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“Miss Trent opened the Bow Street Society’s office door but didn’t enter; she knew she’d locked it. Slowly she looked over the darkened room until she could make out two silhouettes; one behind the desk, the other to its left. She stared at the latter as she moved forward and closed the door. “There is a lamp, you know,” she remarked casually. Lifting the glass shade from the kerosene lamp on her desk, she turned on the gas slightly and ignited it with a match. As she carefully increased the lamp’s gas, the faces of Mr Locke and Mr Snyder emerged from the darkness.” — T.G. Campbell
Miss Trent opened the Bow Street Society’s office door but didn’t enter; she knew she’d locked it. Slowly she looked over the darkened room until she could make out two silhouettes; one behind the desk, the other to its left. She stared at the latter as she moved forward and closed the door.
“There is a lamp, you know,” she remarked casually. Lifting the glass shade from the kerosene lamp on her desk, she turned on the gas slightly and ignited it with a match. As she carefully increased the lamp’s gas, the faces of Mr Locke and Mr Snyder emerged from the darkness.