“Megan,” Leo whispered, grinning in the dark Wakefield alley. “You’re never going to believe what I just jet-washed out of a drain.”
But the final entry made Leo shiver.
The sound was a roar, a liquid dragon. The pressure was so intense that the manhole cover rattled. Water, black as tar and old as the Industrial Revolution, geysered up, coating the alley. Mr. Khan ran back inside. drain jetting wakefield
And there, wedged in the bend, was a metal box.
He polished the chalice with his sleeve. An angel was engraved on the side, still beautiful despite the grime. “Megan,” Leo whispered, grinning in the dark Wakefield
Leo read further. T. Sanderson was the verger of St. Mary’s Church. When the bank failed, he had stolen the church’s silver communion set to stop it from being seized by debt collectors. He’d flushed it into the sewer, brick by brick, wrapping each piece in pitch-soaked cloth.
“It’s always fat, Mr. Khan. It’s a curry house. I’ll have it clear before your chef wakes up.” The pressure was so intense that the manhole cover rattled
He was a treasure hunter.