The Osiris Ritual (Newbury & Hobbes)
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Sir Maurice Newbury, Gentleman Investigator for the Crown, imagines life will be a little quieter after his dual success in solving The Affinity Bridge affair. But he hasn't banked on the reemergence of his villainous predecessor, Knox, who is hellbent on achieving immortality, and seems to be pursued by a secret agent who isn't quite as he seems....
The whole affair is so baffling that Newbury is reluctant to take time away from it to attend to the mysterious murders in the wake of the unveiling of an Egyptian mummy, let alone his partner Veronica's apparent obsession with tracking the growing pool of young women who have disappeared after being used as props in a magician's stage act. But it's all part of a day's work when your boss is the queen of England.
So begins a thrilling steampunk mystery, the second in the series of Newbury & Hobbes investigations, and a grand adventure quite unlike any other.
recovery?” Miss Coulthard nodded. “As expected, Sir Maurice. The doctor says he’ll need a few more weeks to get his strength back, but his memory is returning, slowly but surely.” Newbury smiled. “Delighted to hear it.” He glanced at his hands. “Ah, excuse me for a moment.” He crossed to the sink in the corner of the room and, taking up a cake of soap, began scrubbing away the newspaper ink stains. Then, grabbing a towel from the rack beside the sink, he made his way to the adjoining room,
interest. But I suspect Winthrop can take care of it. I never was an expert on the Egyptian arts, anyway.” He searched Veronica’s face for signs of disapproval. There were none. “I doubt Peterson will have much to add, either. He’s more of a traditionalist. If he’d been interested in the find he’d have been there last night alongside me.” Veronica laughed. “Come now, Sir Maurice! Admit that you’re rather taken with the whole affair. It sounds as if there’s some fun to be had from it. Or you
throw herself into the case. Crying wouldn’t help her sister. And out there, somewhere, were missing women that she could help. She needed to do that, for herself, and for Amelia. Drawing her coat around her, Veronica set out. Whether she could count on Sir Maurice’s assistance or not, she would solve this case. And in the meantime, she would consider how best to aid her dying sister. CHAPTER 9 The police carriage pulled to a sharp halt. Newbury looked out the window. Albion House was once
the nearest control to hand, a lever that had been cranked forward and which he hoped controlled the speed of the dive. He pulled it back fully and felt the Methuselah judder as the engines whined, shifting into reverse. Triumphantly, he stepped back from the controls, only to see his relief dashed almost immediately. The crack in the glass had now extended across the whole of the viewing port, a vast spider’s web with a small impact crater at its epicentre where the stray bullet had struck. Tiny
the man was smiling or frowning at her. His eyes looked vacant. Dead. Suddenly, she felt a longing for her old room, back at the sanatorium. She closed her eyes and tried to suppress her fears. Dr. Fabian gently placed his hands on her arms and lowered her into the wheelchair. Amelia gave him a brisk nod of acknowledgement, then the small party wound its way slowly towards the stark edifice of the Grayling Institute. Inside, the reception hall retained many of its original features: the bold,