Stephen Clanker, assisted by Bobby, busily dug through piles of the back numbers of the newspapers the Mastermind Society provided for its members,

The house managers who kept things tidy at the Society often had a peculiar sense of order. Some of them even a pathological sense of order that led them to habitually sort packing string by colour and arrange the books in the library by height, not by subject or author, as one might reasonably assume.

These sometimes quite exotic and personal arrangements had on occasion led to fits of rage from those who, after searching for twenty minutes still could not locate so much as a penny stamp, and some noses had, unfortunately, been bloodied as a result.

This did not apply to the newspapers, apparently, as they were very logically arranged from oldest to newest and stacked in wooden bins in a storage room near the kitchens for later use in lighting hearths and ovens.

Stephen and Bobby breathed a communal sigh of relief when they found what they were looking for within minutes and returned to the front salon where a loud debate was in progress.

"Tell me again," roared Roddy McCringle at Godwin, "why you suspected the owner if you thought the thing was real?"

"Godwin had a...an inspiration," said Amelia quickly. She stood in front of the main fireplace, her portrait on the mantle behind her, directing the meeting.

Godwin leaned against the wall with his arms crossed petulantly over his chest. He'd already been harangued by several Society members about the validity of his conclusions. Although, unsurprisingly, no one expressed ethical reservations about hypnotising an unsuspecting and highly unwilling individual with the objective of applying their knowledge for one's own benefit. 

Any of them would have done the same.

"Inspiration? What kind of inspiration," asked Millie Goldwalken. "Did he have a vision when he was down in the cellar with it?"

"Something like that, yes."

"And you're sure he was fully under?" shouted Roddy, again. "He could have been having a go. Deliberately spouting nonsense to throw you off if he knew who you are."

"Contrary to what some in this room might think," Godwin said, enunciating every syllable and staring daggers at Roddy. "I am not entirely a charlatan. Yes, I had a vision, Millie, but I couldn't attach it to anything at the time and yes, the man was fully under, thank you very much. I am not so very untalented that I wouldn't be able to tell a faker when one was sat before me, do me the favour."

"Then why didn't you investigate the owner sooner?" asked Reginald Thwackshift from one of the armchairs. "Would have saved time and got you the drop on the rest of the competition."

"Not all of us have your journalistic experience, Reg," tisked Millie. "Probably didn't occur, did it, Godwin? Wouldn't have me and I get visions all the time. Normally only about what the neighbours are having for tea, but still. Don't mean I go across the hall and bang on their door and say, here, is it cabbage and mash again tonight? I just had a feeling."

"Very right," said Amelia. "And it was reported in the Cipher & Gasket that the owner had disappeared, so it would not have done much good to look him up in the end. Stephen, have you found it?"

Stephen waved around the tattered newspaper for everyone to see before reading the final bit of the article Amelia had seen when she had delivered her secret to the house of the parrot finder. 

"Says here that the owner, one Hercules Finch, thirty-seven, of Whitstable, could not be reached for comment in his rooms at Hollickpepper's Guesthouse."

"Hmph," said Andrew Highbottom. "Guesthouse. Easy to disappear from a guesthouse. As long as you pay the rate and don't look like someone they could inform to the Metropolitans about for a quick shilling, they don't pay much mind. I know from experience."

"And you say this Finch bloke is actually inside the octopus now?" said Reginald. "Well, if that's the case, we're going to have a devil of a time getting him out. Just the arms alone! One swipe of an iron gear-driven tentacle that size and you'd be viewing the daisies from underneath. And the thing's got eight of them."

"Nine, actually," said Godwin. "But I agree. Approaching it directly would be stupidly dangerous. There's got to be another way."

"Which is why we must figure out two things extremely quickly," Amelia said. She held up a finger. "One: how such a machine could be put out of commission without too overly much endangerment to persons or things and two," she held up a second finger, "what Finch is really after. What his ultimate target is. If we know that, we shall know where, and possibly how, to trap him."

The front salon fell silent. Only the crackling of the fire in the hearth, the faint hissing of the gas lamps and the occasional clatter or whirr of a passing vehicle outside could be heard.

"Wh..what was the man's full name again?" inquired Peter Redlinkum into the silence. "I've forgotten."

"Hercules Finch."

"Ah yes. The name rings a bell." Peter stared at the floral designs in the carpet, a vacant, far-away mist veiling his eyes. Everyone in the room stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

After a minute or so, he looked up and was startled to find himself the centre of attention. "What is it? Did I produce a rude blast and not notice? I do apologise. Happens sometimes. Perhaps someone might be so kind as to open a window?"

"You said the name rang a bell with you, Peter. We are waiting with humming gears to hear the echo of your bell," said Reginald.

"Oh, right. Give me a 'mo, will you?" His gaze dropped again to stare at the carpet.

"While Peter ruminates, we should get back to the first question," Amelia went on. "How can such a machine be put out of commission or made to malfunction?"

The Masterminds hunkered down and pooled their considerable knowledge of both engineering and underhanded backstreet rumbles.

The controls that operated the beast were certainly in the central body, it was surmised, so logically, that would be the place to target for full termination. The arms could be impeded in several ways, but would not stop the creature as such unless all the arms were impeded. It might however be beneficial to incapacitate the machine before attacking the central body as that would make termination easier. How exactly that would--

"Ah yes. Now I recall where I've heard the name before," Peter said to the floral designs on the carpet.

Godwin waved his hands for silence and conversation ebbed away.

"He applied here," Peter said. "Ages ago now. As you know, the approval committee changes members every six months. I just happened to be on it when we reviewed his application. Arrogant little sprout with a strong taste for the melodramatic. Full of himself to bursting. Not that we take off points for that. If we did, half of us in this room wouldn't have got in. But we do take off points for astounding hubris and blatant dreaminess. Just imagine, his stated Mastermind goal was..."Peter hesitated. "No, that can't be right."

"What couldn't?" Amelia prompted when Peter did go on.

"We shall have to check the files. I'm not sure I remember correctly," Peter said and shook his head.

"Tell us anyway."  

"It was quite preposterous. I'm embarrassed to even say it aloud."

Harriet Kroening cackled through the end of the braid in her mouth. "He didn't say he wanted to steal the crown jewels, did he? That would be the most preposterous thing I could think of."

Peter bit his lip and nodded. "I do believe that was it, yes. The crown jewels. Singlehandedly. But let's do check the files to make sure. It has been quite a while."

Silence.

"That's utterly ridiculous," thundered Roddy. "Even the shrimps in the Home for Deranged Paperboys know that's a joke. It's well known there is no getting past all the armed guardsmen and the locks and doors, not to mention the bloody ravens. No one with a ball bearing of sense would actually think they could pull it off. Not even us, and we're known for trying the impossible."

"The Tower is right on the Thames," said Amelia, thoughtfully. "All he would have to do is scale the one outside wall."

"Which with the octopus' size would not pose a problem, added Godwin.

"And then what?" asked Millie, a look of disbelief on her face. "He just tosses Beefeaters and Crow Masters aside like a set of tin soldiers, squeezes itself into the White Tower, picks all the locks with those nine arms and..."

"Genius," screamed Reginald, leaping from his chair. "absolute bloody genius! That could actually work! Bullets won't stop it and count on the guardsmen to be so dismayed and startled they won't know what to do. Especially not if he attacks at night. Bloody genius. I can't wait to write an article about this. "

"But we must stop him," said Amelia. "Roddy is correct. Think for a moment. How will it reflect on us, the Mastermind Society, if we turned down the application of the one man who actually nicked the crown jewels from The Tower? Something everyone thought an impossibility."

"Wait a moment. You don't think that's why he's doing this, do you?" asked Peter, kneading his hands anxiously. "To get even?"

Amelia and Godwin exchanged a glance. Godwin shrugged. "It's possible."

"I'd say it's more than possible," said Amelia, nodding. "He's out to make us the laughing stock of all of England."

"Then we better not let him succeed," roared Roddy, and made for the bar to grab a pint of ale before the serious work began.

The rest of the room followed right behind him.