The Kidnap The man walked out through the imposing archway of Bothwell's main entrance and shivered. There was a definite chill in the air, but what else could be expected on New Year's Eve? Pulling his heavy cloak around himself more firmly he acknowledged the salute of the doorman and went down the stone steps to the to the park in the centre of the Place Royal. Noticing with surprise that he was a little unsteady on his feet, he stretched out a hand to lean against one of the trees by the pathway momentarily. With the investigation nearing its climax he'd been most careful about the amount he'd drunk, despite the time of year and the congenial company.
A cold finger of fear stroked his spine - could someone have drugged what little wine he'd consumed? He glanced around quickly, considering the possibility of a sedan chair for his journey to the Isle de Notre Dame - but immediately discounted the idea. Trying to find a chair or carriage for hire on this of all nights would be a fruitless task. He'd just have to keep his wits about him. The men struck just as he was emerging from the arched entrance of the Place Royal and onto the Rue Royale. He caught some movement out of the corner of his eye but, before he could react, a club to his head sent him spinning into darkness...
