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The tip of the Doctor's umbrella touched the water, and the waves vanished in a circle around it, some twenty feet across. Where there had been a storm in miniature upon the face of the Serpentine, a spreading area of the lake lay placid and still. I stared, astounded, at the transformation.

'I don't believe it!'

The Doctor turned towards me.

'There is a reason for everything,' he said. 'But not necessarily an obvious one. I will see you tomorrow.'

And with that he walked off, into the dark. I gazed after him for a few moments, then back at the lake, where feathery ripples were just beginning to stir its surface. A gust of wind caught my hat and almost snatched it from my head.

The fire which had been lit across the far side of the lake glowed with an inviting warmth. I was tired and cold, mystified and hungry, and I wanted to be home. I flapped my arms a few times to get my circulation moving, then turned to leave.

A spindly figure scurried in front of the fire.

A sudden shudder ran through me, but it wasn't due to the cold. That shape

. . . Although I had seen it but briefly, there had been something unnatural about it, something thin and febrile, and urgent. I listened intently, but apart from the rustle of leaves and the occasional cry of a goose, I heard nothing.

Eventually, feeling rather foolish, I walked off towards the nearest gate, and a hansom to take me home.

'. . . And I cannot tell you how unsettling it was to see the lake go from a state resembling the English Channel in winter to one like my shaving bowl in the morning!'

Holmes glanced across reprovingly from the other side of the table. We had just polished off a brace of woodcock with all the trimmings, accompanied by an appealing little Montrachet and followed by a spotted dick with custard. I was replete and content, and had spent most of the meal regaling Holmes with the events of the day.

Holmes had eaten well. He varied between times of immense gluttony and periods when he would pick at his food like a bird, but today, to the great pleasure of Mrs Hudson, he ate all that she placed before him with relish.

He had kept up a constant.string of questions concerning my tale -

descriptions of Mrs Prendersly's room, her clothes, the weather, any unusual sights or sounds in the room - but I could tell that he was no nearer an explanation of her death than I was.

'That,' he said tersely, 'is perhaps the simplest element of this entire case.'

'Nonsense, Holmes. The man is a magician. He has powers beyond human imagining. I would not be surprised...' and I lowered my voice, as if the Doctor could hear me from wherever he had gone for the night, '. . . if he was responsible for that poor woman's fate. Who knows what powers he might have?'

'No more than any other mortal.'

Holmes retrieved his slipper from the fireplace. Whilst Mrs Hudson cleared the plates away and retired, he removed tobacco from it and packed it into his old black clay pipe, the unsavoury companion of his deepest meditations. I poured myself a glass of port to round the meal off.

'You have mistaken the superficial for the deep,' he explained, applying a match to the bowl and sucking deeply. 'Ah, that is better. This death is a nasty business, quite a four-pipe problem. No, the matter of the lake is easily solved. You have all the information in your hands, Watson. You are starting from a position where you do not believe it is possible, then trying to explain it. I, however, assume that it is perfectly possible, then attempt to use whatever clues I have to cast light upon the means.'

'I'm not sure I follow.'

'Let us start from the facts. The lake calmed. What can have that effect upon disturbed water?'

'Why . . . nothing, surely. Nothing but witchcraft.'

'I have told you before, Watson, there is nothing in this world but that which we make ourselves. Have you never heard of the phrase, "pouring oil on troubled