I think there was a decent story here somewhere. It was a very disjointed sort of narrative, or I just lost track of all he names at one point. I was inittally intrigued as the premise, a mysterious figure steals a necklace in a London ‘peasouper’, was quite a neat idea, the rest of the story sort of wallows.
It’s not too obscure a read but lacks the cleaner style of many other writers from this era. I’m glad I gave it a try, I just didn’t really get into it enough. The coincidences are huge, the heroine was at least feisty, and the thief wasn’t very endearing despite his trying circumstances.
Still, held together as a story, dangling there by cobwebs of plot, and enjoyable as a change if nothing else.