Chapter 210: Old Paris (5K2)
London, Tower Hamlets, pairs of cavalry boots stamped into the muddy puddles on the early morning streets, their disordered footfalls resounding like the drumbeats of a symphony orchestra.
Clothed in dark blue tailcoats and wearing black top hats, the Scotland Yard officers, all armed and ready, formed a cordon around a small building on the street, securing it tightly.
Many residents of the East End, still in their dreams, were jolted awake by this sudden tempestuous commotion, and the ladies who slept lightly tumbled out of bed, one by one, in their wrinkled nightgowns to peer out from their windows.
They either gasped with their hands over their mouths or could not help but shake their snoring husbands awake, shouting to them, "My God! Dear, stop sleeping like a donkey, come see what's happening outside!"
It was also quite easy to distinguish the leader among the well-dressed ranks of police officers.