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By Root 415 0

and his wife the difference between an Amati and a Stradivarius. I thanked God that Holmes's own violin lay back in Baker Street. When the mood took him Holmes could play like an angel, but more often than not his raucous meanderings put the cats to shame. Whilst we waited for our third course I glanced over Holmes's shoulder. Apart from the four of us around the dinner table there were two other travellers travelling first class, but only the Reverend Hawkins was present in the dining car. Baden-Powell, a self-proclaimed expert on butterflies whose tan and manner indicated military service, was absent. I looked again at the Reverend Hawkins. Something about him bothered me, but I could not say what.

'You see, but you do not understand,' said Holmes, interrupting my train of thought.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Our clerical fellow traveller is an agent for the British Government.'

'Good Lord, Holmes. Are you sure?'

Colonel and Mrs Warburton were listening intently. I suddenly became aware that the train was slowing but I found myself, as always, fascinated by Holmes's display of his talents.

'The Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits have provided spies of all nations with a golden ribbon across Europe. It would be unusual were they not to take advantage of it. When I see an English clergyman travelling first class my suspicions are raised; when I notice that the knees of his trousers do not shine, my suspicions positively levitate.'

'Knees?' asked Warburton.

'Shine?' murmured his wife.

'You do not see the connection?' Holmes asked. 'Forgive me, I thought it was obvious. The Reverend Hawkins may pray, but not I suspect for his immortal soul, and certainly not in the conventional position. You may also note the callous on the index finger of his right hand, indicating a familiarity with firearms of which the Archbishop of Canterbury would strongly disapprove.'

The train was just crawling along now, but Holmes continued.

'The man is obviously an undercover agent of some sort. The assertion that he works for our dear Queen rather than one of her foreign relatives is, I will admit, a shot in the dark. However, given his calm manner I would suggest that he is returning from an assignment rather than travelling to one.'

'But how did you know . . .?'

'That you were watching him? If I catch you staring fixedly over my shoulder it doesn't take much to know that you aren't keeping an eye on an empty table. You were watching one of our fellow travellers.'

The train had been brought to a stop now. Glancing out of the window I saw what I had expected; the white train with the gold crest was stationary on the other track.

'But,' I protested, gathering my wits, 'Hawkins entered after us, and your back has been to him all the time. How did you know it wasn't Mr Baden-Powell who had entered?'

'Simplicity itself; When the serveur brought in the soup, he was carrying five dishes. Someone had obviously entered behind me. It must have been either Baden-Powell or Hawkins, since they are the only other first class travellers.' He leaned back and steepled his fingers upon the tablecloth.

The candle on the table cast a hawk-like shadow behind him. 'When we received the soup, we began immediately. There was a gap of almost forty-five seconds before I heard the clink of a spoon on a dish behind us.

Conclusion: the Reverend Hawkins had been saying grace.' Holmes smiled. 'Either that or Mr Baden-Powell had been straining the soup for botanical specimens. I chose the most probable alternative.'

'Bravo!' said the Colonel. His wife applauded daintily.

'As usual, Holmes,' I said, a touch acerbically, 'you make it appear so simple.'

Before Holmes could reply the imposing figure of the chef de train appeared at our table. Bending low, he murmured something into my friend's ear. Holmes stood, and turned to the Colonel and his wife.

'I'm afraid that I will have to leave you for a moment,' he announced, and turning to me he said, 'Watson, perhaps you would like to accompany me.'

Together we made