Seventy-Seven Clocks: A Peculiar Crimes Unit Mystery
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A mysterious stranger in outlandish Edwardian garb defaces a Pre-Raphaelite painting in the National Gallery. Then a guest at the exclusive Savoy Hotel is fatally bitten by a marshland snake. Over the next several days, an outbreak of increasingly bizarre crimes will hit London—and, fittingly, come to the attention of the Peculiar Crimes Unit. Art vandalism, an exploding suspect, pornography, rat poison, Gilbert and Sullivan musicals, secret societies…and not a single suspect in sight. The killer they’re chasing has a dark history, a habit of staying hidden, and time itself on his side. Detectives May and Bryant are racing the clock and this time the bell may be tolling for them.
flickering further up Haverstock Hill. A moment later the lights went out, and the entire roadway ahead was plunged into darkness. ‘We were warned this would happen,' said May. ‘The Electricity Board is conserving energy because of the strikes. They've started pulling the plugs on whole areas of London.' ‘Oh, that's wonderful,' snapped Bryant. ‘We've gone full circle. They've got the night on their side at last.' 48 / Bringing Back the Day You bitch, you knew all along.' ‘Geraldine,
buildings.' ‘That's just because they haven't given planning permission to build office blocks around it,' said May unsportingly. ‘I love this skyline. It's less spectacular than other cities, but when I think of the men and women who fire-watched for the domes and spires through the war, the mere fact that it still survives at all amazes me.' ‘You're a dreadful sentimentalist, Arthur. Look at the crumbling tower blocks and the empty docklands buildings.' ‘I know they're there, and I can't do
was firm and dry, her manner direct. ‘I don't want you to mollycoddle me,' she informed the detectives. ‘It's no secret that we didn't get along, William, Peter, and I, but of course it horrifies me that they met such terrible ends.' ‘So you know about Peter,' said May, surprised. ‘It would have been hard to avoid items like this,' replied Bella, holding up a copy of the Evening Standard. DEATH RIDDLE OF SAVOY SHAVE Dead man was brother of Tube explosion victim The press were well and
admit that it was a dottily pleasant sight. Pettigrew tapped him on the arm. ‘You know, people don't realize how much of Gilbert and Sullivan is buried in the national consciousness,' he said. ‘Take Princess Ida. The lyrics owe a considerable debt to Tennyson, did you know that? The BBC was playing the first act on September the third, just before Neville Chamberlain announced that we were at war with Germany. And you know the last lines that were heard that fateful day before they faded out the
to push her off the road. The grille slammed against her back wheel as the van accelerated. A crowd of pub-crawling revelers scattered in their path. Jerry swung the bike aside, resuming her position at the rear of the speeding vehicle. It was a stalemate. Where the hell were the police when you actually wanted to be pulled over? They usually swarmed all over the West End at Christmas. Jerry's face and hands were dead, her fingers locked and frozen, her eyes stinging from the intensity of