The Faded Alibi
"You can’t have the basement key, Arthur. Not yet." The smell hit him first, a thick, cloying mix of boiled cabbage and stale carbolic that seemed to coat the back of his throat like a layer of wet wool. Arthur Vane stood in the entrance hall of St. Jude’s Asylum, his suitcase in one hand and a letter of introduction from the University of Leeds in the other, feeling the weight of the...
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