  October the 20th 1889, the Thames estuary. The sea mist hung heavy on the land, the rising sun struggled to be seen. The gentle sound of oars the only&nbsp;noise&nbsp;beside the early morning squawking and chattering of the sea birds. A small ruggedly built rowing boat appeared in view, expertly manoeuvred into one of the myriad creeks of the estuary marshes. The boat neared the rudely built landing stage. The hooded figure within threw me the rope, which I hastily knotted to a piling. I offered my hand to the figure, he declined and deftly climbed onto the walkway. 
