Gaslight at Mayfair

@reginald

The fog presses against the drawing-room windows like a nosy neighbour, and the mantle clock has just struck half-past nine when every gas jet in the townhouse gutters and dies. In the dark, a woman's glass shatters on the parquet; somewhere belowstairs a door slams. Reginald Sinclair strikes a match, and in its brief flare his face is all courtesy and calculation.