A new day arrives with hope and promise and, like a thief, my new entanglements pilfer it my grasp. With the morning sun came a wrapping upon my door. Mr. Yeats was proven to be the original of this call, I am vexed at how familiar these callers have becoming. No card nor appointment solely a wrapping upon my chamber door. This must end, I should show these fellows my door and say "Good Day!" Though that would be unbecoming of a gentleman.
Yeats arrive was with request of another walking tour, though again this was only pretence. With gratitude the true intent of this journey was revealed. Mr. Yeats revealed a few of Crowley's devotees had fallen out of the society columns weeks back. This was as oddity as miss Lavinia King was well know to even those naive to Crowley's mileau. Miss King was a noted socialite of good bred and old money. It is a wonder the family would allow her to fall in with chums of this low sort. I suppose Crowley makes target of those well heeled, as means of support.
Our rounds would include several of Miss Lavinia's haunts. From bookseller to bistro the message was the same, she had absconded months ago. Vexing for a social person to shun all occasions of the season. The only clue to be jarred free was from restaurant she had frequented. The owner mentioned a change of diet and a supposition that she had been visiting a health colony. She had requested only morels, fruit and a particular mineral tonic upon her last few occasions. She was a noted enthusiast of the establishments wine cellar and this turn was a surprise.
The proprietor advised a visit to a camp maintained by a Mr. Kellogg if we were seeking Mr Lavinia. It was the only natural living society in the proximity so bared investigation. Again I find myself travelling in the company of Mr. Yeats
Yours very truly