7. The mysterious symbol
It was morning before I came to. The blow had pretty much knocked my brains for six. And so it was I awoke in a dock workers’ infirmary, a grubby little place full of stern nurses and disapproving doctors. A rather perplexed Archie Dearlove and a rather serious looking police constable were crouched over me.
“Morning Harker,” beamed Archie. “Have a drop of this, it’s medicinal,” he said, handing me a hip flask half-full of sugary rum. I took a long swig and spluttered as the fiery liquid filled my mouth. I was about to hand the flask back to Archie when the stern officer of the law snatched it from my grasp.
“That’s enough of that, lad, I’d rather you kept a clear head, so as you can answer some questions,” he said, in a not-at-all friendly way.
“Now steady on
