After questioning the East African sailor and detouring for Brindleton to telegraph an old friend, Lieutenant Colonel Blanche, with some queries, you head off in the direction of the Tynemouth Circle. This is a gentleman's club of some distinction, like The Grey Society. Ordinarily only members may enter, though there is a reciprocal agreement with The Grey Society to allow visitors. One of the butlers shows you into a oak-panelled room with leather chairs inhabited by mostly frail old men swilling brandy.
The one called Admiral Nelson is in a booth on his own. He is old, bearded, and sure enough missing one arm and one eye. Somewhat perturbingly he does not have his empty socket covered - it is a black pit in his face, surrounded with vivid pink scars.
"Yes?" he says brusquely as the butler introduces you and recedes.