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... Early dawn, just as the sun was beginning to peep out of the horizon, in an antique house somewhere in London.

“Ah... my back hurts.”

In the living room of that place, suddenly a loud bang echoed out along with a groggy voice.

“But where is this...? I was at the races a moment ago...”

The owner of that voice was Rachel Watson, who had signed the most valuable contract in London mistaking it for a betting slip.

“Ah... could this be a police station...?”

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