SHEN BURST FROM the carriage as it ground to a stop before the tallest and most striking building in England: St. Paul’s Cathedral. Beneath its great dome—topped by a baroque lantern—stood the mourning stone figure of St. Paul flanked by St. John and St. Peter. A bell tower containing the Great Paul, a single sixteen-ton bell, speared the night sky on the southwest corner; a second empty and waiting tower the other. The statues peered down at two figures mounting the stone steps leading from the street to the column-strewn portico towards the propped-open center door. One wore a black cloak and veils, the other the same billowing white dress I’d seen her wear at the theatre only an hour ago. The murderer hauled the stumbling, dazed, yet oddly compliant Nellie Pearl into the darkness; I tra
