Today's London had a dense drizzle, with a thick curtain of rain pressing from the northernmost to the southernmost tip of the city.
The Greenwich District was also engulfed in the pouring rain.
In the Wheatstone Musical Instruments Store, Arthur, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, had quite a bit of rain on his shoulders as he leaned against the counter, puffing on his pipe. Between puffs of smoke, his sharp black eyes scanned the store, which looked as if it had been raided by bandits.
After a while, Arthur finally spoke, "Mr. Wheatstone, why haven't you called the police?"
"Call the police?" Wheatstone's head shivered as he popped up from under the counter, his face still bearing a trace of relief from having survived a disaster, "How could I dare to call the police? Those people said they were sent by you!"
"Oh?" Arthur rubbed his chin, contemplating the statement, "You mean to say that I brought those devils here?"