A black number 3 against a red background, encircled by a pair of white opera gloves.
“The Black Council,” said Malengine heavily. Of course it would be the Black Council; Miss Elodie Vesperine was one of their agents and rarely did work for anyone else. The Black Council was the dark heart of organised crime within London, comprised of brilliant, ruthless minds that did not appreciate it when their offers of work were not accepted. Malengine knew that, whatever they wanted, he would have to agree to it. “Oh,” said Miss Vesperine, full of mock concern, “don’t say it like that, sweet Richard. It’s a simple job, for a good fee.”
She linked her arm with his, to the inexpressible envy of Harris. “Come, walk with me while I tell you about it.” So they strolled arm in arm, the pretty young woman of fashion, and the gaunt middle-aged vulture of a man, while the dour Harris tramped disconsolately behind. “You have doubtless heard of Mr Felicitus Hugg,” said Miss Vesperine. “Of course. The entrepreneur and philanthropist. Self-made, yet famously modest. A boon to the poor and needy through his charitable works. What of him?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I don’t kill people, Miss Vesperine. If the Black Council
want him dead, they have other creatures for the job.” “No, no. Attend; on Christmas morning Mr Hugg has called together friends, family, and assorted charities. His intention is to give away the greater part of his fortune.” “How very generous,” said Malengine, wishing he was a friend of Hugg. “Your job,” said Miss Vesperine, “is to stop him.”
No escape for you, nyahahahah ect ect ect. Day 3 of the interminable #AdventAdventure.
