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We smoked in silence for a moment, and then Holmes spoke again: “Evidently my reputation has travelled all the way to California, Watson. This letter is the result. Mr Phelan and Mr Evans, joined by a syndicate of insurance brokers, have offered me carte blanche if I will but journey to San Francisco and place myself at their disposal. These men wish to engage my services in a matter of deduction and investigation. They desire me to find solid proof, such as will stand up in any American court, of the malfeasances of Schmitz and his henchmen.”

“And do you intend to accept this commission, Holmes?” I asked him.

“My dear Watson, I already have. American politics are a dark labyrinth which I have never entered before, and the challenge intrigues me.” Holmes arose and stretched himself. “One more thing, Watson. The hospitals and emergency wards of San Francisco are filled to bursting with the injured and the dying; there are not enough doctors in that broken city to attend to them all. Your medical talents would be welcome in this crisis. And I may have need of your assistance during my own investigations. Shall I notify Continental Insurance to advance me the funds for two steamship tickets to America?”

The question was altogether unexpected. I hesitated for the briefest of moments while I considered how to inform my wife, then extended my hand. Sherlock Holmes clasped it in both of his own.

“Capital, Watson! We shall be occupied for two months at the very least. Inform your Harley Street patients to make other arrangements in your absence. As for my bees: until we return I can only hope that their new queen will rule wisely.”

And so our adventure began. We sailed from Southampton on 12 May bound for New York City aboard a steamship aptly christened the New York. During the voyage, Sherlock Holmes kept his remarkable brain occupied with the game of observing our fellow passengers and deducing their origins, vocations and personalities from the clues offered by their physical appearances and behaviours.

We arrived in New York City’s harbour on the morning of 19 May. There was still the wide continent of North America to be traversed, but Mayor Phelan had arranged for us to be granted passage on any of the US Army’s relief trains bringing provisions and medical aid from New York to the refugee camps outside San Francisco. After clearing the New York customs house, health station, and currency exchange, Holmes and I secured a four-wheeler and made haste with our luggage north and east through Manhattan to the Pennsylvania station – for Holmes was determined to begin the long transcontinental railway journey as soon as possible.

By noon we reached the New York Central terminus, where Holmes was much distrait to be told that the next relief train did not embark until tomorrow morning. “There’s nothing for it, Watson,” he said. “We are obliged to spend a night in this metropolis. Let us quarter ourselves in an hotel, and then we shall see what diversions the island of Manhattan can offer us.”

I took charge of the transfer of our bags to the Herald Square Hotel, on the south side of West Thirty-Fourth Street, whilst Holmes sent a telegram to Continental Insurance’s main office. “I have cabled Mr Evans with the news that I shall be aboard tomorrow’s train,” Holmes informed me after I had dealt with the hotel’s guest-register, “and I have told him that I am bringing with me the greatest field surgeon of my acquaintance.”

“You flatter me, Holmes.”

“I think not. Come, Watson! For this afternoon and evening, at least, let us seek such pleasure as this city affords, knowing that tomorrow morning our unpleasant task begins. In the telegraph office I overheard that Maude Adams is appearing in Peter Pan at the Empire Theatre in West Forty-Sixth Street. Let us spend tonight in Neverland, and give no thoughts to pain or San Francisco.”

Sherlock Holmes and I proceeded northwards, up the wide Manhattan thoroughfare known as Broadway. Just south of West Thirty-Seventh