The Distant Clue
The bell above the door did not ring. It clattered, a dull, metallic thud that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards of the sub-basement archive. Arthur Penhaligon looked up from the ledger, his spectacles fogging slightly in the damp air. He was a man of forty-five, with hands that were soft from years of turning pages rather than soil, and a spine that had begun to curve inward, as if trying...
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