The Faded Alibi
The bronze lion at the gate of the Ministry of Interior had not been polished in three days, its patina a dull, oxidized green that mirrored the sickly pallor of the sky above London, and within the hallowed, mahogany-paneled corridors of the department, Detective Inspector Arthur Sterling stood like a man carved from the same brittle, weathered wood, his hands clasped behind his back in a...
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