It's an article from the Argus-Leader; Saturday September 6, 1924. (I'm not super-sure why a Sioux Falls South Dakota USA newspaper reported on these London events?)
How the Prince of Wales and His Fashionable Young Friends Search the Streets for Currant Buns and Other Mysterious Clues, and Why Their Midnight Adventures are Denounced in Parliament as an "Exhibition of Smart Set Imbecility"
London.
The Hon. Lois Sturt, sister of Lord Alington, one of fashionable society's most popular young noblemen, stood up in London traffic court accused of driving her car at fifty-one miles an hour through Regent Park at 2 o'clock in the morning.
"Your honor," said the slender, smartly gowned young woman, "I am guilty. I am sorry."
The old judge, in his robe and wig, bent forward. He was curious to know how it happened that so highly born a young person should have been breaking the speed laws in Regent Park at 2 o'clock in the morning, and he called on the officer who had made the arrest to tell what he knew about the matter.
"It's this way, your honor," the bobby began, "Hi stopped the young lady after Hi had followed 'er for a short distance. Hi told 'er she was speeding. 'But Hi must get there,' she said, 'Hi must get there before some one else finds the next clue.'"
"'What are you?' I asked, 'a bloomin' private detective?'
"'No,' she said, 'oh, no, though my night work is something like—er—a detective's. I am a member of the Society of Bright Young People and we follow clues—all over London—all over the very dirtiest and most dangerous parts of London—for a prize. Mr. Officer, the grand prize is three hundred pounds, and I need the money. I've already overdrawn my allowance. And I've quite a millinery bill to pay. So please let me go on before—before one of the other bright young people gets ahead of me.'
"Well, Hi looked at 'er. Hi saw she was all dressed up in a velvet evening cloak and underneath diamonds and silks. Hi got more and more suspicious. Hi told 'er to get out of the car and to open 'er coat. It was then Hi saw 'ow very fine she was dressed. Hi whistled.
"'You're no sister of Lord Alington,' I said, 'you're a bloomin' Lady Raffles.' Hi thought this, your honor, because she was dressed so very grand. But she just laughed and said the game was up. Hi brought 'er to the station, where some of 'er pals, themselves in hevening clothes, came later and bailed 'er out. But honest, Hi thought she was a burglar in 'igh life."
The officer's explanation and others that followed revealed that the very newest organization in the smart set is one known as the Society of Bright Young People. It has for members the young sons and daughters of many rich and fashionable and even noble and royal families and they are banded together for a very extraordinary purpose—that of following clues in a treasure hunt, which takes them all over London and often to the slummiest, dirtiest and most dangerous parts of the ciry hours after midnight.
The game which the bright young people have devised to satisfy their craving for new thrills is based on exactly the same principles as the treasure hunts to which certain newspapers invite their readers when they print serial stories in whose words or situations are concealed clues to the location of money and other valuable gifts.
Some time before midnight the bright young people drive to the home of one of their members, each in his or her motor car. To each member is handed a puzzle. It may be an enigma or an acrostic or a foolish sounding conundrum, but, whatever it is, the answer to it reveals the location of the next of the long series of clues that must be uncovered in order to win the "treasure," which usually consists of a purse of gold or some valuable piece of jewelry.
Of course this initial puzzle is so arranged that it seems to have a great number of possible solutions. Sometimes there are as many different answers as there are members racking their brains over the problem, and they all start madly off in different directions.
Those who have solved the initial puzzle correctly find at the place indicated another mystic message which, when properly interpreted, guides them to the hiding place of another clue. And so it goes from one puzzle and clue to another through a series that takes the bright young people back and forth over the length and breadth of London until daybreak or after.
All this greatly amazed London society, which even a Labor ministry has been unable to shake from its dignified habits and its dislike for novelties. It lifted eyebrows high, put lorgnettes to its eyes and demanded to know who were the wild young wasters who passed their nights in penetrating the most dismal slums in London when they ought to be at home and in bed?
This was easily found out, for the Society of Bright Young People makes no secret of its membership roll. In fact, it is extremely proud to show how many illustrious names it contains, including royalty and nobility, wealth and fashion and a sprinkling from the stage and other arts added for piquancy.
And whose name do you think leads all the rest on the roster? None other than Edward, Prince of Wales. The more dignified members of London society gasped when they made this discovery and wondered more than ever what the world is coming to.
Yes, the Prince is one of the charter members of the B. Y. P., as the society is known. He is keenly interested in the organization, but other engagements prevented his taking part in a hunt until just before his recent departure for America.
To the Prince's delight this proved the most thrilling hunt yet held. He did not win the prize, but he came fascinatingly near doing so. It is believed that if he had not gallantly yielded a slight advantage to Miss Viola Tree, who was racing neck and neck with him for the final clue, he certainly would have been the winner.
It was the night of this treasure hunt that the Hon. Lois Sturt was arrested for speeding. Miss Tree herself also ran afoul of the law. An officer who saw her trying to scale a wall on the Thames Embankment in seach of a clue thought she was attempting suicide. But she managed to explain things to him in season to save her chance of victory.
Four o'clock in the morning found the Prince of Wales in that unpleasant slum district known as Seven Dials—about the last place on earth where anybody would expect the heir to the English throne to be at any hour of the day or night. He was quickly joined by several other treasure hunters, all as eager as he to find the currant bun which they believed to be hidden there.
While curious slum dwellers looked on in amazement the Prince in his evening clothes and silk hat went down on his royal fours to search the rubbish of the gutter for that elusive bun.
At last he found it. Inside it was a cryptic typewritten message which, after a little study, revealed the whereabouts of the next clue. Into their motor cars the Prince and his companions leaped and away they scuttled through the narrow, crooked streets, each straining every nerve to win this next lap in the race for the purse of gold.
About the time when most of London's millions were starting for work the hunt ended at the mansion in St. James Square which Mrs. Potter Brown, the American hostess, has been occupying for the past season.
There, after the purse containing three hundred pounds (about $1500) had been awarded whith much hilarious pretense at ceremony to Miss Tree, breakfast was served and there was dancing to the music of a string band.
Between dances and mouthfuls of foodd and swallows of inspiriting beverages the members discussed the night's adventures.
Among the women members of the B. Y. P. who never miss a treasure hunt if they can help it, and would like to see them held more frequently, are Mrs. Dudley Ward, one of the Prince of Wales's favorite dancing partners; Miss Tallulah Bankhead, the American beauty from Alabama; the Hon. Olivia Wyndham, Miss Gladys Cooper, Miss Mai Bacon and Mrs. Violar Parsons.
The fun-loving Duchess of York is said to be anxious to join the B. Y. P., but thus far she has been unable to get her husband's permission to stay up all night roaming London in search of currant buns and other clues.
Interest in the hunts is so great that Olivia Wyndham contributes to the current issue of a London magazine an article explaining their intricacies.
"I do not know which is the greater fun," says Miss Wyndham, "laying a trail or following one. When laying one it is very hard to judge how difficult or easy your clues are going to appear to others who do not know your processes of thought."
The clues, as Miss Wyndham explains, are not always in written, printed or picture form. At a certain point in one treasure hunt the various hunters were ushered into a room where there was a dictaphone. Over this one of the trail layers, concealed in another room, was heard reciting over and over again:
"I notice that you are a patron of art. Do not neglect the less academic school at Palmers Street."
Those who interpreted this hunt correctly and when to a certain address in Palmers Street found there, drawn in chalk on the pavement, a picture of St. George and the dragon, the rod of Æsculapius and a figure which those who know their London well recognized as one that stands near St. George's hospital.
Shortly after the hunt in which the Prince of Wales took part, and during which the Hon. Lois Sturt was arrested and Miss Tree came near being, a vigorous protest against the goings on of the B. Y. P. was made in the House of Commons.
Neil Maclean, a prominent Labor member, rose and solemnly asked the Home Secretary "whether his attention has been drawn to the action of certain people who have been organizing freak treasure hunts in London; whether any of these people have been arrested during any of these hunts for violation of police regulations, and whether he intends to ask the recently appointed Commission of Lunacy to inquire into this midnight exhibition of smart set imbecility."
In view of this and other protests the treasure hunts have been abandoned for the present, and it seems probable thta the bright young people will be forced to devices some other means of amusing themselves from midnight to dawn.