On November 7th, 1931. Under the veil of night, as pristine snow blanketed the world, Chief Constable William Richards made a solemn visit to the residence of his esteemed companion, Doctor Edward Woodstock. The Constable was a tall and imposing figure with broad shoulders and a wide chest. William had the visage of a stoic that had aged prematurely, above his lip was a finely cut moustache that dominated his face. His hair was black with grey streaks, his apparel was dull and cheap but very practical in design, allowing the policeman unrestricted freedom of movement under any circumstance. But this night appeared to be a quiet one, no serious crimes had been reported and those that did, could be handled by patrol officers. After knocking on Edward's door, all the seriousness he bore dropped at the sight of his friend. Edward was a true dandy of a man. The young man always ensured his strawberry blonde hair was waxed and combed, his handsome boyish face was clean of stubble and he always wore a perfectly tailored tweed suit. 

A hearty exchange of handshakes and an embrace marked their reunion, and within Edward's abode, a grand piano, resplendent in the dimly lit hall, caught William's discerning eye. "How exquisite," he remarked. "I  see you have acquired a fine instrument, I was unaware of your musical talent, Edward." Drawing near, Edward delicately caressed the keys, much as one would a cherished maiden, and confided, "I had many lessons when I was young. But I can only play Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata now, my personal favourite. This piano, a relic recently passed down from my father, narrowly escaped a fate of neglect, discovered at one of his old estates slated for disposal."

The two gentlemen lit their cigars and reclined before the hearth, where dancing flames illuminated their brandy-filled glasses. In the midst of their leisurely conversation, the clock's chime punctuated the evening. Edward's gaze became intent, locking onto his lifelong friend as if preparing for a precise shot. "William," he inquired, his curiosity palpable, "are there any noteworthy developments of late?" Exhaling a wisp of cigar smoke, William perceived Edward's thirst for intrigue and reluctantly replied, "Regrettably, nothing of consequence save for the fanciful tales surrounding the enigmatic 'Bonville-Shadow,' which I find utterly preposterous."

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Edward with wide eyes, lowered his cigar with a quizzical smile, his voice subdued yet brimming with intrigue, implored, "The 'Bonville-Shadow'? I am wholly unfamiliar with this enigma. Please, elucidate me on this matter." William, downing his brandy and promptly replenishing his glass, contemplated his words before continuing, "Facts are scarce, and rumours flourish. If this elusive figure does indeed exist, reports depict him as a vigilante clad entirely in black, save for a white scarf or mask concealing his face. He was first sighted on Bonville Road in Altrincham, hence the name. Accounts consistently revolve around lone women wandering alone on the streets falling victim to assailants, only to witness the emergence of the Bonville-Shadow from the darkness. He intervenes, at times wielding a crowbar or his own bare fists. There are whispers of him resorting to firearms on the more nefarious ruffians, but such claims remain unsubstantiated."

Edward, sipping his brandy and leaning in with genuine enthusiasm, mused, "How intriguing! A genuine hero safeguarding the vulnerable." William, his tone carrying a sense of urgency, interjected, "But, Edward, if he does indeed exist, he is naught but a renegade who has usurped the mantle of justice!" Edward leaned back in his chair, bemused by the rare display of his friend's agitation, prompting a swift apology from William, accompanied by Edward refilling his friend’s brandy.

As they prepared to continue their conversation over drinks, the telephone's shrill ring disrupted their evening. Edward answered and was promptly informed of a call for the Chief Constable. Passing the receiver to his friend, William conversed with the operator, the joviality that had surrounded Edward gave way to an air of solemnity, and his countenance grew increasingly grave. Hanging up the receiver, he turned to Edward and revealed, "I was hoping for a quiet evening, Mr Carnock , known as the 'Lord of Mines,' has been found deceased in his mansion. According to my officers he appears to have been murdered. Additionally his son’s fingerprints were found on a blood soaked knife. Edward, I may need your boundless medical knowledge. Would you care to accompany me to the scene?"