The Faded Alibi
The ink on the ledger page was wet. It should not have been wet. You had been dead for six months, yet here you stood, Arthur Vane, Inspector of the Metropolitan Police, forty years old and hollowed out by a failure that had cost you your badge’s honor and your wife’s peace. The year was 1912. The place was the Hollow Asylum, a sprawling Victorian monstrosity on the edge of the moors where the...
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