Yeat's came calling again, in this instance as a singular guest. He insisted on a strolling tour of the city; focused on the rose garden district. It sounded a pleasant distract, if puzzling during this cold and dead part of the year. A call for my coach, my gentleman helped me into my overcoat and we were soon of.
Per Mr. Yeat's request we disembarked upon the far end of the gardens and slowly traversed the many rows of flora. Eventually coming to a juncture of streets, we paused and Yeats did his best not to appear to be observing the structure in the far corner. This proved an impractical task as Mr. Yeats is no actor, I quickly questioned him. Delving into his motives, he revealed the structure was a meeting hall of the knights of Rose and Cross a Fraternal order. He relayed the construction in the distance of the street was for the preparation of antiquarian museum. Further that Crowley was involved in no small respect.
I dwelled on information for some time while Yeats pantomimed his disinterest. Soon though he advised we follow a man leaving the warehouse structure. The pursuit was restrained, following at least a block in distance so to not draw attention. I found this taxing and was not accustomed to tramping about town as such. Our gallivanting would arrive in the darker neighborhoods found just south and east of the cities center. Culminating in a den of ill smoke and darker characters. It was here we found Crowley, the man leading us to him in this establishment.
The beast, as he would call himself, lounged in half consciousness effected by the poppy and some ruinous blend of spirits. We were able to observe easily as the man quickly indulged as well. The spoke at length of preparations. I took little to nothing but Yeats, noted each word of their requirements. We made a hasty egress from the business, making our way with some hurriedness back to my coach.
I was alone in my study in less than an hours time, left to ponder.
Yours very truly