London, Tower Hamlets, Whitechapel district, inside Mr. Martin's little tavern.
At dusk, Mr. Martin's business was booming as usual, a consistent trend over time.
As a merchant who started off with counterfeit goods, Judd Martin was very content with his current life.
Although the bulk of his income still came from diluted beer, a somewhat disreputable product, at least he could proudly claim that his beverages were definitely free from harmful substances like green vitriol.
This wealth also brought Martin considerable peace of mind; at least he no longer had to engage in lengthy, fearful confessions to God before going to bed each night.
His ability to keep the tavern running in the complex and tangled environment of Whitechapel was undoubtedly due to that benefactor in his life, the "God" of Scotland Yard—Arthur Hastings.
