Strop sat back and surveyed the top of his wine glass; in the background, Gertrude worked on, sheets of white paper travelled around the room at great speed, and the arms of the press rose and fell with unerring precision. Strop pulled himself back from the far regions of his memories and then took a long slow pull at his drink.
“When this place, this city, the place you now call home, was nought but an infant, there was not much in the way of a force for good and truth. There were lots of good people, brave men and women, of course. But there was nothing organised if you catch my drift. We kind of just looked out for ourselves; they were hard times, it was brutal, and many fell by the wayside. Then the Fielding brothers got started, they set up the Bow Street Runners, and there you go, w
