander. Having mutual business concerns, it was entirely possible to concoct an excuse to meet at the club.
This was Marvin's first time entering the club as a guest, and he had to admit, the Nightingale Club lived up to its reputation. The elegantly decorated lounge, festooned with various famous paintings and statues, could be mistaken for a museum by the unaware, and even the sofas were custom-made cigar chairs, soft and comfortable, seemingly molding to the body as one sat.
"My lord."
