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“Quite so. To a man like me the matter is an insoluble mystery.” He turned to Holmes. “Well, Mr Holmes, you are not a man like me, and there is my hope! May I leave this conundrum in your hands? I cannot see that even you will be able to find the key to it, and the matter may perhaps be of no importance but I, for one, find it intriguing.”

“And so do I!” responded Holmes cheerfully. “I will turn my mind to it – aided, I hope, by Dr Watson. The part of suppliant biographer is not his only role in this agency. You will hear from us as soon as we are ready to report.”

Our visitor thanked us and left. Holmes picked up the envelope and its enigmatic contents and examined them with his lens.

“There are points about this little problem which promise to make it unique – but an insoluble mystery? What think you, doctor?”

“I would not admit as much without first making some effort,” I replied. “We have the Baskerville postmark and the reference to Musgrave to go on. Of Musgrave I know only what you told me years ago; as to Baskerville I suggest we contact Sir Henry without delay. He spent some years in Canada before he inherited his Dartmoor estate; he may well be able to throw some light on this letter and its origins.”

“Right, Watson! We do have these two starting points. And we may have more! Let us leave Baskerville and Musgrave for the moment, and first see what the power of reason, applied to this billet-doux, will reveal. You opined, and Garrison Bolt agreed with you, that it is very hard to understand how the correspondent could have something so secret to say to Mr Musgrave and yet not be aware that he had been dead for several years. With respect, you make two assumptions – you advance two hypotheses – which enjoy the support of no data. Why should we assume that the correspondent is ignorant of Newman Musgrave’s death? We know no such thing. It is quite possible that he is well aware of it but has had some good reason for not writing until now. Some recent event may have removed the impediment. I do not say that this is probable; only that it is possible. As to your first surmise, there is no certainty that this transmission was intended for Newman Musgrave at all. Indeed, as I turn my mind to it, the less likely does that premise become.

“Second, you find it hard to understand why blank sheets should be carefully registered through the mail. There you are certainly right. Such a mailing is absurd. If the message – for a message it must be – is not contained inside the envelope it follows that it must be found upon it.”

“On the envelope itself?”

“Yes!”

“That is logical,” I admitted, after a moment’s consideration, “but why do you question that the message, however it is constituted, is intended for Newman Musgrave? If not for him, for whom?”

“For us!”

“For you and me?”

“Yes! Consider. The letter was brought to us by Garrison Bolt, an established publisher with whom you have done business, and are known to have done business. His name and address appear in every copy of your original work. As my brother Mycroft has remarked, your tales are to be found everywhere. It should not be surprising if the sender of this message from Canada has access to them; in fact, she clearly has.”

“She?”

“The writing is in a woman’s hand. The emotional characteristics – the swirling M’s and E’s, and the ambivalent C’s in particular – are unmistakable. She, yes, she, is clearly aware of the reputation our agency enjoys. What more natural than that the publisher should refer her enigmatic communique to us? Bolt, provided he gave her letter his attention, must surely equate ‘Baskerville’ and ‘Musgrave’ to ‘Sherlock Holmes’. She could be sure that he would. Indeed, to make certain of his attention she has sent it by registered post.”

“You mean that she has deliberately addressed the envelope to a man she knows does not exist?” I asked.

“So I read it. This message is, and always was, intended for us, Watson!”

“Astonishing!” said I. “But