Cannon Street

Recording by Tom Weiss Chapter 3 In Which a Strange Story Is Told In order to put the plain unvarnished truth before you, I must in the first place explain that I, Gilbert Greenwood, was a man of small means, having been left an annuity by an ascetic Baptist but somewhat prosperous aunt, while Reginald Seaton I had known ever since we had been lads together at Charterhouse.

The son of George Seaton, a lace warehouseman of Cannon Street, an alderman of the city of London, Reggie had been left at twenty-five with a heavy burden of debt and an old-fashioned high class but rapidly declining business.

Still, brought up to the lace trade in a factory at Nottingham, Reggie boldly followed in his father's footsteps, and by dint of close attention to business succeeding in rubbing along sufficiently well to avoid the bankruptcy court and to secure an income of a few hundreds a year.

Both of us were still bachelors, and we chummed in comfortable quarters in a newly constructed block of flats in Great Russell Street, while being also fond of fox-hunting, the only sport we could afford, we also rented a cheap old-fashioned house in a rural village called Helpstone, eighty miles from London in the Fitzwilliam country.

Contrary to our expectation, it was quite a long time before we could induce Blair to allow his daughter to return to school, for, as a matter of fact, both father and daughter were entirely devoted to one another.

Nevertheless, in the end we triumphed, and later, when the bluff, bearded wayfarer came to his own, he did not forget to return thanks to us in a very substantial manner.

Indeed, our present improved circumstances were due to him, for not only had he handed a check to Reggie sufficient to pay the whole of the liabilities of the Cannon Street lace business, but to me on my birthday three years ago, he had sent, enclosed in a cheap silver cigarette case, a draft upon his bankers for a sum sufficient to provide me with a very comfortable little annuity.

Burton Blair never forgot his friends, neither did he ever forgive an unkind action.

if that means anything.

Uh, the nearest train, uh, tube station is Cannon Street.

No.

Mansion House.

It doesn't take long for C11 to confirm that the informer's intel is legit.

In a few days or so, Jimmy goes to a cafe called Silvio's on Cannon Street, where he meets an associate for breakfast.

The associate is a locksmith, the prolific safecracker Leonard Wilde, nickname Johnny the Bosch.

Abash.

Bloody hell.

So now Scotland Yard know the target, Bank of America, and soon they narrowed down the location.

Remember I told you that these breakfast meetings were happening on Cannon Street.

Yes, I do.

So little things, for example, putting close to local amenities, you can't do that anymore.

You need to put within six minutes or 0.4 miles walk of Elmstead Woods train station, which is a 16-minute train to London Bridge or 22-minute train to Cannon Street, so that if someone's putting in, I want my commute to be 30, London... one and a half million quid, five bedrooms, they might not type in BR75, but they're going to have those properties come up based on the fact if your agent understands how people are searching, right? That is one of loads of things I could discuss today.

But for me, it's criminal that the pitches are probably 90 to 95% the same as they were 10 years ago.

But again, that represents the opportunity.

Nevertheless, in the end we triumphed, and later when the bluff, bearded wayfarer came to his own, he did not forget to return thanks to us in a very substantial manner.

Indeed, our present improved circumstances were due to him, for not only had he handed a check to Reggie sufficient to pay the whole of the liabilities of the Cannon Street lace business, but to me on my birthday three years ago he had sent, enclosed in a cheap silver cigarette case, a draft upon his bankers for a sum sufficient to provide me with a very comfortable little annuity.

Burton Blair never forgot his friends.

Neither did he ever forgive an unkind action.

Burton Blair had been particularly fond of the Gibbonses, and it almost seemed as though the latter considered themselves slighted by not being informed of every disposition made by their dead master in his will.

As it was, we only told them of one, the legacy of two hundred pounds apiece which Blair had left them, and this had of course caused them the most profound gratification.

Having deposited Mabel at Grosvenor Square, and taking lingering leave of her, I returned at once to Great Russell Street, and found that Reggie had just returned from the warehouse in Cannon Street.

Acting upon my sweet little friend's appeal, I told him nothing of the exciting incident of the previous night.

Recording by Tom Weiss Chapter 3 In Which a Strange Story is Told In order to put the plain unvarnished truth before you, I must in the first place explain that I, Gilbert Greenwood, was a man of small means, having been left an annuity by an ascetic Baptist but somewhat prosperous aunt, while Reginald Seaton I had known ever since we had been lads together at Charterhouse.

The son of George Seaton, a lace warehouseman of Cannon Street, an alderman of the city of London, Reggie had been left at twenty-five with a heavy burden of debt and an old-fashioned high class but rapidly declining business.

Still, brought up to the lace trade in a factory at Nottingham, Reggie boldly followed in his father's footsteps, and by dint of close attention to business succeeding in rubbing along sufficiently well to avoid the bankruptcy court and to secure an income of a few hundreds a year.

Both of us were still bachelors, and we chummed in comfortable quarters in a newly constructed block of flats in Great Russell Street, while being also fond of fox-hunting, the only sport we could afford, we also rented a cheap old-fashioned house in a rural village called Helpstone, eighty miles from London in the Fitzwilliam country.

Contrary to our expectation, it was quite a long time before we could induce Blair to allow his daughter to return to school, for, as a matter of fact, both father and daughter were entirely devoted to one another.

Nevertheless, in the end we triumphed, and later when the bluff, bearded wayfarer came to his own, he did not forget to return thanks to us in a very substantial manner.

Indeed, our present improved circumstances were due to him, for not only had he handed a check to Reggie sufficient to pay the whole of the liabilities of the Cannon Street lace business, but to me on my birthday three years ago, he had sent, enclosed in a cheap silver cigarette case, a draft upon his bankers for a sum sufficient to provide me with a very comfortable little annuity.

Burton Blair never forgot his friends, neither did he ever forgive an unkind action.

In order to put the plain unvarnished truth before you, I must in the first place explain that I, Gilbert Greenwood, was a man of small means, having been left an annuity by an ascetic Baptist but somewhat prosperous aunt, while Reginald Seaton I had known ever since we had been lads together at Charterhouse.

The son of George Seaton, a lace warehouseman of Cannon Street, an alderman of the city of London, Reggie had been left at twenty-five with a heavy burden of debt and an old-fashioned high class but rapidly declining business.

Still, brought up to the lace trade in a factory at Nottingham, Reggie boldly followed in his father's footsteps, and by dint of close attention to business succeeding in rubbing along sufficiently well to avoid the bankruptcy court and to secure an income of a few hundreds a year.

Both of us were still bachelors, and we chummed in comfortable quarters in a newly constructed block of flats in Great Russell Street, while being also fond of fox-hunting, the only sport we could afford, we also rented a cheap old-fashioned house in a rural village called Helpstone, eighty miles from London in the Fitzwilliam country.

Contrary to our expectation, it was quite a long time before we could induce Blair to allow his daughter to return to school, for, as a matter of fact, both father and daughter were entirely devoted to one another.

Nevertheless, in the end we triumphed, and later when the bluff, bearded wayfarer came to his own, he did not forget to return thanks to us in a very substantial manner.

Indeed, our present improved circumstances were due to him, for not only had he handed a check to Reggie sufficient to pay the whole of the liabilities of the Cannon Street lace business, but to me on my birthday three years ago he had sent, enclosed in a cheap silver cigarette case, a draft upon his bankers for a sum sufficient to provide me with a very comfortable little annuity.

Burton Blair never forgot his friends.