The blue glasses, found in an elevated railroad car,
belong to the victim, Lady Morton.

But Nat and the coroner, misled to the black windows in
depots, re-enact the daily routines of her double.

The job hinges on a leaking cask, painted red, with
mysterious contents.

There’s also a garret, a furnished hotel overrun with
nettles, padded doors, a secret platform.

All the action happens on Tuesday, poor day, stamping
on the rain’s filings.

Guided by a jockey, Nat discovers the culprit in a
phoney pastor’s osier suitcase.

He’s a horrid dwarf, of Mongolian ancestry. The pastor
is his lieutenant.