The Distant Clue
The eviction order lay in your palm, the paper soft and browned at the edges, smelling faintly of the damp cellar where it had been stored for three weeks. You are Arthur Hale, thirty-four years old, a constable of the Blackwood District, and you have stood in the rain-slicked courtyard of the Blackwood estate for an hour, waiting for the mud to stop seeping into the soles of your boots. You...
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