Octavius Guy, Esq.

🧐

Very, good sir!

Saturday October 7, 1854.

I am perfectly happy using my underworld acquaintances to help me solve a case; I am perfectly unhappy to be ordered to do so!

Bertha was unequivocal. "They legged it," she said. "Wouldn't surprise me if they wasn't in Scotland by now. Another sherry, Octopus?"

Most dogs are nice, miss.

Sir John sounds like a rather regal elderly schnauzer.

For all of a minute, miss.

Then I learned what my employer expects.

A great compliment!

Friday October 6, 1854.

My employer Mr Bruff summoned me to his office.

"This is Sir John Geeson," he said as I entered. "I still act on behalf of his wife."

A greying gent with luxuriant whiskers eyed me disparagingly.

"Ignore his youth," said Mr Bruff. "Gooseberry's your man."

I thank you for your kind concern.

How awful for Sir John.

Exactly, miss!

A brutal and dangerous bunch!

Thursday October 5, 1854.

The three convicts (minus a fourth man who got clean away) were jailed for house breaking.

They'd been apprehended at gunpoint by the owner, Sir John Geeson, but not before his wife had been brutally struck down.

Lady Geeson remains in a coma to this day.

A sight to behold 🤣

Wednesday October 4, 1854.

"They got details here of the crime those escaped prisoners were tried for." George flicked his newspaper to straighten it.

"Don't tell me," said I. "Whatever it was, there was a fourth man involved, who managed to get clean away."

George's jaw dropped.

Hmm…intriguing 🤔

Aha!

Tuesday October 3, 1854.

On Saturday last, having toured the new meat market at Copenhagen Fields, I'd happened upon a man kneeling over a cage in the field at the north-eastern corner.

I heard the flurry of wings and saw two pigeons take to the sky, headed for Pentonville Prison.

Oh no. Danger!

Oh no young man.
Members of the criminal fraternity on the loose.
What will you do?

Monday October 2, 1854.

George and I were seated in our office, each trying to tempt Mr Tibbles from his box, when one of the junior clerks burst in with the news: three prisoners had escaped from Pentonville Prison on the Caledonian Road.

Oddly the pigeons I'd seen nearby sprung to mind.

Sunday October 1, 1854.

To church in Camden; the sermon was boring.

Afterwards I told George what I'd seen yesterday: "They've taken the fields and sectioned them off, and built brick abattoirs everywhere."

I don't know why, but I didn't mention the man I'd seen with the pigeons.

Saturday September 30, 1854.

After eating a leisurely breakfast I considered what to do with my day.

Since it wasn't raining, I took a stroll up the Caledonian Road to see what progress had been made at Copenhagen Fields, the site where London's new meat market will go.

Woo hoo. Well done Sir 💎💎

Well acted Sir!

Friday September 29, 1854.

"You delivered it up then?"

"I did, George."

George smiled smugly. "Bet it feels good knowing that you did the right thing!"

It felt even better knowing that I had a receipt for my ruby and that, when Sergeant Gray was through with it, I'd be getting it back!

So many people have been on at me about who the ruby belongs to, miss.

It's mine. It became mine when I purchased the clock it was in.

Even an old adversary such as Sergeant Gray recognizes this.

And yes. A receipt!

Ah a receipt. Excellent.

Thursday September 28, 1854.

"So this ruby was given to Mr Goodman by the scurrilous Mrs Klein?"

"Out of guilt over the attack, I believe."

"And you found it in the clock you bought?"

I nodded.

"I expect you'll be wanting a receipt."

Sergeant Gray sat down at his desk and began to write.

Wednesday September 27, 1854.

George sat stroking Mr Tibbles on his lap; I stared out the window, waiting to be asked again if I had delivered my ruby into Sergeant Gray's possession.

I could always "lose" it, I reflected. Bertha would have no trouble finding me a buyer...