When Chadwick locked up his clinic to return to the townhouse for lunch, he noticed the streets were strangely quiet and looked up at the sky, where he saw the vapor trail of an airship overhead. It was of course too high up to see if it had any identifying colors or markings to say whether it was French or Prussian, but it did point his gaze to a plume of smoke on the horizon to the east.
That explains why no one has come in today. He’d risen early and slipped away while it was still dark, preferring to worship at the altar of science than that of a god who had taken everything from him. Although it shocked a lot of his clientele, he was open on Sunday to accommodate those who had to work the other six days.
He arrived back at the townhouse in time to see Iris McTavish alight from a car
