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“Why, yes it is, Mr Holmes,” said the Inspector.

“And you have in the town a bath which enables people to bathe their bodies in these waters?”

“A Turkish bath and such, yes,” said Makinson. “I’ve never been, myself, of course, but I believe as how they’re popular with some people.” He paused. “Run by a queer sort of fellow, they are,” he added.

Holmes leapt to his feet. “Queer, you say? With a birth-mark?”

Makinson shook his head. “No, no birthmark – at least none as is visible.”

Holmes visibly shrank in size, the excitement evaporating almost as quickly as it had appeared. “Then why queer?”

“Well, he’s …” Makinson seemed to be having trouble describing the fellow and I was about to prompt him when he added, “he’s sort of big on one side and smaller on the other.”

“That’s it, Holmes!” I shouted. “Is one half of his body visibly larger than the other, Inspector? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, his head is mis-shaped and one arm is longer than the other. His leg is longer on that side, too, and he walks with a limp because of it.” The Inspector shook his head at the thought. “Strange fellow and no denying.”

I turned to Holmes. “Hemi hypertrophy,” I said. “Caused by an underlying brain haemangioma, beneath a port wine stain; it means an increased blood flow through the mark results in a disproportionate growth on one side of the body. He’s our man,” I said, “I’d bet my pension on it!”

“What is the name of this fellow?” Holmes enquired of the Inspector.

“His name is Garnett, as I recall, Frank Garnett. The spa baths stay open until ten o’clock in the evening,” the Inspector said. He removed his watch from his waistcoat pocket and flipped open the casing. “Five and twenty to nine,” he said.

Holmes sprang for the door, grabbing his hat, scarf and coat on the way. “Come, Watson, Inspector … there’s no time to lose.”

Minutes later we were on our way by carriage, driven by a hard-faced Sergeant Hewitt through a blustery, moonless night.

The Pump Rooms in Harrogate are situated down Parliament Street and on the left towards the Valley Gardens, a scenic spot favoured in the daylight and early summer evenings by young couples and nannies walking their charges. When we arrived, Holmes leapt from the carriage and burst through the doors.

A matronly woman wearing a pince-nez and seated behind a desk in the foyer got to her feet, her hand to her throat.

“My apologies for our entrance, madam,” Holmes began, “but I am with Inspector Makinson, here, and Sergeant Hewitt of the Harrogate police, and my colleague Doctor Watson, and we are on a matter of grave importance. Tell me, if you can,” he said, “the whereabouts of your colleague, Mr Frank Garnett.”

“Why, Frank’s in the shower room,” she said. “Whatever do you need him for?”

“No time to explain,” said the Inspector. “Which way’s the shower room?”

The woman pointed towards a double door to the right of the foyer. “Is it about his accident?”

“Accident?” I said.

“He’s hurt himself. Bandages all over the place.”

Makinson frowned and led the way.

Through the doors we were on a long corridor from the end of which we could hear the unmistakable sound of water running.

“You and Mr Watson stay back, Mr Holmes,” Makinson barked. “Jim, you stick with me. But go gently now,” he added, “we don’t want this fellow to get away.”

Holmes reluctantly stepped back to allow Sergeant Hewitt to take the lead with the Inspector. We reached the end of the corridor and stood before a door bearing the sign Showers. Makinson leaned his head against the door and listened. A faint whistling could be heard with the running water.

Makinson took hold of the handle. “Right, Jim?”

Sergeant Hewitt nodded.

“Right, gentlemen?”

Holmes nodded.

The Inspector turned the handle and rushed into the room.

Some fifty yards away from us was what seemed to be a tall man, standing in profile, brandishing a broom which he was using to sweep water across the floor and into an empty communal bath beside