Finding a Criminal
From the Note-Book of an English Detective
by John Harris
I WAS aroused one morning from a sound sleep by a quick and loud rap upon my door.
I had been on duty late into the morning, and hence kept my bed later than usual. By the time my wife had reached my room, I was up and half-dressed. She told me that Inspector Starling, one of my brother detectives, wished to see me.
I hurried down, and found him pacing to and fro across the room in a state of considerable excitement.
“Ah, Goff, we’ve got some work on our hands,” he cried, the moment he saw me. “There’s been a murder—a strange one—by Newgate Market. But come along and I will tell you as we go.”
As soon as we gained the street, Starling resumed: