Drain Jetting Wakefield «90% Top-Rated»

He fed the hose into the clay pipe and pulled the trigger.

He was a treasure hunter.

“December 12, 1893. The Wakefield & Barnsley Union Bank has collapsed. The rich flee, leaving the rest to starve. I cannot let them take the silver from St. Mary’s. I have hidden the chalice and the alms dishes in the only place the bailiffs fear to tread—the main sewer line beneath Westgate. Let the filth of the city guard what is holy.” drain jetting wakefield

Leo read further. T. Sanderson was the verger of St. Mary’s Church. When the bank failed, he had stolen the church’s silver communion set to stop it from being seized by debt collectors. He’d flushed it into the sewer, brick by brick, wrapping each piece in pitch-soaked cloth.

Inside, wrapped in oilcloth, was a journal. He fed the hose into the clay pipe and pulled the trigger

Leo “The Hose” Hargreaves sighed. He’d been a drain jetting technician in Wakefield for eleven years. He’d seen congealed lard like white marble, wet wipes that formed concrete, and once, a family of frogs living in a downspout off Westgate. But nothing— nothing —prepared him for the phone call.

It took twenty minutes of sweating, freezing drizzle, and muttered curses. Finally, he hooked it with a drain claw and hauled it up. The Wakefield & Barnsley Union Bank has collapsed

“Dad,” she said, sleepy. “It’s 5 AM.”