Deadline

Deadline Shortly after eleven o'clock that evening St John Derby, the editor of the Samuel Pepys column of the DAILY GLOBE, had lurched into his office, poured himself a drink and rung the nightwatchman for a cab. When Albert came up to tell him that the taxi was downstairs, he found the reveller slumped across the blotter. He attempted to shake St John into motion. But St John Derby was not just drunk. He was, of course, extremely dead... Let Sleeping Dogs Die The kennelmaid, walking briskly down the path, noticed a sleek black shape stretched out at the corner of one of the enclosures. Instantly she knew that it was the champion of Three Corners, the son of Champion Whately Winner and Champion Connemara Cutie, and the finest dog ever bred in Alisa Potts' kennels. A few seconds later she was inside the cage, kneeling beside him. He was, of course, extremely dead...