Ts01 Time Station London
Ts01 Time Station London
“They drove in silence to Brian’s apartment, where he dismissed his driver. “It’s late,” Brian observed with a yawn while he gazed across Barenson Mews and, a quarter mile away, Big Ben tolled eleven. “Go home to that family of yours, Mr. Wigglesby.” “Coor, that’s Sergeant Wigglesby, if you please, sor.” Brian laughed aloud as the Austin’s taillights dwindled in the distance. Then he climbed the sandstone steps to the front door. Inside, he quickly changed into the workman’s clothing and left ag...ain. At a matchbox-tiny garage, he retrieved his Morris Garage roadster. The black, squared-off, speedy roadster hugged the cobbles of the streets a scant four inches above their polished surface. The ride took only seven minutes. Brian parked outside the sham travel agency and ran a chain from the steering wheel to a lamppost, which he secured with a padlock. The building was dark. Brian used a key to enter. Frank Matsumoto snored softly in a corner, his head on the desk, cradled in folded arms.MoreLess
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