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'And?' The Doctor's expression was carefully neutral.

Holmes's voice was level as he replied: 'No other names appear on the list.'

'Are you sure, Mr Holmes?'

'Do you accuse me of dishonesty, Sir?'

'How should I presume?' the Doctor murmured.

'Perhaps,' I ventured, sensing the sudden hostility between Holmes and the Doctor, but not understanding its cause, 'we should visit these people. Talk to them. Ascertain their reasons for visiting the Library. Perhaps some pertinent fact might emerge of which we are at present unaware.'

'A capital idea,' the Doctor said, leaping to his feet and rubbing his hands together gleefully. 'I'll start with Professor Challenger, Doctor Watson can tackle Miss Prendersly and you, Mr Holmes...' He was still smiling, but his eyes glinted coldly. '. . . You can choose your own suspects.'

'Since you yourself are still a suspect,' Holmes retorted, 'might I suggest that you accompany Watson to Deptford.'

'Very well.' The Doctor made for the door, picking a multicoloured umbrella from the umbrella stand as he did so. 'I'll hail a cab.'

He vanished from our rooms and scampered down the stairs.

'A rum character,' I observed.

'There is more to that man than meets the eye,' Holmes said. 'He may seem to be at times almost ridiculous, almost the fool, but he has a shrewd brain. Watch him, Watson. Don't let him out of your sight. I want to know everything he says and everything he does.'

'But why on Earth do you want to associate him with this investigation?'

'I suspect that he will be associated with it whether we want him to be or not. At least this way we get to keep a close eye on him.'

I moved to take my walking stick from the coat rack, and exclaimed, 'Not raining outside, is it Holmes?'

'Not for days,' he replied. 'Why?'

'There's some water in the bottom of the coat rack.'

He bent to examine it, and came up rubbing his fingers together.

'Not water, Watson, but oil.'

'Oil?' I reiterated stupidly.

'Indeed. Most singular.' He wiped his hands on his jacket. 'You had better not keep the Doctor waiting.'

'And what of you, Holmes? What are your plans?'

'I shall endeavour to meet up with Mr Jitter's opposite number,' he said,

'Mack Yeovil and I have crossed swords before, and so I think some form of disguise is called for.'

I discovered the Doctor sitting at the bottom of our stairs and conversing with our page-boy in a casual manner that I felt was unsuited to dealings with a servant. I curtly bade him accompany me, and whistled down a hansom almost immediately. As the cab trotted off he planted his umbrella on the floor, rested his forearms upon its handle and frowned. A melancholic expression shadowed his features, and I found myself wondering who he was and where he came from.

'Gallifrey,' he muttered.

'I'm sorry?'

'You were wondering where I came from.'

'That's astounding. How did you know?'

'Elementary.'

'Gallifrey . . . that sounds Irish.'

He looked sideways at me and said nothing.

The cab clattered through London, with us sitting inside in silence. I watched with confused feelings the loungers, shop girls, street-sweepers and dollymoppers who thronged the streets. It was so easy to see them as a backdrop: a featureless, characterless crowd of extras, called on stage as we came near and sent back to their dressing rooms as we passed. Most of Holmes's cases were conducted amongst people of our own class or above; it was rare, especially since Holmes's reputation had spread and my medical practice in Paddington had become established, that we mixed with people below our station. And yet the events of that morning were still clear enough in my mind that I knew these people must have lives, homes, families, desires and hates that I never usually gave any consideration to.

The aegis of the British Empire stretched across many foreign lands, but it occurred to me for the first time that the division between rich and poor in London matched anything to be found