Chris looked up with a wistful look, taking a couple of moments to seemingly reminisce as the hansom approached.

“The one in London has kept a man who robbed my father decades ago. Not quite a skeleton, but might as well be.”

In a good mood, Chris fished out his own wallet and handed a note to the driver. The driver looked down, frowned.

“You’re short.”

“Christopher Hurley. Put it on my credit.”

Before the driver could further argue, he was letting himself in.