Something's rotten in London. The Thames is stinking so high that the gentlemen of parliament are covering their faces with scented handkerchiefs. The press is obsessed with psychics. And young girls are disappearing off the streets. Things aren't going too well for Edmund Whitty. His best stories have all been scooped by his arch-rival from "Frasier's Magazines". The horses, dogs and ratting terriers haven't been running well for him either. He's in debt to the Captain (again) and on the run. So when he's offered the opportunity to debunk a well-known psychic he jumps at the chance. And find himsef embroiled in a strange and sordid situation that reaches to the very top of society. Why does the Earl of Danbury found a photographic society whose members have decidedly recherche tastes? And what does the saintly and virginal curate have to do with it? After all, he seems to spend his time harmlessly spinning tales to amuse the vicar's three pubescent daughters. He loves their company - especially the middle one - but his interest is entirely benign. Or is it? Whitty must unravel this mess and do it quickly, before his rival gets wind of this startlingly promising fund of copy, and before another innocent young life is taken.
