“We don’t do records here. You want to speak to your city alderman, make an appointment. You want records you go to the records building.”

“Do I look Persian to you?” the receptionist asked. “Don’t answer that, I know how you colonists think. This is the Egyptian Embassy. The Persian Embassy is across the street!”

Neither Thomas nor his wife and children are at home.

“We do indeed have a David Kingsley staying here, though he’s not in at the moment,” the land lady explained. “You can see his room if you’d like?” The room in question featured a complete set of the works of Arthur Conan Doyle, several pipes, hats, and unusual jackets. It is otherwise neat and tidy,…

The clerk on duty looked positively gleeful. “Of course, we have never had one of our armoured carriages broken into, or classified routes and cargo listings exposed. If you’d like to open an account with the Bank of Montreal and transfer your savings from the Bank of Toronto, we’re having a special today.”

Sir Chilton is not at home, nor is his wife.

The honourable Mr. Chilton is in meetings and unavailable at this time.

“Oh you mean David Kingsley,” Dr. Roberts said, leaning back in his chair. “Absolutely fascinating case. Witnessed the murder of his adoptive father, you know. Quite a dramatic affair: two men broke in, though he only saw the face of one, a man called Moran. The other hid in shadow and gave the orders.” “And…

“Sure, we can send a letter to New York,” the young man at the desk said. “Regular mail is a penny and will get there next month. Express is three cents and will get there in two weeks. What’ll it be?” We gave the man three pennies to rush our letter to Sir Arthur Conan…