The figure in the long, black coat

I wrote this short narrative during an English class. The prompt: Use 'the figure in the long black coat' as a title for your narrative. And it came rather well I'd say. Please read it and do comment!

'Please return the keys to Mr. Bucket as soon as as you lock the office, Watson,” said the most famous apothecary in town, Mr. Uley. It had been an extremely long day, what with the beginning of a new 'plague' in London and visitors popping in every minute to buy herbs and syrups suggested by bona fide and fraud doctors. The day provided no time finish all the paperwork and with Mr. Uley's daughter arriving at his house in a few hours, he was in a great hurry to leave.

The Big Ben struck 12, its hands guiding eyes to both heaven and the underworld as Mr. Uley exited his humble, pleasant-smelling office. He breathed in the warm, midsummer night air and straightened his billowing, black traveling cloak, feeling proud of his incredible success, after having a particularly traumatic childhood.

Despite the late hours, Mr. Uley sauntered down the empty cobbled streets, filled with the singing of crickets and bathed in the moonlight. Despite the stressful day, the night felt strangely tranquil and Mr. Uley's heart fell into a steady beat, in time with the soft Thud! Thud! of his boots that echoed around the deserted boulevard.

All of a sudden, the crickets stopped singing and a passing silver cloud blocked the moonlight; it seemed as though even nature was afraid to experience the impending horror. As Mr. Uley's twinkling eyes of decades got used to the darkness, he heard soft, gentle thuds of boots on the cobbled road and a sudden sheen of silver, as it a knife was being drawn. Whoosh! The sound came from a nearby alley. Mr. Uley - scared out of his skin, his forehead spouting fresh droplets of sweat, his breath coming out in huffs - took a few, silent steps forward and peered into the alleyway.

A tall figure stood. A coat. A black coat. The figure stood with his back facing Mr. Uley and his coat...it seemed to have been born from the darkest nights, as if Hades himself fashioned it from the horrors of River Styx. The knife was partly visible from his right and it spoke the evil of centuries.

Quick as a cat, and as deft as one too, the killer, clearly a man, flexed his strong and firm muscles and darted down the alleyway and came to an abrupt stop at its end. He turned to the right, lifted his strong arm holding the knife and with menacing swiftness, swung it forward. A bloodcurdling, high-pitched wail pierced the warm, midsummer air.

The next day, the newspapers were splattered with pictures of two cadavers, mangled and savaged beyond recognition. One of it belonged to the most famous apothecary in town, Mr. Uley.