Author's Note: This is the first of, I hope, a number of stories based on the adventures of the great detective. I have tried to remain faithful to the style of the original. In this adventure Holmes is persuaded by a young housemaid to investigate the cause of her employer's mysterious illness.

have been at pains in my earlier accounts of the exploits of my erstwhile friend and companion, Mr Sherlock Holmes, to describe him as the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, to emphasise the coolness and analytical abilities of his intellect above all other faculties. In this regard I have been remiss for Holmes was a man capable of great passion. In my defence I will only say that this was a position insisted on by Holmes himself as a condition of allowing me to document his adventures. He was adamant that no hint of what he firmly believed could possibly be construed as a weakness should ever become public knowledge, his argument being that his reputation for invincibility was one of the main weapons in his arsenal. It is certainly true that, in more than a few of his cases, the fact that the criminal knew that the infallible Mr Sherlock Holmes had taken an interest, contributed to their successful conclusion.

I notice, upon re-reading my narratives, that I have not always been as faithful to my vow as I had intended for, as anyone who has read my reports carefully will doubtless have divined, I have on occasions given more of a hint to Holmes' true nature than I had intended. On more than one occasion I find I have more than alluded to the excitement he felt when pursuing a particularly awkward puzzle and the enthusiastic zeal with which he went about uncovering a mystery once his curiosity had been piqued.

I am also aware that I have omitted any mention of female companionship and have portrayed Holmes as more or less celibate. While it is certainly true that he regarded the female sex in the general case as weak and ineffectual, prone to allowing their propensity for the softer passions overcome their innate good sense, he was not above making use of this fact when the occasion suited him. Of course he could never form a permanent attachment, with the possible exception of Irene Adler whom he encountered in the Scandal in Bohemia, in part because his trained reasoning would tear the veils from all the little deceipts and devices that are so necessary in a successful marriage and in part because he feared that any emotional dependence would cloud his highly trained faculties and introduce doubt and uncertainty where conviction and confidence were paramount. For the one thing I can say for certain about Sherlock Holmes is that he never let his passions rule his intellect.

So it was that we were seated in our lodgings one afternoon in late spring and glad of the fire that had been laid, for the day had been unseasonably cool, when we heard the ringing of the front door bell followed, after a short interval, by a knock on the door.

"There is a young woman to see you," the landlady announced. "She is most insistent." The disapproving sniff at the end of the sentence spoke volumes.

"Send her in, then. Send her in." Holmes waved a languid arm from the armchair in which he was slouched.

The person in question must have overheard Holmes' invitation for, no sooner had the landlady turned back to the door, than she was over the threshold.

"Oh, Mr 'olmes, you've got to 'elp me," she cried, rushing into the room then stopping suddenly, wringing her hands and looking wildly about her as if had suddenly become aware of her surroundings.

"Calm yourself," said Holmes, sitting up abruptly. "Doctor, if you would be so good…" he indicated I should yield my seat by the fire, which I did with an ill grace for it was clear that the visitor was a common working girl, possibly a servant.

The girl, for she could be no more than fifteen or sixteen years old, perched nervously on the edge of the vacated chair, all the fire having left her, while I pulled a dining chair round for myself somewhat miffed at my rude eviction.

Holmes leant forward, smiling gently. "Now tell us why you so urgently require the services of Sherlock Holmes."

The girl clasped her hands together nervously. "It's the master, sir. 'E 'asn't been 'imself recently and I'm ever so worried about 'im but I didn't know what to do or 'oo to turn to then I remembered reading about you in the newspapers so 'ere I am," she said in a great rush.

Holmes leaned forward and said, with that kindly courtesy that came so naturally to him, "Perhaps I can best help if you were to begin at the beginning and tell us your name and the nature of your relationship with the gentleman about whom you are so concerned."

This brought the girl up short. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "I do beg your pardon, sir. I am so distraught that I'm not thinking straight. My name is Sarah Carter and I am the housemaid in the establishment of Mr Laurence Woolmer of Bromley. I've been in Mr Woolmer's employ for a year. Lately, there's been a change in him and I'm worried that something bad is happening."

Holmes leaned back and steepled his fingers. "Something bad you say. Is he ill?"

The girl flushed slightly. "Not as such, sir. At least not as you might call out a doctor for. But he isn't himself, if you know what I mean."

"Not at present," Holmes said, smiling gently, "I will need to know more about your relationship with your employer if I am to help you. You may speak freely before my companion, Dr Watson, and I."

She coloured, rather prettily I thought, then continued in a more subdued voice, "I applied for the position at Mr Woolmer's just over a year ago. Mr Woomer is an older gentleman and he intimated that I was to be more than just a housemaid. That he required, er, companionship, him being a widower and all." Here she stopped, too embarrassed to continue.

"I understand," Holmes said gravely. "Continue, please."

"He seemed a nice enough gentleman and the wages was good and I needed the job, what with my mother so poorly and all, so I agreed."

"Miss Carter, if I am to assist you, you must be more forthcoming."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. It's just… it's not the sort of thing one discusses with gentlemen."

"I can assure you that the doctor and I have seen and heard many worse things than you will relate. Did Mr Woolmer mistreat you?"

"Oh, no, sir." She was most indignant.

"He did not beat you, or starve you or imprison you or force you to do anything against your will?"

"No, sir. Never. Mr Woolmer has always been a perfect gentleman."

"Then you may rest assured that whatever you may say will not cause offence. I cannot help you unless you are entirely frank. Pray describe your relationship with your employer and leave nothing out."

She took a deep breath to calm her agitation and I could not help but notice that her bosom filled her cheap white blouse quite handsomely.

"Yes, sir. Well, then,as I said I am a housemaid. My normal duties finish after dinner at nine o'clock when I clear the table and set it for breakfast. At eleven o'clock, I would make my way to Mr Woolmer's room and we would go to bed. I was very scared at first, sir, Mr Woolmer being my first but he was always such a gentleman, so gentle and kind, and he always made sure I enjoyed it as much as he did." She looked coyly up at Holmes from lowered eyes. "After a while, sir, I confess I came to quite look forward to my visits. We continued like this, sir, until about a month ago, when it all stopped."

"Stopped?"

"Yes, sir. The visits. They stopped."

"You say Mr Woolmer is an older gentleman. Could it not be simply nature taking its toll?"

"Oh no, sir. Mr Woolmer was a very vigorous gentleman. Very fit, sir, especially considering his age."

"Does he have any medical conditions?"

"Well, he does take something for his stomach, sir, every night, regular as clockwork. But, other than that, no."

"You went to him at eleven o'clock every night?"

"Yes, sir. Every night except Saturdays."

"And you got undressed and into bed?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes we would play games."

"What sort of games?"

"That's what Mr Woolmer called them. He would make me dress up in a costume. He had one like these French can-can dancers, all frills and flounces, and one like a girl from a Moorish hayreem and one like a school girl with a white pinafore and everything…"

"Was that all?"

"Sometimes he would want me to pretend I had been naughty and he would give me a row then we'd kiss and make up and sometimes he would pretend to have been naughty and I would have to have to give him a row and then forgive him with a kiss. That was hard, sir, as he was the master and I am only the housemaid but he said that, once I'd closed the door, I was no longer a housemaid but his companion and we was to behave like equals." She frowned prettily. "But you can't really do that, sir, can you? You can only try to pretend for a little bit."

"Quite," Holmes said, somewhat taken aback by this profound observation from one so young. "And how long did you stay?"

"Sometimes and hour, sir, sometimes two but never more than that."

Holmes leaned forward. "I must ask you something very personal. Please be so good as to answer truthfully." Miss Carter nodded nervously. "You know that there are three orifices that can be used for acts of pleasure. Were they all utilised?"

Having served in Afghanistan, I was aware of some of the more obscene acts practiced by the heathens in those parts and I flinched in sympathy that such a young girl should be subjected to such a question. Indeed I fully anticipated that she would have no understanding of the question and regard Holmes as if he had gone mad. To my utter astonishment, she looked my companion square in the eye and, although she was the colour of a Guardsman's uniform, simply replied, "Yes, sir."

Holmes leaned back. "And the visits stopped about a month ago?"

"Yes, sir."

"Abruptly? You turned up at the appointed hour and he said, 'Go away,' or words to that effect?"

"It wasn't quite as sudden as that, sir. He had been complaining of not feeling himself for several days and he had been… less attentive than usual. Then, one night, he said, 'I really don't feel up to it tonight, Sarah. Forgive me.'. And that was the end of it. Truth to tell, sir, he didn't look right at all. He looked very pale and haggard and he was sweating as if he had some sort of fever. I tried to persuade him to go to the doctor but he refused, saying he'd be fine in a day or so. But he didn't get any better. I spoke to Mrs Brumby, the cook, but she said I was imagining things and I wasn't to worry. But I did worry and I do worry. That's why I'm 'ere. Because I'm sure something terrible is 'appening to Mr Woolmer." In her agitation, her voice had risen and she was twisting her fingers one around the other in her lap.

"Pray do not agitate yourself, Miss Carter. Your case intrigues me. I shall glance into it and I have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result. I have a few more questions I need to ask. The household consists of Mr Woolmer, yourself and a cook. No-one else?"

"Only Mr. Collimire. He looks after the garden and does maintenance and such like. But he lives above the stables and not in the house, proper."

"And you sleep where?"

"I share with Mrs Brumby."

Holmes raised an eyebrow. "What is her opinion of your liaison with her employer?"

"She was not best pleased at the start, sir, but she seemed to come round after a while. I try my best to be helpful and, while I can't claim we are friends, she is civil towards me at least."

"And Mr Collimire?"

"Oh, he doesn't know, sir. Leastways I haven't told him and Mrs Brumby had no reason to tell him either."

"Mr Woolmer is a man of regular habits?"

"Yes, sir. You could set your clock by him you could. Monday to Friday he rises at seven and comes down to breakfast at eight. He leaves the house at eight thirty five to walk to the railway station and comes back at ten minutes to seven. Dinner is at seven thirty. I clear the table at nine once he has retired to his study. He goes up to bed at a quarter to eleven."

"And at weekends?"

"He rises a bit later, sir, at eight o'clock. On Saturdays he goes to his club in London and doesn't return till after dinner. On Sundays he attends church in the morning and then either reads or goes for a walk in the afternoon."

"Does he have any visitors?"

"Only Mr Sunderland, sir, who's an old friend of his. He comes to dinner every Wednesday and sometimes on Sundays afternoons."

"Have there been any unusual visitors in the last six weeks?"

"No, sir. Just the usual tradesmen. Oh, there was one. A man came to the door. It must have been five or six weeks ago. He wanted to know if the house was up for sale. I thought it a bit odd as there was no sign up or anything and he spoke with a strange accent. He wasn't English, at any rate. Very pleasant he was and apologised for bothering me."

"Thank you, Miss Carter. When would be convenient to visit?"

"Visit, sir?"

"Yes. I will need to visit the house and look around, preferably when there is no-one at home."

"Oh, that's easily arranged, sir. Saturday is our day off, once the chores are done. Mrs Brumby always goes to visit her sister and Mr Collimire goes somewhere, too. Mostly there's only me."

"Excellent. Then we shall see you on Saturday. At what time?"

"Everybody's gone by eleven thirty, sir."

"Then we shall be there at eleven thirty."

He rose and, perforce, Miss Carter rose, too.

"A most intriguing little puzzle," he said with a smile after she had hurried away. "What did you make of her?"

I had been attempting, after the fashion of my companion, to read the indications which might be presented by her dress and appearance. I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. That she was young and a servant I had already ascertained. Her white blouse and dark plum skirt, while cheap, were well cared for and her hair was clean and brushed. I said as much to Holmes.

"Ha, Watson," he barked. "You see but you do not observe. Miss Carter is a most fortunate young woman. There are not many who would treat her, a mere housemaid, as well as her Mr Woolmer. His feelings for her are deep and genuine and there is no doubt that his feelings are reciprocated."

"How can you tell?"

He rose to his feet and paced up and down as was his wont when he was agitated. "Did you not notice her hands? These were not hands that spend all day scrubbing floors. She is no London slavey, Miss Carter. So, although she has the title of housemaid, her duties are minimal. Then there was her diction. Did you not remark upon the difference in her speech when she first entered the room and again when she became agitated?"

I replayed the conversation in my mind. "Now you come to mention it, yes. When she first entered, she dropped aitches all over the place but, once she had calmed herself her speech was as lucid as yours or mine."

"Capital, my dear Watson. I see there is some hope for you yet. And to what would you attribute this remarkable change?"

"As to that, I confess I have no conception."

"It is more than clear that her employer is actively engaged in her education. Not a formal education, I grant you, but sufficient that she would not disgrace herself in company several degrees above her origins. That is not the act of a master towards a common servant girl. There are several other indications that Mr Woolmer's feelings for Miss Carter run deep but I will not belabour the point. I will but finally refer to her courage. That she risked all to come here today and confront the eminent Mr Sherlock Holmes is, indeed, an act of supreme courage and a measure of the depth of her feelings towards her employer."

"Since you put it like that, Holmes, I see I am forced to reassess my original impressions of Miss Carter." Now he had explained matters, as usual they seemed obvious. "And to what do you attribute the remarkable change that has overcome the estimable Mr Woolmer?"

"I shall know after our visit to Bromley."

The house in Bromley was relatively new, having been constructed during the initial rush to the suburbs occasioned by the building of the railway, and situated in a leafy avenue. In itself it was not a particularly handsome building but it possessed a good-sized garden to both front and rear and no doubt Mr Woolmer was well contented by the image of civilised prosperity that the property conveyed. We entered by the main gate but, once inside, Holmes immediately veered off and approached the house from the rear.

The door opened immediately to our knock and we were greeted by a relieved Miss Carter. "Oh, I'm so glad you're 'ere, Mr 'olmes," she cried. "I wasn't certain…"

"Calm yourself, Miss Carter," Holmes said, placing a friendly hand on her shoulder. "We are here. Now let us proceed to Mr Woolmer's rooms, if you please."

Mr Woolmer was not a man who indulged in unnecessary luxury. A comfortable double bed, a nightstand, a dresser and a chest of drawers were all the furniture it contained. A Persian rug covered the floor. Holmes examined the room with his customary thoroughness, paying particular attention to the window, which he opened with some difficulty, and the window sill. A small vial on the dresser caught his attention.

"Is this Mr Woolmer's stomach medicine?" he asked, pouncing on it.

"Yes, sir."

He removed the stopper, bent his nose to take a sniff and immediately jerked his head back, blinking rapidly. Wordlessly, he passed me the bottle. I confess I took an injudicious sniff and instantly regretted it.

"Pshaw!" I exclaimed, jerking my head back and almost dropping the bottle. "A most pungent elixir."

Holmes smiled wryly. "Indeed. Perhaps you might care to try again, a trifle more cautiously this time, and give us your medical opinion as to the possible contents. Dr Watson is sometimes a trifle impetuous," he explained to the housemaid, causing the girl to smile.

I bent my nose over the bottle once more and let the pungent fumes waft across my nostrils. "Hmm. It is difficult to say. So many herbs and spices have been added that the basic ingredients are well masked. There is a hint of sweetness here, too. Honey, perhaps? And hops? Possibly cumin, also, though what good that would do for an upset stomach I have no idea."

"Oh, Mr Woolmer doesn't take it for an upset stomach, sir. He says it aids his digestion."

"Well done, Watson. I, too, detected the substances you have identified and a few more besides." He turned to the housemaid. "Does Mr Woolmer measure out a strict dose?"

"Yes, sir. Two teaspoonfuls every night."

"Then I suspect he would be suspicious if too much were missing. However I shall require a sample for further analysis. A thimbleful should be sufficient. Is this the only bottle?"

"I really don't know, sir."

"Does Mr Woolmer ever go without?"

"Not that I can recall, sir."

"Then he must have a supply to hand. We must find it. Where would such a thing be kept?" He started to search, opening drawers and carefully feeling around in the contents.

"It won't be in there, sir," Miss Carter said. "I turn these drawers out regularly."

"Then where?" Holmes cried.

"Not in the bathroom," the maid said thoughtfully. "Perhaps the dressing room?"

In the end it was I who discovered the other bottle tucked behind an old hat box on a shelf in a large fitted wardrobe. I was about to remove the stopper to confirm my findings when I was prevented by a cry from Holmes.

"Do not open that bottle, Watson, though your life depended on it."

Somewhat irked at his abrupt tone, I handed him the vial. He extracted his magnifying glass and examined it minutely for several minutes.

"Just as I suspected," he announced with satisfaction. "This bottle has been opened before."

I examined it myself. "I cannot see how you can say that," I grumbled. With a smile, he handed me his glass but, even with the aid on its magnifying powers I could see nothing out of the ordinary and handed both objects back to him.

"I can still see nothing untoward."

"It has been carefully done, I grant you, but there are some tiny scratches on the glass where the seal has been broken and it has not been reaffixed quite perfectly. Well enough done to fool an ordinary person but obvious to one who has trained their mind in the art of acute observation such as I. Come, replace the bottle, if you please, Watson, and Miss Carter will show us the rest of the house."

It could not be said that Mr Woolmer was a man of either flamboyant or extravagant tastes for the rest of remainder of the house was much like the master bedroom. In short, it reflected the character of its owner; staid, sober and middle-aged. Holmes paid little attention to the main rooms but seemed inordinately interested in the pantry which he examined in some detail. The tour over, we returned to the kitchen where Holmes pressed Miss Carter on the subject of visitors to the house and, in particular, the man who had enquired about purchasing the house. She was, however, unable to add much to our sum of knowledge.

"Now, Miss Carter, all that remains is patience. I want you to keep a close eye upon your employer's medicine. When you observe that the almost empty bottle in the bedroom has been replaced by a full one, you must check the closet where we discovered the spare. It will, no doubt, be empty. Mr Woolmer has, no doubt, a regular source of supply and it will quickly be replaced. When that happens, send word to me immediately for, in the replacement bottle lies the final part of this little mystery. On no account should you disturb the bottles or give your employer any grounds for suspicion that you are aware of his supply. Is that clear?"

"Indeed, sir." Her brows furrowed in a frown. "There is just one thing, sir. How a I to notify you?"

"Why, by telegram, of course."

"Very well, sir. I'll send a telegram on the Saturday after I notice the change in bottles."

"But that will be much too late," Holmes cried, aghast.

"I'm afraid that that is the only day I can visit the Post Office, sir."

Holmes clapped his hand to his brow. "Miss Carter, I apologise. Watson, if I ever appear to be coming over-confident in my abilities or swollen with the sense of my own importance, remind me of this moment, I beg of you. For here you see the failure of the mater detective who has neglected to take one basic and simple fact into account when deciding upon his plan of action."

Miss Carter looked bemused.

"Indeed, Holmes," I said with, I confess, a certain degree of smugness. "Miss Carter is tied to the house except on Saturday which is her day off."

Holmes became abstracted as he pondered for a moment. "Very well," he cried, jumping up. "There is a room on the upper floor which is visible from the street and which is not in general use? Are the curtains generally open or closed?"

"Open, sir. I close them at night and open them each morning. Mr Woolmer is most insistent that the house give the appearance of being lived in."

"Then I shall arrange for the house to be kept under constant observation if you can arrange, upon the day that the new bottle arrives, to leave the curtains closed."

"Yes, sir. That will be possible though I shall have to open them before Mr Woolmer returns in the evening."

"Midday will be sufficient, Miss Carter."

Upon leaving the house, Holmes led the way in the opposite direction to which we had arrived. He spent some time carefully investigating the flower bed beneath the pantry window before straightening with a nod of satisfaction.

"We are fortunate that the weather has been mostly clement of late," was his only remark.

I did not see much of Holmes over the next two weeks for the case had piqued his curiosity. Much of what I now relate I obtained later.

Upon returning to his lodgings in Baker Street, he had retired to his laboratory where he confirmed his suspicions about the contents of Mr Woolmer's stomach medicine. Several days later, he returned to Bromley and engaged a room at the Station Hotel, an anonymous establishment much frequented by commercial travellers and sales representatives. For the rest of the week he contented himself with apparently idling round the small town centre and maintaining a weather eye on the Woolmer residence. He was, in that way, able to establish the veracity of Miss Carter's statements regarding that establishment.

On Saturday afternoon, he paid another visit to Miss Carter in the guise of a travelling salesman. She was much put out, and not a little perturbed, at the sight of this nondescript man at the back door as she was alone in the house. However, when Holmes revealed his true identity, she her apprehension turned to joy.

"Why, Mr 'olmes," she cried. "What a turn you gave me. Still I'm very pleased to see you."

She bustled about making a pot of tea while Holmes sat at the scrubbed kitchen table and admired the movement of the lithe young body beneath the starched apron and housemaid's uniform. There was a vitality about her that age and toil had yet to dim that he found most alluring. Yet beneath the surface cheerfulness, he was aware of her tension and unease.

"Be easy in your mind, Miss Carter," he said as she settled beside him and poured the tea. "I have solved the case and am merely waiting for the appropriate circumstances to put the matter beyond doubt."

"You mean… You know what ails my master?"

"Indeed I do. And I have a good idea of the means by which it was carried out. What I do not know yet is why. That will be revealed in the fullness of time."

"But if you what is happening, why can you not stop it now?"

"Because I do not know by whom or why. Rest assured, however, that I do not believe the perpetrator of this crime, if crime it is, means your master any lasting harm."

"He's not going to die?"

"Indeed he is not. On that you have my word."

"Oh, Mr 'olmes," she cried flinging her arms around his neck.

"You are deeply concerned about your employer, are you not?" he asked, placing a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Yes, sir," she sniffed.

"And you are missing his attentions." He tightened his arm bringing her into a closer embrace.

"Yes, sir."

"The night-time visits meant a lot to you. They opened up a new world, one you sorely miss."

"Yes, sir." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Then you may be assured that he should shortly be restored to his former full vigour."

"You truly know who is doing this?"

He nodded. "It still wants verification but I shall have that shortly."

"Oh, Mr Holmes, how can I ever thank you?" Impulsively she hugged him.

Holmes gently tipped her chin upwards and looked deep into her eyes. "I believe there is a way you could thank me most handsomely."

"You don't mean…?"

"I do, indeed, Miss Carter. You are a most attractive girl, made even more so by your courage and loyalty." He pulled her close, delighting in the sensation of the firm young breasts pressed against him and making sure she was aware of the evidence of his growing ardour.

"Oh, Mr Holmes," she breathed.

He bent and placed a gentle kiss upon her mouth. When she did not resist, he became more insistent, inserting his tongue between her yielding lips. As he had suspected, her natural lubricity made her receptive to his advances and it was not long before she was returning his kiss with enthusiasm. Her arms stole round him and she pressed herself tightly against him.

When they eventually parted, she looked up at him, her eyes glistening, her face flushed. "I know it's wrong, Mr 'olmes, but I find I cannot resist you. You may have your way with me."

Holmes let a hand stray to a firm young breast. "Be assured, Miss Carter, that I will make the experience as pleasurable for you as it will be for me."

He led her unresisting form up to the master bedroom. She came eagerly into his arms and they kissed ardently. Holmes availed himself of the opportunity to explore as much of her body as he could, encased as it was in her uniform. He confirmed his suspicions that she was a healthy, buxom girl with a fine, strong back; narrow waist; broad, swelling hips and full, round bottom. Having decided to put aside her reluctance, she did so fully and responded to his caresses with little wriggles and murmurs of endearment, pressing herself tightly against his lean, muscular body.

"The exercise would be more to our mutual satisfaction if we were less encumbered by clothing," he murmured eventually.

"If you mean we should take off our clothes, then I agree," she replied, breathing heavily.

They undressed as rapidly as they could for both were eager to take their liaison to more intimate levels. Despite her impatience, Holmes was pleased to note that she took the time to fold each article neatly.

"Ooh, Mr 'olmes," she exclaimed in pleased surprised. "You certainly are well equipped."

Holmes smiled smugly. He was well aware that he was as well endowed in the lower regions as he was mentally in the upper.

The hands she wrapped around his shaft were not in the least bit tentative. They manipulated his erection with an unexpected degree of expertise and, when one slipped down to fondle his testes, a murmur of pleasure escaped from his lips.

"I do believe you are enjoying this, Mr Holmes," she said, looking up from lowered lashes.

"Indeed, Miss Carter. Your hands are most talented." His breathing was somewhat laboured. "However, I must insist you desist at once for you are in imminent danger of precipitating a crisis."

"I should have thought a man like you could achieve more than one stand in an afternoon," she said archly.

"You may be assured you will have no complaints on that account. And, if I should flag, I have no doubt that these gifted hands will soon remedy the matter. I am conscious only that I would prefer to reach the critical point in more intimate surroundings."

She glanced around the room. "What surroundings could be more intimate than a bedroom, sir?"

Holmes laughed. "You little minx. You know perfectly well to what I was referring."

"I confess you have me there, sir," she giggled.

"And I shall have you here, also," he said, delighted at her quick wit. "When we first met, you intimated that you were aware that there were three orifices that could be used to slake the thirsts of passion."

"Yes, sir," she murmured.

"Then I shall endeavour to ensure that all three are involved."

She shivered though not through fear. "I should like that for I confess I've grown to like the sensation of a man's hardness in my bottom."

Holmes manhood twitched for she had a delightfully round and plump bottom. "That is good for I find the sensation of penetrating a woman's nether opening quite exquisite."

She smiled coquettishly. "Then perhaps we'd better get on with it."

"Into which orifice should I discharge?"

Again the arch smile. "I think, sir, it should be the nether one."

"Then we are of a mind, for the act of discharging into a woman's bottom gives me the greatest pleasure."

She blushed and squeezed his rampant manhood. "No more that I shall have receiving it," she murmured.

"Miss Carter, you are a delight," he cried, laying her on the edge of the bed with her feet dangling on the floor. "But first we must attend to your pleasure."

He dropped to his knees and spread her thighs wide. With a grin at the girl's startled expression, he bent and applied his tongue to her plump vulva, now swollen and darkened in passion.

"Oh, Mr Holmes, upon my word," she gasped as she felt his agile tongue slide between her lower lips and enter her vagina. Instinctively, her hands sought his head to pull him closer and she raised her legs to rest her feet upon his broad, angular shoulders.

One of the remarkable characteristics of Sherlock Holmes, and one that contributed in no small measure to his justified reputation as the world's greatest detective, was his ability to become an expert in whatever topic captured his interest. That he was as accomplished in the acts of love as he was at extracting information from footprints or playing the violin should, therefore, be of no surprise. Under the combined assault of the accomplished lips, tongue and fingers of Sherlock Holmes, Miss Carter was shortly raised to such heights of pleasure as she could barely have imagined in her short life and quickly thereafter rewarded Holmes with a loud cry of ecstasy and a copious flow of sweet female juice which that gentleman lapped as a cat will cream. Pausing only to ensure that her surrender had not rendered her delicate parts over-sensitive, Holmes continued his assault, determined that she should feel the ultimate release at least once more before attending to his needs. In this his motives had a basis of self-interest for he had found that the gratitude of a satisfied woman would manifest itself in the increased attention she would give to ensuring his own satisfaction.

For this second round, he turned his attentions to her puckered rear hole being certain, from her earlier words, that she would enjoy this delightful orifice being serviced fully as much as she did her vulva. With two fingers still inserted in her vagina, he stiffened his tongue and probed delicately at the crinkled pink opening. The effect on Miss Carter was dramatic. She clutched at his head with a loud squeal of delight and drummed her heels upon his back.

Thus encouraged, Holmes set to work with a will. His diligence was rewarded when the delicate rosebud yielded to his tongue and the sighs and cries of his partner indicated that she found this invasion much to her liking. With fingers applied to one orifice and tongue to the other, he very quickly brought her to a second and then a third surrender.

She could take no more and, with insistent hands, urged him to rise.

"I swear I was like to swoon, sir. Never have I felt such remarkable emotions. You will spoil me for another man. Come, enter me. I can't wait any longer."

Nothing loth, Holmes brought his rigid member to the entrance of her vagina and pressed forward. It was an exceedingly tight fit but the eager girl wriggled and squirmed to assist his penetration, as desirous of feeling him fully embedded in her as he was. At last the mutually desired result was obtained and the full length of Holmes's impressive manhood was implanted in her hot, tight receptacle. He paused and looked down at the girl with her bosom heaving and her eyes afire. Never had he seen such a beautiful and inspiring sight although, if he was to be entirely honest with himself, he felt the same about every woman into whom he buried his shaft.

"Oh, Mr 'olmes," she sighed. "What a monster. I feel completely stuffed."

He began to move, slowly at first but with increasing speed and passion as his partner's response grew louder and more physical. As he pistoned in and out of her tight young body, her legs curled around his back and she attempted to raise herself up from the bed and impale herself more deeply on his manhood. It was this natural tendency of some women to not only accept his shaft but to eagerly embrace it, to open themselves completely to his manhood, to surrender themselves utterly to his invasion, that he found profoundly arousing. Miss Carter was one of these women whose enthusiasm for congress seemed inexhaustible. She writhed and wriggled beneath him in transports of delights until, all at once, she flung her arms around his neck and held on tightly while her body convulsed as she was caught in the throes of the ultimate surrender.

With an immense sigh of satisfaction she sagged limply back on the bed, her eyes closed and a beatific smile upon her face.

"Do you feel capable of a second round?" Holmes asked solicitously.

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. "It'll prob'ly be the death of me but, yes," she murmured.

He carefully extracted himself and hoist up her limp legs so her knees were over her chest. Then, placing the tip of his still-hard staff at her rosebud, he pushed gently. That his staff was liberally coated with her love juices and she was no stranger to this style of penetration ensured that he did not have to use undue force. It was but the work if a moment before her sphincter yielded to the pressure and the head of his shaft disappeared inside her rectum. Upon that instant, as one they gave sighs of satisfaction for they both found the sensation exquisitely pleasing.

"Be gentle, sir," she pleaded softly. "You're somewhat larger than Mr Woolmer."

"I shall be the soul of discretion," he assured her. "I will permit you to set the pace."

"In that case, press on - but slowly."

With the gentlest of pressures, he inched his way deeper and deeper into her rectum. His excitement rose as he did. In part because this orifice was, if anything, tighter and hotter than her vagina and, in part, because the vision of his thick shaft stretching her sphincter to its limits and slowly being absorbed by her nether hole was exciting in itself. She bade him pause but twice, and then only for an instant to allow her time to become accustomed to this uncommonly large intruder, before he was fully seated, his thighs pressed against hers, his sac resting against her coccyx.

"Ah," she gasped. "I believe you feel even larger like this if such a thing is possible."

"And I declare, Miss Carter, that your bottom is hotter and grips me more tightly than your other channel, if such a thing is possible," he replied. "May I move now for I fear my release is fast approaching such is the power of your bottom over me."

"Do it, Mr 'olmes, do it," the girl cried impulsively. "I want to feel you discharge inside me."

Her words galvanised him into action. Slowly he withdrew until only the very tip of him remained inside her then, equally slowly, he returned, eliciting a long, drawn-out sigh from the girl. His arousal was too great to permit him to keep up this game for any length of time and it his fortunate that his partner's natural lubricity rendered an extended build-up unnecessary. Before long he was shafting her deeply, his thighs meeting her bottom with an audible slap, her cries of encouragement egging him on. To have a wriggling squirming girl pinned beneath him while he ravished her bottom was the ultimate pleasure for Holmes and his excitement mounted rapidly.

"Miss Carter… I do believe… Oh, yes…" he gasped. With a final violent thrust that caused her to squeal in pleased surprise, he discharged his seed deep into her bowels. At each spurt, the girl gasped for it was clear she was experiencing as much pleasure from the ejaculation of his emissions as he.

Finally spent, he carefully withdrew and crawled up onto the bed where he could recline in comfort until his breathing had returned to normal and he had some measure of control over his trembling limbs. His partner, much as she desired to creep into these strong arms and feel the comfort and protection of their embrace, was aware that if she did so in her present condition, evidence of their coupling would certainly be uncovered. On legs that would barely support her she stumbled into the dressing room to remove the indications of Holmes's virility.

Holmes lay with his hands linked behind his head, his mind for once at peace. Indeed it was only in such moments of post-coital bliss that he could truly achieve peace, so great was the pressure if his restless and relentless intellect. True, he could achieve some measure of peace while under the influence of cocaine but, even at its best, it could not equal the complete and utter sense of contentment and tranquillity he now felt. He felt he owed Miss Carter an immense debt of gratitude for she had proved to be the most sprightly and responsive partner. It had been some time since he had found someone who responded to the acts of Eros with such enthusiasm and abandonment.

He was drifting in a world without name when he felt something cool and wet at his groin. His eyes flew open to see the housemaid solicitously cleaning his genitals with a damp cloth.

"Why, Miss Carter, this is a pleasant surprise," he said.

"After the pleasure you've given me, sir, it's the least I can do," she smiled.

"Then I can assure you that the pleasure is entirely mutual. Rarely have I had a partner as willing and enthusiastic and, if I may say, experienced in the arts of love as you."

"I'm glad my small efforts met with your satisfaction, sir." Her small, self -satisfied smile, however, indicates that his words of praise had been appreciated.

She cast the cloth into the bowl of water and tucked her hair behind her ears.

"The third one," she said with an impish grin, ducking her head to his groin and planting a kiss on the tip of his flaccid shaft.

She proved as talented with her mouth as she had been with her hands. Despite feeling utterly drained such a short time ago, Holmes found himself responding. She licked and sucked and nibbled and teased until she had him standing as proud and stiff as he had been half an hour previously. Then she really set to work, licking up and down the outside of his shaft, sucking him deeply into her mouth until he was knocking at the entrance to her throat, running her tongue slowly and sensually round the sensitive tip, sliding a delicate hand up and down the length of his shaft, cupping his testes and sucking them into her mouth and gently rolling them around with her tongue. He clutched the bedcover and arched his back as exquisite sensations coursed through his body.

When she was certain he was nearing his resolution, she raised her head and said quietly, "Whenever you're ready, sir. Don't 'old back."

She formed her mouth into an 'o', lowered her face onto his shaft and began to bob her head rapidly up and down while simultaneously manipulating the soft skin of his shaft with her hands. Even Holmes, for all his experience, found this astonishing assault too much to bear. He groaned deeply and closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the incredible sensations the girl was causing in his manhood. A small hand slipped between his thighs and she began to milk his testicles. This proved to be his undoing. With a moan of pleasure, he arched his back and pumped his seed into her eager mouth. And eager it was for as fast as he spurted, she sucked and swallowed until he was completely dry.

Assured, at last, that there was no more to come, she raised her head, licking her lips to ensure she missed not a drop. He held out his arms and she scrambled into them eagerly.

"Ahhh, Miss Carter, you truly are a wonder," he murmured drowsily.

They lay in blissful contentment for a long time, satisfied to feel the closeness of each other's bodies and share the mutual fulfilment that comes from the act of love between two equal and uninhibited lovers. No longer were they master and servant, great detective and lowly housemaid, merely two people who had come together for enjoyment and indulgence and to take pleasure in each other's bodies.

Around them, the air cooled as the afternoon wore on.

"I fear, Miss Carter, that the time is upon us when I must reluctantly take my leave of you."

"I know, sir," the girl replied softly. "'Tis a great pity though."

"There is much in life that is a great pity. We must be all the more thankful for those small moments that permit us to overcome the squalor and pettiness of day-to-day life. I will never forget this afternoon."

"Me neither, sir."

Holmes levered himself up and began to dress. On the other side of the bed, Miss Carter did likewise. As each article of clothing was put into place, the mantle of the mundane world was reconstructed. When they turned to face each other it was as master and servant once again.

"Would you care for a cup of tea before you leave, sir?" she asked.

"I think not," he replied.

She led him to the back door where she would have lingered, reluctant, at the last instant, to lose him and the magic of the afternoon.

"Now, Miss Carter, when would anticipate that Mr Woolmer will need to replace his bottle of medicine?" he said briskly, all business once again.

"Any day now, sir. The present one is almost empty."

"Excellent. Remember the signal and do not fail if you wish to see you master restored to he old vigour."

"I shan't fail, sir."

It was on the Tuesday that I received the telegram urging me to come immediately to Bromley. It was typical of Holmes, when he was embarked upon a case, to give no thoughts to the obligations and duties of others. Once the lust of the chase was upon him, all else was discarded in the pursuit of the truth, and the very idea that others might not share his overweening desire, no, need to resolve the conundrum was a concept that did not enter into his mind. Still, I had given my word I would be there so, with some difficulty I managed to rearrange my appointments and telegraph him that I would arrive in Bromley at six that evening.

He met me at the station, striding impatiently up and down the concourse as he waited for me to emerge from the horde of commuters returning to their leafy suburb from their day's labours in the city.

"Ah, there you are at last, Watson. Come. We will dine at the 'Compass' where they do an excellent steak-and-kidney pie."

He strode off, weaving effortlessly between the exiting passengers as I struggled to maintain pace behind him. He was right, though; the 'Compass' did do an excellent steak-and-kidney pie and with that and a pint of local ale under my belt I felt much more cheerful.

"I take it you have resolved the mystery of Mr Woolmer's illness," I remarked as we ensconced ourselves in the snug with cigar and pipe.

"What? Oh, yes. I resolved that little matter last week. We are here merely to tidy up a few loose ends."

"So tonight we are to arrest the criminal?"

"Good heavens, no," he cried. "No-one will be arrested for no crime has been committed, unless you count the reduction of a man's libido as a crime."

"I confess, Holmes, that I do not have the faintest idea what you are talking about," I said with some asperity.

"Naturally, Watson, for you rarely do until it is all spelled out in plain letters. Tell me, what did you make of the medication Mr Woolmer takes for his indigestion?"

"Medication? Quackery, I say. There was nothing in that concoction that would relieve an upset stomach. Quite the reverse, more likely."

"Why, Watson, I do believe there is some hope for you yet. But come, it is almost ten and quite time that we started. We may have to wait for some hours but I wish to be well in place beforehand." With that he sprang to his feet and went off to settle up with the landlord.

It was a dark night; the clouds obscuring what small light the moon might have provided, and the streetlamps were well spaced, their hissing light illuminating only a small pool of street and pavement. Our footsteps rang loudly in the quiet suburban streets. In the houses, windows glowed warmly with the light behind drawn curtains and not a few were completely dark. It was clear that the good citizens of Bromley took to their beds early.

When we reached the Woolmer residence, Holmes stopped and drew me into a patch of deep shadow from where he could observe the house. The ground floor windows were dark but there was a light in an upstairs room which I surmised must be Mr Woolmer's bedroom. There was a light above the coach house and evidence of a downstairs light to the rear of the house. As we watched and waited, the servant's lights were extinguished and, a short while thereafter, the house was in darkness.

"Come," Holmes hissed, opening the tradesman's gate carefully.

We crept across the darkened garden, keeping to the grass. The path was paved with gravel and the noise of our footsteps crunching along it would surely have alerted the household. As my eyes became accustomed to the faint light that reached us from the nearest street lamp, I recognised that we had drawn level with the pantry. Here Holmes halted for a moment and examined the window carefully. Nodding in satisfaction, he made his way to a tall bush, behind which we crouched.

"Now what?" I hissed in his ear.

"We wait," he hissed back. "Kindly be silent."

We waited. It was not a particularly cold night but, after some considerable time of inactivity, I became weary and my limbs became stiff. My knee, in particular, started to give me twinges. I fear I became restless.

"What's the matter, Watson?" Holmes whispered.

"My knee, Holmes. I'm afraid it's acting up."

"My dear fellow, I had quite forgotten about that. If you could hold out just a little longer, I believe your patience will be rewarded." Suddenly he stiffened and laid a hand on my arm. "Indeed it may be rewarded sooner than you think. Be still, now."

I listened, all senses straining and, sure enough, there came the sound of approaching footsteps on the street. They stopped for what seemed an interminable time before the tradesman's gate creaked quietly open. I could make out the faint figure of a man approaching the house in the same manner as we had. It stopped at the pantry window and there was another interminable pause before we heard the sound of the sash being raised. Holmes clapped me on the shoulder and surged to his feet. It took me slightly longer to rise and, by the time I emerged from behind the bush, Holmes was grappling with the intruder.

Either the man had particularly sensitive hearing or Holmes had made an involuntary noise during his approach for he was not taken entirely unawares. He had paused in the act of opening the window and swung round to see Holmes almost upon him. As Holmes launched himself, he managed to step slightly to one side so that Holmes caught hold of his overcoat rather than the man himself. As Holmes grimly attempted to secure a better hold, the intruder wrestled him off and Holmes dropped to one knee. Regaining his balance first, the intruder started to run.

"Stop him, Watson," Holmes cried.

The man was obviously unaware that Holmes was not unaccompanied and paused and gave a shout of alarm as I sprinted across the lawn towards him. The pause proved to be his undoing. If he had continued running for the gate it is doubtful that I would have been able to catch him for he was younger than I and I was never a sprinter, even in my youth. As it was, I was able to tackle him squarely, sending us both crashing to the ground. Holmes arrived at that instant and our prisoner was secure.

The noise of the scuffle had awakened the household and lights sprang up everywhere. From the coach house emerged a surly-looking man bearing a cudgel. From the rear of the house appeared a large woman of middle years followed by Miss Carter. Both women looked exceedingly frightened.

"Why, Mr 'olmes," cried Miss Carter in astonishment. "And Dr Watson."

"You know these men?" her companion demanded.

Holmes rose to his feet. "I am Sherlock Holmes," he announced smoothly. "Perhaps we could adjourn to the kitchen where, no doubt, a full account of tonight's adventures may be given. Can you manage him, Watson?"

The captive, realising the game was up, lay docilely in my grip.

"I believe I can, Holmes."

I hauled him to his feet as Holmes led an unlikely procession into the warmth and light of the kitchen. Mr Collimire, as I now remembered the male servant was named, was not at all convinced and kept a wary eye on myself and my captive and a firm grip upon his cudgel.

We had no sooner settled ourselves when the kitchen door burst open and the owner of the house charged in.

"What is going on?" he demanded.

"Mr Woolmer, permit me to introduce myself," said Holmes, stepping forward. "I am Sherlock Holmes. My companion, Dr Watson, and I have apprehended this man who was about to enter your house."

Mr Woolmer appeared to notice our captive for the first time and the blood drained from his face.

"Martin?" he gasped. "What on earth…?"

"Miss Carter, a chair," Holmes snapped.

The housemaid assisted her master to sink onto a kitchen chair where he slumped, shaking his head in disbelief. With a look of concern and fear on her face she hurried from the room to return but a moment later with a large snifter of brandy. The gentleman drank it quickly, grimacing as the fiery liquid burnt its way down his throat but some of the colour returned to his cheeks.

"You know this man, sir?" Holmes asked gently.

"Know him? Indeed I do. He is my son."

The silence that greeted this announcement was profound. All eyes, except those of the cook, turned to the young man who sat with bowed head, barely acknowledging our existence.

"I believe this conversation should be conducted elsewhere," Holmes said into the silence. "Miss Carter, if you would be so kind as to light the parlour?"

We settled into the armchairs. The housemaid turned to leave.

"Miss Carter, I think you should remain. You are, after all, intimately involved in this tale."

Mr Woolmer looked startled but raised no objections to this arrangement. My captive, the young Mr Woolmer, took an entirely different view.

"This is no concern of hers, the hussy," he said passionately.

I could not place his accent although I was certain it was not English.

"On the contrary, it is of every concern of hers," Holmes said with some asperity. "She shall remain."

The girl herself looked from one to the other, the glower of hatred from her master's son and Holmes's confident demeanour, and, in the end, elected to take a place near the door.

"Perhaps I should begin by giving the background and explaining how it is that Dr Watson and I come to be lurking in the shrubbery of a respectable banker from Bromley in the dead of night," Holmes began with an amused twinkle in his eye.

"That would certainly be a useful beginning," the senior Woolmer replied. "Pray enlighten us."

Holmes turned to him. "You have, of late, not been feeling particularly well, I understand."

Woolmer cast a look at his housemaid who blushed and dropped her eyes. "I was worried, sir," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Indeed, Mr Holmes, you appear to know more about me than my doctor. Yes, I have been feeling poorly of late. My stomach, you know."

"It is my job to know things," Holmes said. "And those things I do not know, I find out. You may rest assured that whatever I know will not be discussed outwith these four walls without your express permission. However, to continue… Miss Carter, your housemaid, became concerned. She believed that the cause of the continuing deterioration in your health was not due to natural causes and she courageously sought my assistance."

The eyes of both the Woolmers turned to the young girl again but she kept her gaze fixed firmly on the carpet.

"It was well that she did for, although your life is in no immediate danger, I have ascertained that you are being systematically poisoned."

"Poisoned?"

"Exactly so. The so-called medicine you are in the habit of imbibing for your indigestion had been corrupted by a strong emetic."

"Hah," I said without thinking. "Valerian. I knew I smelt something."

"Indeed, Watson, valerian. I knew it as soon as I smelled the contents of the bottle for I have made a study of herbal remedies and, indeed, have written a small monograph on the relative efficacy of various herbs in the inducement of nausea. It is this that caused the symptoms; a feeling of nausea, sweating, minor palpitations, if I am correct?"

Woolmer senior nodded grimly. "You have it in a nutshell."

"Having established the cause, all that remained was to establish the perpetrator and the motive and here perhaps your son can enlighten us."

The older Woolmer regarded his son in disbelief. "I cannot conceive that you would do such a thing, Martin. Tell me Mr Holmes is mistaken."

With an expression of sadness and despair, the young man raised his eyes to his father's. "I'm afraid he is not mistaken, father," he said beseechingly. "Please hear me out and I hope, when I have finished, you will find it in your heart to forgive me for I undertook my action not with the intention of causing you any harm but of protecting you from the wiles of an evil woman.

"I was always my regret that we parted with a cloud between us and I hoped that, one day, we might be reconciled. It may please you to know that I have done well in Canada and have become moderately prosperous. I have not made a fortune but enough to live comfortably, the more so as I have never married. As the years went by, the circumstances of our parting began to gnaw at me and I determined to return home to see if I could make amends for the hurt I had caused you.

"Being uncertain of the nature of the reception I might receive, I did not wish simply to march up to your front door and announce my presence. By chance I met Mrs Brumby in the street who recognised me, and from her I obtained the details of your present circumstances. You can imagine my surprise and horror when I found you were infatuated with a fifteen-year-old housemaid: infatuated to the extent that you had her in your bed every night and were concerned with her improvement and education. As you can imagine, I was incensed. The wanton hussy must have wormed her way into your affections and was taking advantage of your good and generous nature. For days I agonised. How could I intervene? How could I make you see this girl as the worthless, scheming harlot she really was? It was then I conceived the plan that Mr Holmes has exposed for, if I could somehow make you immune to her physical charms she would become frustrated and withdraw her attentions. It would appear that I have been mistaken on almost every count."

Here he broke down and sat with his head buried in his hands. I glanced over at the housemaid. She was supporting herself against the door frame, chewing on her knuckles, her face an ashen mask of terror. My heart went out to her for it was obvious even to me that her situation was far from the one described by Martin Woolmer. I crossed to her and laid a comforting arm around her shoulders.

While his son had been speaking a variety of expressions had appeared upon the face of the older Mr Woolmer; surprise, anger, concern. Now he merely looked resigned. For a while there was silence until he, at last, heaved a great sigh.

"Our parting left me, also, with a large gap in my heart," he said heavily. "To be forced to virtually exile one's only son is a burden no father should have to bear. It had always been my hope that your sojourn in Canada would show you the error of your ways and that you might return one day the man I had always hoped you would be." He shook his head sadly. "Alas, your time abroad seems to have taught you nothing. Instead of openly announcing your return, you skulked around in corners listening to servant's tittle-tattle. Even then, instead of attempting to verify if the terrible tales you were hearing had any basis in fact, you immediately and impulsively conceive of the most hare-brained scheme to 'bring me to my senses'. The true situation is, of course, as it is with all of your fevered imaginings, the precise opposite of the one you have described. Equally, as with almost all your ill-conceived schemes, this one has produced precisely the opposite result to the one you intended." He rose to his feet and stood looking sadly down at his son. "It pains me to say this but your plan has, at least, had the desired effect of bringing me to my senses. You will leave this house immediately, make your way to Liverpool and obtain passage on the next boat back to Canada. As of this moment, you are no longer my son."

The young man looked up, aghast, at the stony face of his father then slid to his knees. "Father, no, I beg of you. Pray do not do this. Do not cast me adrift. Forgive me for I only acted with your best interests at heart."

The older man said but one word. "Go."

The young man opened his mouth as if to plead his case again. Upon seeing the implacable look on his father's face, he realised the hopelessness of such an action. Of an instant, he seemed to shrink in upon himself. He struggled to his feet and, with a face as white as a sheet, stumbled to the door and out of the house.

The older man turned slowly to regard his housemaid. "And as for you, young woman…" He paused, then smiled and held out his arms. "It seems I owe you a great deal." Hesitantly, the girl took a step forward. On her face was a mixture of hope and fear. Then she was in his arms and hugging him tightly.

"Oh, sir, sir," she cried. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I was ever so worried. I didn't know what to do. Please forgive me, sir. Please don't send me away."

He stroked her hair tenderly. "There's nothing to forgive, Sarah. It is thanks to your courage that this sorry plot has been uncovered. Let us have no more talk of sending away. Your place is here. Gentlemen," he said to Holmes and I, "I am forever in your debt. If you would be so kind as to call upon me later this week, I will endeavour to find a suitable recompense for your efforts."

"No such recompense is necessary although I thank you for the consideration," Holmes said. "We have already been amply rewarded. We will bid you goodnight. And if I might suggest, you should consult a qualified apothecary for a medication better suited to your digestive condition."

We left the banker and his housemaid standing in the centre of the parlour wrapped in each other's arms.

"There's one thing I don't understand, Holmes," I remarked as we made our way to the station where the sky was beginning to brighten at the start of another day.

"Just one, Watson?" he said in amusement.

"Well, just one about this particular case. How did Martin Woolmer obtain access to his father's house?"

Holmes laughed, a joyous sound that echoed from the sleeping houses. "My dear Watson," he chortled. "I despair of you, I truly do. If you have to ask that then there's no hope. No hope at all."

Still chuckling, he lengthened his stride and it was all I could do to keep up, smarting under his criticism although, in truth, he was probably right.