The alleyway which is home to the forgotten entrance to the vacant sewer tunnel is almost palpably still when the investigators return to it, well after dark. Although the area surrounding the Stanton Street Cemetery is not well traveled at night, it seems especially quiet now, as though an unnatural hush has fallen across the deserted neighborhood like a shroud.

Victoria Surrette was able to communicate to Jake Morris that the wall at the far western end of the abandoned sewer tunnel sits adjacent to an active line. Were it to be breached, the vacant tunnel would almost certainly be flooded in short order.

The iron cover, flaked with rust, covers the entrance to the underground, just as it was after the investigators replaced it following their last foray below. North of the access, the gathered men can see that one of a trio of trash cans has been overturned, its side deeply dented, some pieces of stained clothing tossed atop it.

Sully, unloaded shotgun in the crook of his arm, calls Jake's attention to the stained cloth. A steel sandhog helmet with an attached (but as yet unlit) carbide lamp makes the reporter loon a bit incongruous in his suit.

Jake nods at Sully's shotgun, catches Arthur and the Professor's eyes and nods at the general area, then strides up nearer the can and heap of suspicious stains, getting out his crowbar. Whether to give some poor city rat the shock of its squeaky life or to crack some fiend skull before levering up the manhole cover, now seems the time for it.

The clothing does not conceal any unwelcome presence, such as hungry rat, or worse. Shifting through the garments with his crowbar, Jake can see that the small pile is comprised of a man’s light blue buttoned up shirt, a striped necktie, a tweed jacket, and a straw fedora. All four pieces of attire are badly damaged, the shirt and tie virtually reduced to tatters. Blood is streaked on all of the clothes. By Jake’s estimation, the stains are fresh, no more than two or three hours old.

Finding no more clothing, body parts or ghouls underneath those visible, Jake looks back at the others. When he speaks, his voice has an audibly dangerous edge of fury. "Bastards stole a man, and his pants."

The detective makes all haste at getting the manhole open, grunting to Sully: "-that something about the heart ritual, bare chests? Can't imagine they're big into decency."

"Killing people and taking their hearts out so that you can reanimate them using a dark ritual is indeed indecent - to say the least," he said, agreeing with Jake. He had followed Sully's suggestion for equpiment, wearing the helmet with the lamp similarly affixed. It made sense not to have to hold too many things. He had an empty backpack with him, as well as the weapon he had previously acquired, in case he should need to use it again, which he hoped not too; he hadn't proven terribly effective with it.

Grim-faced, Arthur took his photographs of the clothes, and then gathered them into a sack to bring out as evidence.

He turned to the Professor and voiced his curiosity on a particular point.

"Suppose they did that...that ritual...the essential salts and compounds. Do you figure they would you have to use them to bring back the same person?"

Although it requires most of the physical effort that the detective can muster, he is able to lift the iron cover, sliding it over to one side, the metal scraping across the paved surface of the alley.

Descending the metal rungs to the passage below, the investigators find it as still as the alley overhead. Venturing northward into the east-west tunnel, the group can see, almost directly across from their position, the narrow branch that ultimately connects to the basement of the Bishop House.

Further west, the investigators can see the breaks in the tunnel walls that they had observed previously, one leading into a natural passageway that travels north, the other providing access to a narrow cavern which winds southward.

In front of the north leading break in the tunnel wall sits a wheeled steel dolly with three wooden crates stacked on it, seemingly abandoned.

OOC: As a reminder, the map for Group 1 provides a layout of the east-west tunnel. The abandoned dolly is resting close to location 5 on the map.

"Hope you brought your flash, Arthur," Jake murmurs as his torch is first to pick out the abandoned crates. He pauses long enough once everyone's down to listen for active scurrying before approaching them, crowbar twitching in the other hand.

The tunnel remains quiet. Jake hears no movement nearby as he approaches the dolly.

The topmost crate in the stack of three has its lid loose, probably the result of being previously opened to inspect its contents. Jake is able to lift the lid to find that it contains several unopened bottles of Canadian whiskey, neatly packed with straw. None appear to be missing.

On the floor near the dolly, the detective spies a few droplets of blood on the grimy floor. Near the entrance to the southward traveling natural passageway, the stone on the right side of the opening is streaked as if having been recently damaged by a firearm, likely a shotgun.

Sully removes his helmet. Following the instructions of the fellow who sold it to him, he ignites the carbide and settles the helmet on his head again, secured by the chinstrap. Next, the reporter extracts two shells from his pocket and loads his shotgun.

"That looks like the good stuff," he comments as he and Jake inspect the contents of the crate. "Of course, these days, there's so much fraud," he adds sorrowfully.

"Voices down - they probably hear better than we can," Jake says, and gestures the others at the bottles. "Whoever's got a hand free, nab some booze and keep a match handy - alcohol may not burn hot, but it'll make a fuzzy bastard regret his life choices. Shot may not work." He nods at the indications of a brief firefight and presses on before anyone can cut the sewer stink by opening something it'd be a real shame not to drink.

"They wouldn't have abandoned a load of this value without a fight, and it looks like there was one. But not between bootleggers or mafiosos, I'd wager - else someone would have taken it. Likely with someone who had no use for ardent spirits," he said quietly, taking a couple of bottles in his knapsack. It wasn't the most precious cargo he could transport, but it could have some value to them and he could always abandon it at need.

He moved to follow Jake in whatever direction he was leading, his weapon ready but pointed down. He wouldn't fire the thing unless absolutely necessary.

Jake leads the small group into the north leading cavern, the narrow width of the passage forcing the investigators to proceed in single file. The yellow beams of their light sources dance unsteadily across the walls as they press forward, the eroded, damp stone giving the impression of a cave that existed long before even the Lenape first set foot on the island.

After perhaps a hundred feet, the cavern widens, branching into two tunnels, one curving to the northwest, the other northeast. On the uneven floor, just a few paces from where the narrow tunnel grows more spacious, the investigators can see a long smear of blood.

They can hear nothing, save for dripping moisture. From the northeastern branch of the cave, there is a terrible odor of decay and corruption, a scent that prompts each man’s stomach to tighten.

Ignoring the implications of a heap of the already dead, Jake follows the direction of the smeared blood. His gun leads in the cramped space on the principle that one plugged devil will become enough obstacle to the others to switch weapon at need, torch held low with the crowbar.

Swallowing the sour rush of bile into his mouth, Sully stops a few steps behind Jake,  leaving space for another to pass him and follow the detective. He swings the muzzle of his shotgun to cover the other tunnel.