The rain fell harder.
Arthur remained standing in the middle of Henry Whitlock's sitting room.
The white ribbon still rested in his hand.
For several long seconds...
Nobody spoke.
The silence itself became evidence.
Then Arthur slowly closed his fist around the ribbon.
"They're gone."
Collins looked towards the open front door.
"You think they're still in London?"
Arthur answered without hesitation.
"They have to be."
"The Syndicate won't risk moving them out of the city while every road is about to be sealed."
He turned sharply.
"Send word."
Collins was already moving.
"To every division?"
"Every division."
"Roadblocks."
"Rail stations."
"Docks."
"Telegraph every precinct."
"I want every available officer searching."
Within moments...
Henry Whitlock's quiet street exploded into activity.
Mounted officers rode through the rain.
Telegraph operators hammered frantic messages across London.
Scotland Yard had just launched its largest search in years.
