Old London Bridge. CHAPTER I. The detective reckoned that his quarry would be up in ten days more. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. This is your moment. “I’ll be hanged if I do. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. “Holy shit!” Giggling and snickering was amplified by asbestos tiles and reverberated by metal desks. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. Ramage?” he asked. .
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