The doorbell rang. It was a little after ten o'clock on a summer night in 1879, a bit late for visitors. But Robert Jaffray was still up. He'd come home that evening from working at the grocery store he owned on Yonge Street — said to be the finest in the city — and then popped back out to pick up a telegram. He returned just in time to answer the door himself. On the other side of it, he found a man he didn't know standing on his front step.
