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I handed the note back to Holmes. “The Elliott murder was a sensation, of course. Anything so ghastly in such a public place attracts the curious. No doubt she read of it in the papers.”

“As Miss Drayson correctly pointed out, news of the outside world is not permitted within the confines of the asylum,” Holmes reminded me. “Still, what are an institution’s rules against the power of gossip? I’ve no difficulty believing Miss Drayson learned of the unfortunate Mr. Elliot’s murder through the careless whispering of the asylum staff.”

“And the other names on the list?” I asked.

“Aye, there’s the rub,” Holmes said. “Mr. Wolfe was found murdered last week in his home and, before you ask Watson, he was killed in a room overlooking Hammersmith bridge. Like the sensational Elliott murder his death was both bloody and violent. Mr. Wolfe was beaten and repeatedly stabbed. Scotland Yard believes someone attacked him with an unusually large sword, possibly a weapon from the Far East. Unfortunately they did not think to allow me the opportunity to examine the body.”

“Pity,” I remarked.

“Indeed,” Holmes agreed. “David Johnson was murdered in the Charing Cross Hotel. His body was found beneath a large brass clock. Like Mr. Wolfe and Mr. Elliot, Mr. Johnson was cut several times with some manner of large weapon. As neither Mr. Johnson nor Mr. Wolfe’s deaths were as public as Mr. Elliot’s, the newspapers have shown little interest in their cases.”

“Then Miss Drayson’s observations have been correct,” I said. Seeing Holmes’ frown, I quickly amended my statement. “At least, she has been correct three out of five times.”

“I fear her average is better than that Watson,” Holmes admitted. “Mr. Mulchinock has not returned from a trip to the sub-continent. I placed a telegram to the hotel where he was meant to be staying. Although they disavow any knowledge of murder, they assure me the blood in the library has been thoroughly cleaned.”

“Leaving just one, what was the name? Pursey?”

“Departed on a lengthy sea voyage six weeks ago,” Holmes said. “I’ve received no word of his murder, nor have I been able to confirm his well-being. If, as Miss Drayson suggests, the gentleman was killed while at sea we will be obliged to wait before receiving word of it. If we disregard Mr. Pursey, whose status can neither be confirmed nor denied, it appears Miss Drayson is correct in all of her descriptions. Each of the known victims was, in fact, killed during the night. Furthermore, with the possible exception of Mr. Pursey, she has arranged the names in chronological order of their deaths. Mr. Wolfe being the most recent murder and Mr. Mulchinock being the first. Strange, is it not?”

“Very strange,” I agreed.

“Apparently Miss Drayson is being informed of these murders somehow,” Holmes said. “It is possible these deaths are connected. At least three of the deaths were achieved by similar means. Given these circumstances, if we could discover the source by which Miss Drayson learns of the crimes it may well lead us to the perpetrators. Ah, here we are!”

The cab rattled to a stop and Holmes eagerly clambered out. “Where are we Holmes?” I asked as we emerged into the brightness of the day.

“In her time at the asylum Miss Drayson has only received one visitor,” Holmes reminded me. “Likewise there is only one person with whom she has exchanged correspondence.”

“Her father,” I said.

“And we have been invited to discuss the matter of my fee with him,” Holmes said, his face alight with a hunter’s grin. “Many criminals feel an inexplicable compulsion to confess their crimes. Perhaps this father feels his confessions safely hidden in his daughter’s insanity. Let us discover what manner of man this Drayson is.”

Confident the answer to his mystery was close to hand Holmes marched purposefully into the Drayson residence. Sharing Holmes’ enthusiasm I followed but nothing in the man’s home bespoke a murderous nature. Neat and ordered, it seemed a bachelor’s residence although here and there photographs and other mementos gave evidence of a happier past.