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Principle to “exercise persuasion, advice, and warning.” As a professional detective he knew he must find proof rather than issue arrests on mere hearsay. And yet, how might he confront two such similar crimes happening in one night? He had to act quickly. He must not hesitate. He felt he was being chased by an ugly troll about to strangle him, an old memory from his boyhood that rose in his imagination as he pitied the second matron lying dead in Shoe Lane. He asked the constable to explain who he was and what had happened.
    â€œI’m a night watch constable, Colby, sir, responsible for Shoe Lane to Fleet Street and eastward to St. Paul’s. Early this morning, just before dawn, a gentleman from the Shoe Lane House of Correction approached me and requested I come to view a most unfortunate sight. A matron strangled in her parlour, a bit of cloth choked in her mouth.”
    â€œRecall the cloth, Constable. Anything peculiar about it — shape, colour?”
    â€œSir, not to put too fine a point upon it, I reckon on inspection it seemed to be but a snag of old lace.”
    â€œIndeed,” Endersby replied.
    â€œAnd, sir, if I have your permission, I must recall, as well, a most horrific detail.”
    â€œGranted,” Endersby said, curtly.
    â€œThe victim’s neck, sir, was bruised: a dark thick bruise. Given the toppled state of the victim — in her chair, sir, lying back on the floor — I had the opportunity to imagine that she may have been strangled, sir, with a rope or some such item.”
    â€œMost astute, Constable.”
    The hansom pulled into a narrow yard in which there was a building of dark stone so similar to St. .Giles that one could conclude they were of the same lineage.“Before we descend, Constable, one final preliminary,” Endersby said. “Tell me of the child.”
    â€œLittle to tell, sir. In my view, a most peculiar happenstance. On my way to alert constables and a surgeon at Fleet Lane Station House, I saw crouched in a doorway a young female dressed in the muslin worn by the wards of Shoe Lane. To be precise, she appeared unharmed. She had fallen asleep and was cold. On closer inspection, I noted she was light-haired, no more than ten years old. I brought her back to Shoe Lane whereupon the head Matron took her away.”
    â€œMost curious,” replied Endersby. Under his professional politeness Endersby felt a deep fear. A copy cat incident? One man trawling the workhouses of London to kill at random? And the abandoned girls?
    â€œAnything else, sir?”
    â€œLet us both keep our eyes open and our ears cocked, Constable. I will treat you, if I may, as a second set of my own senses. To verify what I see and hear. Are you agreed, sir?”
    â€œMost respectfully, sir. I am agreed,” the constable replied. While the recruit helped the inspector climb down from the hansom, Endersby’s gouty foot pinched him hard. Entering the grand portal, the inspector noted immediately a different atmosphere from St. Giles. Doors were slamming, voices shouting, people rushing by. “Pandemonium, Constable,” Endersby exclaimed, walking toward a large door that had just opened. In a room full of chairs, a cluster of men and women stood huddled like cattle in the rain. “Holla!” the inspector shouted. The fumbling crowd froze. A master approached, his hands shaking. Endersby quickly introduced himself and the constable. Like hungry dogs to a tossed bone, the others scrambled up to the inspector and began barking out their stories. Questions flew: who did this? Why our matron? Is the child dead or alive? “Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to sit down ,” Endersby commanded.
    The inspector began his questioning. After a time, he sent the young constable to inspect the coal chute. He then singled out the head master and ordered the others to return to their duties. Endersby viewed the victim, who had been placed