Drake sighed as he
disembarked from the 680 Sovereign, pleased to be back home.
“Nickelby, I’ll put
everything back in the armoury, and then I think I’ll give Conner the
Chronicler a call, tell him about our latest adventure.”
“Very good, sir,” replied the
butler. “I’ll have dinner ready in an hour.”
“Excellent,” said Drake,
walking to the house.
After replacing his firearms,
Drake went upstairs to the telephone and dialled the writer’s number. As he
waited for Conner to pick up, he noticed something odd about the carpet.
A
single corner was tucked under itself, ever so slightly, unusual with the
ever-meticulous Nickelby always on the lookout for even the tiniest thing out
of place.
He bent down to attend to the errant corner, and when he stood up, he
saw a three inch, needle- thin dart embedded in the painting hanging on the
wall where his head had been only seconds earlier…
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