“When his business in Rotherhithe was done, one of Sergeant Lambton’s constables walked with him through the rain to Union Street, where there was a cab rank. He’d secured a lumbering old four-wheeler, which had taken him into the Borough, and then across Southwark Bridge. When the cab had deposited him at the threshold of Cannon Street, he had hailed a hansom cab, which had taken him through the now diminishing rain to Whitehall. It was very quiet and rather eerie late at night in King Jame...s’s Rents. When Box entered his office, he found that the gas-mantle had been turned low, and the embers of the day’s fire still glowed in the grate. He sat down in his usual chair at the long table. The ancient pile of buildings continued its creaking and settling of timbers, and from somewhere near the dark rear part of the office, a rat pattered and squeaked its way to some secret destination. What a squalid, petty murder! Fancy being dragged out that far on a stormy night to expose the likes of Victor Freestone!MoreLessRead More Read Less
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