It was in this last index where I managed to find the name, but this time it was associated with an expedition to South America. This seemed even more implausible since few British explorers had ever embarked on expeditions to those remote lands.
The unusual thing is that although I had found his name in an attached document, it did not appear in the expedition's official journal, just like the other two expeditions.
I now had three references: two in the Middle East and one in South America, but the information was still insufficient. It was as if Henson had vanished into thin air.
I was beginning to feel demoralised. The readers of our newspaper might have to settle for some small discovery on the African continent, after a certain amount of embellishment by yours truly, of course.
That evening I left the building dejected. It was pouring down outside as I opened up my umbrella. Numerous puddles had formed and the lamppost in front of the building kept blinking.
Sam, the concierge with whom I had struck up a friendship approached me.
‘How's the investigation going?’ He asked as the raindrops splashed onto my umbrella.
‘Not great. I can't find anything about this Henson fellow.’
‘Funny you should mention him. I ran into the old caretaker from here yesterday, and I asked him about the fellow you’ve been looking for. He says that he remembers a Henson from years ago.’
‘Of course! How had I not thought of it before? I should have asked among former employees,’ I said to him amazed at my own absentmindedness.
Sam walked over to the lamppost, gave it a couple of kicks at the base, and the problem seemed to be solved as the light stopped blinking. On rainy days blackouts were frequent.
‘How long ‘til closing time?’ I asked Sam.
‘About half an hour. On Fridays we close earlier than normal.’
I hurried back up the stairs and searched through volumes prior to the date I had previously investigated. The most fruitful and productive activity of the Geographical Society was from 1870 onwards, the date from which I had begun my research. But it was founded in 1850, meaning that there were twenty years which I had overlooked.
The volumes pertaining to that period had nothing to do with those that I had already studied previously. I was also right about something else: the exploratory activity of the society’s first twenty years had been much less than its activity after 1870.
I decided to start by looking at the foundation of the Geographical Society. Right there in the first few pages was his name: Philip Henson. He had been one of the co-founders of the Geographical Society, originally from the north of England, more specifically from an area just outside of Newcastle.
After a while, Samuel came to tell me that it was closing time. I greatly appreciated his information, because without it I could not have carried on. Now I had something solid to go on that would buy me more time to investigate further.
I spent the next few days in the library studying the history and background of this Henson, whose wealthy family had made their fortune in the mining industry. He had served in the army at Jaipur in India, where he had met his wife Maureen while she and the rest of her family had also been stationed there. After returning to England, he continued in the family mining business and dedicated the little spare time he had to his great passion: geography.
He had kept in touch with his university colleagues who had subsequently convinced him to become part of the newly created Geographical Society. But after a while, he became a symbolic partner due to having to dedicate a lot of time to his business, and only attended the Society’s meetings when time permitted. He had a voice and a vote in them, but did not participate in any organised expedition. It was only when he moved to northern Spain where he founded a branch of the geographical society that he became more actively involved.
As far as I could see, Henson’s biography stating that he only attended meetings seemed at odds with the fact that I had found his name linked with three expeditions.
I left the library and went to look for Samuel, who was going over the day’s visitor log.
‘I need the address of the former caretaker. I would like to pay him a visit this evening.’
‘That won't be necessary. Mr. Mason spends all day and night in the Two Swans, a pub at the end of Kensington Road.’
I didn't give it a second thought and went straight to the pub to chat with Mason.
The Two Swans was an old-fashioned black-fronted building. Upon entering I discovered that it was quite lively inside. I also discovered that they distilled their own gin and that it was strong enough to knock out a horse. As I got closer to the bar the smell became more intense.
‘Do you know a Mr Mason?’ I asked the barman.
‘Hey! Did I hear you asking about Mason?’ Shouted a tall, thin guy with thick bushy eyebrows sitting at a table near the bar.
‘Is that you?’
‘Depends on who wants to know. It also depends on who buys me a drink.’
I turned to the barman and asked him for two pints. The barman nodded with a knowing smile.
‘I’m a newspaper correspondent for the ...’
‘I know who you are,’ he interrupted me. ‘Sam has already told me there’s been a reporter sniffing around the old place,’ he said dryly. He took a swig of his beer and then set the glass on the table. ‘I only remember one Henson. I used to see him once a year.’
‘Why didn't he come to many of the meetings?’ I asked. ‘I understand that he was one of the co-founders.’
‘It’s quite simple. He had a business up north, and then he moved to Spain because of business over there. He was into mining as I recall, and only came to the Geographical Society when he was here on holiday.’
At a nearby table there was a commotion over a card game. A little further on could be heard the incessant sound of darts thudding into a dart board.
‘Do you know anything else?’
Mason shook his head.
‘Thanks for the information,’ I said as I shook his hand and left for home.
Philip Henson's life didn’t seem interesting enough on which to base an article. After a week of research, I still had nothing decent to publish.
I asked my boss if an interview with his uncle would be possible since he was the only person who had ever met Henson. However, I was told that it was impossible as his uncle was elderly and in poor health.
I still had a week left, but I didn't know where to go next. The only clue I had was that Henson’s family came from near Newcastle and that he was part of the North Scale Foundry Mining Company.
The next morning after a cup of tea, I set about finding out the address of the mining company. It turned out that they now had their headquarters in London. So, I decided to pay them an impromptu visit.
It was an impressive building on the banks of the Thames with excellent views of Big Ben. There I was greeted in an elegant Victorian office by Mr. Harris, an experienced accountant with deep dark circles under his eyes. The room was filled with photographs of various mining enterprises, as well as a pair of porcelain vases.
‘Come in and take a seat,’ he said politely. ‘How can I help you?’