Read Twincy Quinn and the Eye of Horus Part One for Free Online Page B

breeze, the city
around me hinted at the suitable's presence. Yet that hint was
rapidly disappearing.
    I had failed.
Distractions or not, drunkards and men with pale brown eyes aside,
I had failed to reach the child.
    Now that child
would be Doctor Esquire's.
    Yet I would
not give up. Though the chances were slim, I would hunt out that
suitable. I would follow the vestige of its technology, I owed this
city, the child, and myself that much.
    Slowing into a
dignified, sensible walk that would not bring undue suspicion, I
strolled past the horses and carts, feeling strangely stilled by
the vibrations of their wheels and shoes as they picked up through
my feet and legs. Narrowing my eyes, I focused in on the street. I
followed it. I would continue to follow it all night.
    For I would
not give up. I, Twincy Quinn, was not built to surrender.

Chapter 5
    Michael F.
Stanford
    I paused for a
brief moment on the doorstep, letting my eyes flutter half closed.
I even pressed my thumb and forefinger into them, pushing down
lightly until I saw the beginning of stars.
    Then I took a
step forward. I had polished my shoes that morning, as I did every
morning, and as I walked over the threshold of the house, the sun
streaming in behind me glinted across the shiny, black leather.
    I cleared my
throat. A habit of mine. I also reached my hands behind me,
clutching them as I straightened up with a nod. I was facing a man,
probably in his mid-40s, with an ashen, deadened look to his
face.
    ‘ Detective Inspector,’ the man said as he barely glanced my
way. His gaze was fixed on some section of the carpet several
inches away from my right shoe.
    I cleared my
throat. Again. Something I did when I was nervous or just plain put
out. ‘It’s just Detective, actually.’
    The man gave a
bare nod. ‘You have leave of my house. If you need to ask me any
questions, I will be in the drawing room.’
    No doubt with
a sherry glass in his hand, I concluded from the scent of alcohol
which wafted after his words.
    Who could
blame the man? Last night, if reports were correct, he had returned
home from an evening with his wife, only to find his governess
unconscious from an expert blow to the back of the head and his
young daughter gone.
    I cleared my
throat. Yet again. It was a nervous tic of mine that I really had
to get under control. Offering the man a low, careful nod, I turned
on my foot and headed for the stairs. ‘I may have some questions
for you later.’
    When I reached
the stairs, I placed a hand on the banister as I walked up them. I
let the reassuring sound of my footfall against the plush carpet
and wood distract me.
    Another
kidnapping. I had gone to sleep last night after a pleasant dinner
with Elizabeth Stanton, only to be woken up at 4 AM sharp with a
summons to the Yard.
    A summons to
this. The 33rd kidnapping in several months.
    Placing a hand
on my jaw, running my knuckles over my smooth, and freshly shaven
chin, I locked my eyes on the intricate floral pattern on the
carpet as I ascended all the way to the third floor.
    Several
constables were outside, checking the lane ways on either side of
the house for clues. I myself would do the same once I was done
here. Meticulously.
    I was starting
to get the impression that these kidnappings were far more than I
had feared. I had always appreciated they were organised, well run,
and expertly executed. Yet the more crime scenes I attended, the
more I realised something worrying. This was beyond me. No matter
how carefully and precisely I ran through every clue I could find,
they would lead nowhere.
    I felt like I
was dealing with an enemy, a criminal, far beyond anything I had
ever encountered before. Whatever scant information I could gather
at a crime scene would never be enough to help me identify my
target. Just tantalising glimpses, just whispered suggestions.
    Finally
reaching the third-floor landing, I gave the banister a pat, tugged
down on my jacket, and nodded to a constable standing