CHAPTER 7
Bound to Escape
The mists of time cleared and I was in Victorian England. The furnishings of the room looked antiquarian. I stared out of the window and I could see horse drawn phantom cabs going down the street. The date pad on the side of the mahogany desk read 4 August 1842.
“Detective Wilson, can you hear me?” said a man’s voice.
I looked around and seemed to recognize the familiar features of Detective Wilson Locke’s assistant Henry Butler, who would diligently keep a record of all his Memoirs, which he hoped he could publish sometime in the future. I was now in the consciousness of Detective Wilson Locke.
“Sorry, Henry, I was just miles away,” I said as I looked at the large Egyptian painting on the wall hanging over the fireplace. The painting depicted Osiris, the God
