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‘Discretion will not help us, Watson. It is time to seize the initiative. Mycroft inhabits a world of whispering men in darkened rooms. Well, let us see how they react to a little provocation.’

‘You believe you will receive an answer?’

‘Time will tell. But we have at least set our calling card on this affair, and even if nothing comes of it, no harm has been done.’

Those were his words. But Holmes had no idea of the type of people with whom he was dealing nor the lengths to which they would go to protect themselves. He had entered a veritable miasma of evil, and harm, in the worst possible way, was to come to us all too soon.

TEN

Bluegate Fields

‘Ha, Watson! It would appear that our bait, cast though it was over unknown waters, may have brought in a catch!’

So spoke Holmes a few mornings later, standing at our bow window in his dressing gown, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. I joined him at once and looked down into Baker Street, at the crowds passing on either side.

‘Who do you mean?’ I asked.

‘Do you not see him?’

‘I see a great many people.’

‘Yes. But in this cold weather very few of them wish to linger. There is one man, however, who is doing precisely that. There! He is looking our way.’

The man in question was wrapped in a coat and a scarf with a broad-brimmed, black felt hat and hands tucked beneath his arms so that beyond the fact that he was a man, and did indeed seem to be rooted to the spot, unsure whether to continue or not, there was very little of him that I could see to describe with any degree of accuracy. ‘You think he has come in response to our advertisement?’ I asked.

‘It is the second time he has passed our front door,’ Holmes replied. ‘I noticed him the first time fifteen minutes ago, walking up from the Metropolitan Railway. He then returned, and since then he has barely moved. He is making sure that he is not observed. Finally, he has made up his mind!’ As we watched him, standing back so that he could not see us himself, the man crossed the road. ‘He should be with us in a moment,’ Holmes said, returning to his seat.

Sure enough, the door opened and Mrs Hudson introduced our new visitor, who peeled off the hat, the scarf and the coat to reveal a strange-looking young man whose face and physique displayed so many contradictions that I was sure even Holmes would find it difficult to pin him down. I say he was young – he could not have been past thirty – and he was built like a prizefighter and yet his hair was thin, his skin grey and his lips cracked, all of which made him seem much older. His clothes were expensive and fashionable but they were also dirty. He seemed nervous to be here, yet regarded us with a bullish self-confidence that was almost aggressive. I stood waiting for him to speak, for until then I would be unsure whether I was in the presence of an aristocrat or a ruffian of the lowest sort.

‘Please take a seat,’ said Holmes, at his most congenial. ‘You have been outside for a while and I would hate to think that you have caught a chill. Would you like some hot tea?’

‘I’d prefer a tot of rum,’ he replied.

‘We have none. But some brandy?’ Holmes nodded at me and I poured a good measure into a glass and handed it over.

The man drained it at once. A little colour returned to his face and he sat down. ‘Thank you,’ he said. His voice was hoarse but educated. ‘I’ve come here for the reward. I shouldn’t have. The people that I deal with would cut my throat if they knew I was here, but I need the money, that’s the long and the short of it. Twenty pounds will keep the demons away for a good while and that’s worth sticking my neck out for. Do you have it here?’

‘You will have the payment when we have your information,’ Holmes replied. ‘I am Sherlock Holmes. And you …?’

‘You may call me Henderson, which is not my real name but it will do as well as any other. You see, Mr Holmes, I have to be careful. You placed an advertisement asking for information about the House of Silk, and from that