Maggot had disappeared. Wood at Dollis Hill, was assaulted and half-killed by a party of ruffians, headed, he swore, by Mr. You, sir,” he added, turning to Brendon, “had better take my card round to the police station in Werner Street and ask that Detective Dorling be sent round here at once on urgent business. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment.
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