"Good heavens!" exclaimed Stephen as we began to cross the Park. "Has London gone mad?"

"What do you mean, dear?"

Stephen pointed his cane at the hordes of young men - office clerks as well as loungers - who were strolling with their jackets over their arms.

"I know it's a hot summer, but surely men can keep the proprieties?" he grumbled. "What next? Bathing costumes?"

"Don't be so stuffy!" I laughed, and clasped his arm tighter. A gruff salute came from General Stracey pedalling by on his bicycle painted in the red and blue of the Guards. Stephen acknowledged, and I was gratified to see that the General also smiled at me. Not everyone was cutting us.

"Look," I went on, "there's Lord Royston not wearing his jacket! Take your own off. I dare you."

He demurred, but not without a tender smile, and, as we strolled across the crowded Park, I could gave him a loving appraisal. From the crown of his light summer hat to his lavender spats and gleaming shoes he was every inch a gentleman, and a remarkably handsome one at that. And he was all mine - albeit illicitly! Certainly, the summer of 1896 was a noteworthy one.

I was getting over the final breach with Mycroft, and both Stephen and I could see the humorous side of our entanglement. Joanna and I had talked over Mycroft's behaviour, concluding that his weakness had got the better of him. He and I rather warily became friends again, and were able to treat our breach in a somewhat detached way, probably because we both lived bohemian lives. However, I was now less inclined for adventure, and I determined that the recent brush with Sir Ettrick Ralph's syndicate would be my last escapade.

I had found the love of my life, and that he loved me I had unshakeable proof. When we began to live together, Stephen offered his resignation to the Prime Minister. Lord Salisbury was shocked and disappointed, but he accepted the resignation. It was I who berated Stephen for throwing up his career for my sake. Yet I felt deeply moved. Mycroft would not even live outside the Diogenes Club for me.

Society had responded to our illicit liaison pretty much as we expected. Of those who knew about us, some cut us, others were wary, and a few accepted what we had done. Those who accepted us, I noted, were those who knew Emmeline. Many people, however, knew nothing of our liaison, and some of Stephen's acquaintances assumed that I was his wife.

Now that he was at leisure, Stephen left for Northumberland on the tenth of August ready for the start of the grouse shooting season on the twelfth. Marie and I settled into a tranquil routine in the flat off St James's Square. I feared that the stolid Northumbrian country folk would be scandalised by my presence at Bywell, no matter what excuse was made for it. Next morning a letter came.

"My dearest darling," it read, "I had been at Bywell no more than an hour when I found the Prime Minister himself waiting on me. He had travelled north ahead of me on business in Newcastle, and called to offer me a post that I feel I can hardly turn down, despite my beliefs that I am not fit for public office.

"I made it clear to him that I had made my choice between public office and my own dearest Anna, and that I have no intention of giving you up. He then said that he did not mind that we remained together, as long as it does not become public, but that the needs of the country were more important than my own personal inclinations. (What would Gladstone have said, I wonder?)

"When I asked Lord Salisbury what he meant by the needs of the country, he explained that Major Winstanley has been put in charge of a scheme to build a new calculating machine for the Government, and His Lordship wants me to be Junior Minister in charge of the scheme.

"I gather that the plans for this machine date back some fifty years, and that it simply could not be built in the Forties, although the inventor, one Charles Babbage, was meticulous in drawing up the plans.

"That is all I know at present, my darling. Because the Premier is so insistent, I shall abandon my shooting and return to you by the earliest train. I'll be hard on the heels of this letter, and cannot wait until once again I have you in my arms.

"One confession I have to make. The P.M. is very keen for Holmes to be brought into the scheme. I had not the nerve to tell him that I have no communication with Mycroft Holmes, because I was conscious of the scandal it might bring to Emmeline. For those scruples and that lack of courage, I fear that I have put both of us into a difficult position."

The position could have been difficult, for, since Mycroft's feigned demise at Grange-over-Sands, Stephen had met him only under extreme necessity, and could not contemplate working with him for long. Yet the Prime Minister's offer would encourage Stephen to return to public life. I decided to attempt smoothing the troubled waters by speaking to Mycroft. Marie sent a street boy for a cab, but returned with a worried look on her face.

"Mam'selle, there is a man standing outside. I do not like the look of him."

A peep through the lace curtains disclosed a tall, spare, elderly man standing across the road and wearing a light summer overcoat in defiance of the heat.

"I imagine he's waiting for someone, Marie, or a cab."

"Except that he was there an hour ago, mam'selle, and I have seen him let at least two cabs go by. I think he is watching this flat."

It was no-one I knew. He had a military air about him, and I had not lived with Mycroft Holmes for over seven years without learning something of observation, so I duly noted the salient points about him: his height - about six feet - his lean figure, his age - about fifty-five - his well-groomed appearance, and his tanned cadaverous face with its high forehead. I also noted his habit of swaying his head slightly, as though short-sighted.

"Keep an eye on him, Marie, and if he should call, do not answer the door," I instructed her as the cab drew up.

The cab, a four-wheeled growler, screened me from the stranger, but I noticed him look after me as I drove away. When I reached the Diogenes I waited for a few minutes just inside the doorway, but saw no-one obviously following me. The memory of being abducted from the Mall flashed through my mind as I waited, and with a shudder I passed into the club entrance.

Old Dinwoodie took my card for Mycroft, and I had to marvel at how the old man persisted in working at an age when most people are dead. Through the glass doors I observed the members assiduously ignoring one another in the common room.

"Will there ever be any chance of ladies penetrating the secrets of this club, Dinwoodie?" I asked as he fumbled with my card and his salver.

"Not while I'm alive, Miss Bainbridge," he quavered. "This lobby's the furthest that members of the sex can go, unless it's to the Strangers' Room. That's why that brass strip's been let into the floor."

"What does it mean?" I asked. In my day there had been no such thing.

"Well, miss, a couple of years back there was this Colonel Moran what wrote to the papers accusing members of keeping their mistresses here in secret. Caused a right old to-do, that did. The Secretary wrote back and gave him a roasting, but mud sticks, as they say. So the Committee decided to put this brass strip in the floor to make it clear that was as far as the sex could go. See, it allows you into the Strangers' Room but not into the main hallway, and if you look, there's a motto in Latin engraved there in the brass."

"O feminae, ne plus ultra," I read, and recalled how Mr Dalziel encountered the formidable Martine in the Strangers' Room, one of the few women who ever got into the Diogenes.

"'No further for ladies' is what it means, so I'm told, miss, and there's the barrel of Diogenes etched in at either end. First meeting the Committee had had for - oh, about ten years, I think. Mr Holmes moved the motion."

"What did he say about the Colonel's accusations?"

I knew, but I wished to hear Dinwoodie's view.

"He just about exploded, miss, as we all did. Mistresses indeed! None of that sort of thing goes on here, not even with these New Women. Mind you, there's that young Lady Bywell, and what a carry-on she's caused. It was different in my young days under old King Billy. I worked in a club where the gentlemen had their mistresses everywhere. You didn't dare go into the Turkish bath for fear of finding one or two young ladies cavorting about in the bare buff, and as for the goings on atop of the billiard tables - "

"I don't think you should tell me that," I said, although secretly I should have loved to hear some of the old man's tales of life before Queen Victoria. The goings on atop of the billiard tables, however, touched a nerve that was still tender.

"No, Miss Fairbridge, for it's made you blush. But women, well, nowadays we do let them into the Strangers' Room on occasion, as long as the door stays ajar so as Harris can look in. Here, you're a relation of Mr Dalziel, ain't you? How is he these days, miss? Still keeping well? He was a right card, was Mr Dalziel. Many's the laugh Harris and me have over what he used to do."

He tottered away, unsteady as ever, and I wondered what he would say if I told him the truth about W. H. Dalziel. I had blushed, not at the revelations from Dinwoodie's younger days, but because Colonel Moran had been right, and I had been the mistress in question. At length Mycroft appeared and we went into the Strangers' Room. We exchanged a handshake and fell into small talk.

"So," I said, "it was you who moved that ladies be allowed no further than the lobby?"

"Well, Emmeline wanted to get in once. We have to take a firm line with you New Women, you know. But surely, Anna, you did not come here to discuss the admittance of ladies to the Diogenes?"

I told him of the letter and he nodded sagely.

"Good! I'm glad they've given Bywell the post. The machine itself? Well, I know little more than you do. The inventor, one Babbage, died about twenty-five years ago. The machine, complicated though it is, can be built and could have been even back in the thirties. The problem was that Babbage had no proper organisation and rowed with his engineer. Major Winstanley will surely face no such obstacles. Nothing will stand in his way." 1

"But what will they do with it?"

"Use it for the Treasury, I should think. I'll find out, of course. Now, who is that man across the street who is obviously watching the entrance of the Club?"

"Light summer overcoat? Tall, spare, military-looking, elderly?" My voice betrayed the chill I felt.

"You know him?"

"No. Do you?"

"Apart from the fact that he is a former Army officer - probably India - is a member of the London Library in St James's Square, and has undergone financial losses on the Stock Exchange, I know nothing about him. As for his being elderly, I would put him at no more than five years older than I am."

"I know your methods, but I can't see him as you do. How can you deduce so much about him?"

"You noticed his military bearing, Anna. The light overcoat worn even in this summer weather shows that he became used to intense heat, which suggests tropical service, Indian Army rather than West Indies, I fancy."

"Why India?"

"He does not look robust enough to have survived the many diseases endemic in the West Indian service. He wears his coat loosely over his shoulders, however, showing that he has become partly used to the British climate again and has therefore been home for some years. His face is not that deeply bronzed, which also indicates a return some years ago. The London Library ticket is protruding from his waistcoat pocket, the library itself being at no great distance from here."

"Financial losses?"

"He is a neat man, fashionably dressed."

"I thought him very smart, too."

"No, Anna, there is a wide difference between the neat man and the smart man, as the hunting writer Surtees points out. The smart man is but the creature flourishing for the moment, while the neat man is always neat whatever he has on, like our friend there. Note that he wears his overcoat with some panache, but it is not new - the cuffs are slightly frayed. The nap of the light grey hat is worn in two places. Therefore, although he likes to dress well, and is something of a dandy - note the good quality of his cane - he cannot at present afford to dress as he would wish, which suggests some financial loss. The most likely places for a man of his standing to lose financially are the race track and the stock market. He has not the horsy look about him, which leaves the stock market."

"Or the card tables?"

"Possibly, but he has not the flash look of the habitual gamester. He looks extremely respectable: shabby gentility surrounds him like an aura. He is obviously used to moving in polite society."

"He's followed me here."

Mycroft blew heavily through pursed lips.

"This sounds serious. How do you know he's followed you?"

I explained how I had seen him from the flat.

"I looked for him after I arrived here, but saw no-one. But there's no doubt that he has followed me."

"We shall have a cab and get you back home safely. Do you still keep your revolver? Still in practice? Good."

"What's good about it?" I asked sharply. "I'm being followed by a strange man and you're hinting that I may have to defend myself at pistol-point. Do you think it has anything to do with this Government business that Stephen's taken on?"

Mycroft puckered his brow.

"Hardly, unless he is a secret agent. But surely he would not yet know of Lord Bywell's involvement in the scheme. And even then, your flat is not Bywell's official address. No, the gentleman is obviously interested in you. Could it be something to do with our little Continental contretemps of last year?"

"Oh God! What if he's from Grüner! Mycroft, I'm frightened. Will you come back to my flat with me? I'll feel safe once Stephen's home."

Mycroft took one last look from the window before leaving the room.

"Ah ha! Could it be, I wonder? ... Harris, go out by the back door and get us a cab. Do not let the man across the street see you."

Despite my urgings, he said nothing more. We took the cab together. The stranger did not seem to follow us, but once I was home, I said I should not feel safe until Stephen returned about tea-time. Mycroft saw me into the flat, carefully scanning the street, and advised me to lock the doors. When he had gone, Marie told me that the stranger had hailed a cab as soon as I had driven away.

"I was worried, mam'selle. I knew he was following you. I have loaded your revolver and put it in the drawer of your writing desk. I have also loaded this."

She produced from her apron pocket her wicked little .41 calibre double-barrelled derringer, which had been the finish of Karl-Gustav Grüner. "I shall keep this with me at all times." She glanced out of the window and turned pale. "Mam'selle, there he is again! Oh, but thank heaven! Here is his lordship at last with Mr Roberts."

I told Stephen of our fears as soon as he came in. His first move was to go outside, accompanied by Roberts, to confront the stranger, who was still there. From the window, Marie and I watched as the stranger, seeing Stephen emerge, hurried away, hailing a passing cab, and driving off at a furious rate. Stephen returned, looking angry.

"I don't know who he was, but he realised that I meant to have a word with him. One of Grüner's agents, you think? I'll call on Straightfellow and see if he can put a man onto him. Don't worry, there's nothing to be afraid of. Now, Marie, I'll have a bite to eat and, Roberts, if you'll go and run my bath - "

As soon as we were alone we were in each other's arms and, had Marie and Roberts not been about, I verily believe we would have been in bed within minutes. My ardour for Stephen, I realised, surpassed anything I had felt for Mycroft. I could hardly contain myself until bedtime. That night we made love as if for the first time. We had not been parted since we began our liaison, and we were hungry for each other.

Next morning Mycroft called after breakfast. Stephen discreetly withdrew, but Marie stayed as chaperone.

"I've discovered the identity of your mysterious follower, Anna," Mycroft said gravely. "It's as I suspected. Did you know that Professor Moriarty had two brothers? The younger was a station-master in the West Country until the death of the Professor endowed him with a goodly share of his brother's ill-gotten wealth. He - the younger brother - went into retirement. The second one was in the Army. The man who is taking such an interest in you is that brother, Colonel James Moriarty."

I sat down and stared at him.

"It must be unique for living brothers to share the same Christian name," he went on, "but it is a fact that both the Professor and the Colonel were christened James. How their parents got away with it I shall never know." 2

"Let the Archbishop of Canterbury worry over that, Mycroft. I didn't know Professor Moriarty even had a brother."

"Oh, yes. After Sherlock rid the world of the Professor, the Colonel was vehement in his brother's defence. He wrote several letters to The Times, I remember, which quite annoyed Watson during the period when he thought Sherlock to be dead. I never saw the Colonel before yesterday, but his habit of swaying his head reminded me of his late brother, and it was with that suspicion in mind that I pursued my enquiries."

"Whom did you ask?"

"Watson. I observed, you remember, that the Colonel had a London Library ticket in his waistcoat pocket. Watson is a member of the library and a friend of Lomax, the sub-librarian. He gave the description to Lomax, and got the name right away. He also came back with a little bonus - the list of books the Colonel has borrowed or consulted over the few weeks that he has been a member."

"What will that tell us?"

"Firstly, for a member of only a few weeks' standing, Colonel Moriarty has been an assiduous borrower. Secondly, he has an intense interest in mathematics, since his borrowings and consultations have all been in that discipline."

"Wasn't the Professor a mathematician?"

"A brilliant one."

"Well, can't you see a connection, Mycroft?"

"Between the Colonel and the calculating machine, you mean? Yes, Anna, I can, but I don't see Moriarty's purpose." He rose. "The Colonel is almost as dangerous as the late Professor - "

"My God!"

" - and there can be little doubt that something is afoot. Sherlock is the man to tell us what. This little problem of the Colonel and the calculating machine is just the sort of thing he will love."

"I don't think there is a problem, Mycroft. I think Colonel Moriarty plans to discover as much as he can of the calculating machine for his own ends. If he's as dangerous as you say, I shall be extremely worried about Stephen."

I took my pistol from its drawer, checked that it was fully loaded, and put it in my pocket. Mycroft sat down again and slowly took out his pipe.

"Do you mind?" he asked, as he filled and lit it. "I remember how much distress Hearst and I caused you once with our smoking. But, yes, Lord Bywell could be in danger. Yet I find it difficult to reconcile Colonel Moriarty with the world of secret agents and foreign powers, if that is indeed the world he moves in. I should have thought the underworld would be more his metier. Yet he does not look like a criminal. But then, neither did the Professor."

"If he's Moriarty's brother he must be up to no good."

"He certainly took the side of the Professor and refused to admit that he had been in any way in the wrong, despite all the evidence that Sherlock had collected. Sherlock also compiled a quite interesting index entry on the Colonel. I once glanced through it, but it will repay closer study. In fact, I can go to Baker Street and read it now." He rose and picked up his hat. "We must watch the Colonel. By the way, keeping that revolver in your pocket ruins the line of your dress."

After Mycroft had left, I told Stephen about my fears. He listened carefully.

"I shall certainly take Sherlock Holmes's advice, should he have any to give. In the meantime, I have to go to Whitehall to meet Major Winstanley. Don't worry, my love."

With that, he kissed me and left, while I scrutinised the street for Colonel Moriarty. Seeing no sign of him, I rang for Marie and entered upon an urgent consultation with her.

"Yes, mam'selle, Mr 'Olmes he is quite right about your pistol ruining the line of your dress. I can run up a strong belt and holster of webbing, to be worn discreetly under the arm and beneath your jacket, or I could make a belt for you to wear beneath your blouse, just above the waist. In fact, I will make both, one for the heat of summer to wear with a summer blouse, and the other for later in the year when you wear a jacket."

All morning Marie's sewing machine busily whirred in her room while I kept watch at my window. The Colonel did not appear, but when Stephen returned late in the afternoon he brought Tubby Winstanley with him.

"Bywell tells me Moriarty brother watchin' yer, Anna," rapped the Major as soon as he entered the room. "Don't like sound of it. Shall put someone onto him. Meanwhile, came over to suggest you and Bywell move quarters pro tem. Fitz-Forsythe to arrange, what?"

"Sir Hugo Fitz-Forsythe," explained Stephen, "is the Treasury official who's dealing with all financial aspects of the Babbage Scheme, as it's now known. He will arrange temporary accommodation for us."

"And don't worry re domestic irregularities," added Tubby blandly. "Fitz-F knows nothin' of livin' arrangements you two. And now, Anna," he continued, "tell yer somethin' re Difference Engine, what?"

"The difference engine? What is that?"

"The Difference Engines were the early calculating machines devised by Babbage," explained Stephen. "We have the plans for what we're referring to as DE1 and DE2. What the Major wants is to build DE2, the more advanced model, then, assuming that it is a success, we'll go on to build the Analytical Engine, which is much more advanced."

"And what will these engines do?"

Here Tubby broke in, spluttering in his excitement.

"Difference Engine. Best way celebrate Queen's Jubilee, show world we still mean business."

"So you're doing this for next year's Jubilee?"

Huddled in a chair in the sunlight by the window, Tubby winked, the perspiration beading on his brow.

"Diamond Jubilee best excuse I could think of, old girl. Must get money from graspin' Treasury officials somehow. Been wantin' build Difference Engine ever since Winchester. Maths beak had copies of plans, knew Babbage personally. I made copies, nurtured dream ever since, what? Ah, coffee."

Marie brought in a tray with cups and a steaming pot. Tubby gratefully accepted his cup and drank noisily.

"But what will the Difference Engine do?" I said after Marie had left.

He began to rattle away furiously, his tongue scarcely keeping pace with his ideas.

"Make all calculations easier. Improved gunnery - better ships - hasten arrival of submarine - speed wireless telegraphy experiments Signor Marconi - lease out to capitalists - build faster locomotives - improve internal combustion engines - make motor cars available middle classes - electricity for all homes."

As he ran out of breath Stephen stepped in.

"Motor cars for all, Major? But they aren't allowed to go faster than walking pace."

Tubby tapped the side of his nose.

"Legislation on way, old chap. Man with red flag doomed. Where was I? Ah yes - motor cars - electricity - develop kinematograph as means of informin' masses - perhaps with voices, what? - devise improved water supplies - drainage - improved surgical instruments - improved telephones - better gramophone recordin's - improved postal service - major improvements all types industry - perhaps even get flyin' machines, what?" 3

Red-faced, he paused to breathe.

"Flying machines!" I exclaimed.

"Why not, Anna? Just imagine, able fly here to Scotland, what? Faster than train. Leave more time for shootin'."

"This calculating device will perform all these miracles?"

"'Course! All these miracles, as yer call them, depend on doin' the maths. F'r instance, development of submarine hampered unless we can solve difficult problems on water pressure. This machine will clear that hurdle for us and - good God! Is that the time? Must dash Cricklewood. New parts due. See m'self out. Lovely coffee."

With that, he positively bounced out of the room while Stephen shook his head.

"He's like a boy with a new toy," he chuckled.

Later that morning a couple of quiet men called and told us not to worry if they were lounging in the street for the rest of the day. We understood that they were from Tubby's department, and although the Colonel appeared and began to loiter in his usual spot, the two men approached, said something to him, and watched him out of sight.

Marie brought the webbing belts and holsters she had made. A skilled needlewoman, she already had my measurements and I was not surprised that they fitted perfectly. Marie, of course, was not satisfied until she had fussed and made adjustments to the last fraction of an inch. I could now wear my pistol without its being obvious, although it would take some time for me to become used to the rather elaborate harness that Marie had made.

"You must make the same for yourself," I told her.

"Thank you, mam'selle. I have already taken the liberty of doing so. I am wearing it now."

From beneath her blouse she produced her derringer.

"It is kept at the waist, mam'selle, where I can reach it easily. A little immodest when I take it out or put it away, but I do not think it is noticeable when I am wearing it and it preserves the line of the dress."

Later a cab called and took us to the Advocate-General's Office, where Tubby gave us the keys and address of an apartment on the other side of Kensington Gardens. We spent the next two days making ourselves comfortable there, so it was not until the third day that I was able to persuade Stephen to take me to see the mysterious Difference Engine. We went by rail to Cricklewood, from where a cab conveyed us to a huge rambling villa, "The Pines", built about thirty years earlier. Tubby met us, and conducted us into a ground floor room which had been made into a small office.

"Delighted see yer, old girl! Beefy presently in workshop supervisin' fittin' of parts. Look round? Don't see why not. This way."

He took us through the house to the back premises, where the stables had been fitted out as a workshop. There he handed us over to Beefy, who was supervising a small team of men busy at work benches.

"These men are watchmakers grinding down the more delicate small parts," Beefy explained. "I suppose Tubby has told you how long he's wanted to build this machine. He's assembled a number of skilled toolmakers, watchmakers and surgical instrument makers, to attend to the precision cutting of the smaller parts. The bigger parts are fine-machined and polished in what was the coach house. Come along back to the house, and I'll show you what we've got at present."

We returned to the house, and Beefy took us into what must originally have been the dining room. The folding doors into the next room had been removed, and there at one end of the huge empty space stood a solid iron framework. A squat metal contraption stood beside it.

"The framework is for the Difference Engine itself," explained Beefy. "The machine beside it is an electric motor, powered by the steam generator downstairs."

Taking us downstairs, he threw open a door and showed us a small steam engine in what looked like a former outhouse. Stephen's eyes lit up.

"That's surely the generator from Armstrong Whitworth?"

"Correct," said Beefy. "That's what you got us, my lord. It's not being fired up at present, for the Difference Engine is by no means ready, but we've decided to drive it by electrical power from this generator."

Stephen and I returned that afternoon to our temporary accommodation near Kensington Gardens. A small commotion was occurring in the street as we alighted from our cab. The two quiet men who had seen off Colonel Moriarty were being hustled into a police van, and no sooner had they been driven off than Superintendent Straightfellow himself called.

"Afternoon, my lord. Afternoon, Miss Weybridge. I've just called in passing to say that you'll have no further trouble from those two."

"But, Superintendent," exclaimed Stephen, "they were Government agents protecting us on the orders of Major Winstanley!"

Straightfellow's mouth fell open. "But we had a complaint that they were harassing visitors to your flat by begging. By damn!" With that he dashed downstairs and hurried off after the police van. Stephen looked grave.

"A complaint from Colonel Moriarty, I'll wager. Has he tracked us down already?"

He looked out of the window, peering through the net curtains.

"Good Lord! No, don't come to the window. He's just driving past in a cab. He glanced up at me. He must have followed those two Government men. The Major should have put two new men here before we moved. I'm surprised he overlooked a detail like that."

"I wonder whether all's well between him and Lucy Alnford-Ross," I mused. "It was bad enough when Mycroft was completely spoony over - over you-know-who, although he seems to have recovered. But if the Major goes the same way, there could be disaster ahead of us."

"It may adversely affect his judgement, you mean?" asked Stephen. "We can certainly do without that."

We were silent for quite a while. Whatever Moriarty was after, he was determined not to be thrown off our track. His tenacity was amazing, and I decided to speak somehow to Mycroft, if I could get away without the Colonel's seeing me. The problem of Tubby's unusual absent-mindedness also worried me. We could not afford slackness of thinking on his part. It was clear that we needed the energy of Mycroft's mind behind us, for his affaire with Emmeline seemed no longer to be affecting his thinking. Unfortunately, his superior had now succumbed to what the romantic novelists call the wiles of Cupid, and perhaps those wiles would endanger us even in our retreat.

A little later another caller was shown into our drawing room. A tall, saturnine man of middle age, with lank dark hair and a nervous manner, took the seat that Stephen offered him. He huddled on the edge of the chair and seemed very much ill at ease.

"Anna," said Stephen, "this is Sir Hugo Fitz-Forsythe. Sir Hugo, my - er - Anna."

"Delighted to meet you, Lady Bywell."

Sir Hugo bobbed up, offering a limp hand and an uncertain smile, but I was taken aback by Stephen's blundered introduction. Blushing to my roots, I took our visitor's hand and sat down. For the first time I was uneasy about the ring that Stephen had given me, a simple gold band which I wore, to please him, on my wedding ring finger. Until then I had satisfied my conscience that it was merely a signet, but now I sat twisting and playing with it as a conversation got under way.

It was almost entirely about the Difference Engine, and although Stephen seemed to understand it all, I was quickly lost and began to observe our visitor. One thing I noticed was that Sir Hugo's eyes looked everywhere but into Stephen's or mine. His voice, too, was odd, for someone in a position of influence and power. His intonation suggested uncertainty, and he frequently gave a little gasping laugh which I quickly found irritating. Once or twice he glanced at me, smiling uncertainly, and glancing quickly away as I returned his smile out of mere politeness. At length we had tea and the business dropped away into small talk. Here I was able to contribute, but I noticed that Sir Hugo said little or nothing, merely smiling and gasping at each of us in turn.

"What a strange man!" It was Stephen who voiced that remark as Sir Hugo's footsteps faded down the stairs. "Anna, didn't you find his manner odd?"

"He has no small talk."

"I noticed that. Do you think he realised we're not married? Do you think that disconcerted him?"

I pondered. Perhaps he had realised that we were living in sin.

"Did his talk about the Difference Engine make sense?" I asked.

"Yes, he knew it all right, but he seemed to be so ill at ease even then."

"I shouldn't worry about it, darling," I said. "He's under you, isn't he?"

"Yes. I hope I find it easy to work with him."

Stephen worked on papers until fairly late, then came to bed and found me ready for him and impatient. We worked so hard for an hour that we slept like the dead, which is why we noticed nothing amiss until late the following morning. We woke suddenly, for the sun was pouring into the room and the morning was obviously far advanced.

"Good God! It's half past nine. Where's Roberts? Where's Marie?" said Stephen irritably as he climbed out of bed. "They should have knocked long ago."

Putting on a dressing gown, he left the room in search of our erring domestic staff while I went to the bathroom. Suddenly he burst in, white-faced.

"Anna, get dressed quickly. We've had a burglary. Poor Roberts is unconscious and Marie's been tied up and gagged."

In my bathrobe I flew to Marie's room. The poor girl was sitting on her bed in tears, rubbing her wrists where they had been tied by cords which Stephen had cut. She pulled herself together and rapidly told me what had happened.

"It must have been after midnight, mam'selle. I was wakened by someone holding his hand over my mouth while another tied me up. Then they gagged me and left. They said nothing all the while, and I never saw them again. Oh, mam'selle! I am so sorry. I was helpless."

She flung herself onto me while I comforted her.

"There was nothing you could do, Marie. Don't blame yourself."

"But what have they taken?"

"I don't know yet. Lord Bywell is investigating. Poor Roberts is senseless, apparently."

"Mon Dieu!" She scrambled to her feet. "We must send for a doctor. I shall go, mam'selle."

"You'll do nothing of the sort. As long as you're uninjured, I can leave you and go myself."

I was forestalled by Stephen, who came in wearing clothes which he had obviously pulled on hurriedly. He ignored Marie's shriek of embarrassment as she snatched up her dressing gown and pulled it on over her night-dress.

"I've sent a boy to the surgery and am now going to find a policeman."

"How is Roberts?"

"He's coming to. They gave him a real beating, whoever they were. Anna, you'd better get dressed and look to Marie."

"I am not hurt, my lord," said my maid. "I am enraged. If only I had got hold of my little derringer!"

There had been two of them, both masked and wearing black clothing. After binding and gagging Marie they had obviously found Roberts in his room. He had tried to tackle them, being savagely beaten for his pains. We dispatched him to hospital while Stephen and the inspector who called searched the flat to see what had been taken. Only the plans for the Difference Engine were missing.

"They're not a great loss," said Stephen. "There are copies. But it lifts this burglary out of the domestic plane into the political, or even the diplomatic."

"I can't understand how you heard nothing, ma'am," said the inspector. "Your maid says she struggled and made quite a bit of noise. There must have been noise coming from the valet's room, too."

I could not reply, merely flushing with embarrassment while Stephen caught my eye and smiled briefly, despite the seriousness of the whole business.

"We were sleeping soundly," he replied. "Besides, the servants' rooms are on a different floor. They'd be professionals, I take it."

"Without a doubt, my lord. They knew what they were looking for, and took nothing else. Where were the papers?"

"Lying on my desk."

"How many people would know that? Your servants? Her ladyship here."

I had to turn away, for I must have been crimson.

"No-one else," said Stephen.

"Well, my lord, the superintendent will probably speak to you because of the nature of the theft. But we've no clues to follow."

"That," said Mycroft later, "is precisely why Straightfellow came to me."

Stephen and I were in our own sitting room with Mycroft, Straightfellow and Tubby Winstanley. Tubby, as usual, was crouched over the fire, which we had lit for him, while the rest of us were clustered near the open window on that warm summer's afternoon. With us was the inspector, who had returned with Straightfellow to point out various things to him, how the raiders had entered, where the assault on Roberts had taken place, and so on. Marie and I had visited the hospital to see Roberts, who was still groggy with a bandaged head, but was otherwise his old self.

The inspector took his leave, addressing me as "Miss Weybridge" and giving me an old-fashioned look. I realised that Straightfellow had had a word with him. My reputation will be in ruins, I thought.

The suspect was obvious.

"You can bet your best boots, Mr 'Olmes," affirmed Straightfellow, "that he's hired two of his late brother's ruffians to do this job."

"Point is," said Tubby, "who's interested in plans? Only a government has money enough to build this machine. Old friend von Tarden springs to mind, naturally, but any foreign power could be culprit."

Not even Mycroft had a ready answer, so the best that Straightfellow could do was track down Colonel Moriarty, which was surprisingly easy. A couple of hours later our plain clothes inspector called with a copy of The Times. Avoiding my eye, he spoke to Stephen.

"There you are, my lord," he said, pointing to a paragraph. "The gentleman's announced he's off to shoot in Northumberland. Could be a false trail, of course, but Mr Holmes and the super think it's genuine. Establishing an appearance of innocence, Mr Holmes says."

After he left, Stephen sent some wires and later he and I found ourselves at odds.

"No, my darling, you cannot come. Richard Winstanley and I are going north for the shooting, supposedly. But you will not make up the party. I forbid it. Father would have a fit if he found out about us, even though he does like you."

"Why should he find out?"

"He will be joining us for the sake of appearance. Dear old soul, he will know nothing of my real purpose in going north. We'll get him out of the way if anything serious occurs with Moriarty."

"But you need someone who knows how to handle a revolver, Stephen. You can't use one properly, you know that. Beefy's not a bad shot, but he's not as good as I am. Now I've done this sort of thing before. I've helped chase spies and - and even supposed vampires. I shot von Frimmersdorf."

"And what happened to you last year in Switzerland and Bethnal Green? Particularly Bethnal Green, when you let Holmes goad you into taking up that foolhardy case. You still have bad dreams about it all. No, Anna, you can't come with us. I'll have all the help I need from Winstanley."

"But what if I'm still in danger?" I asked, cunningly. "I need to be with you for safety, don't I?"

Stephen smiled. "You know perfectly well that Holmes now believes that you were never in danger after all. Moriarty merely followed you because he almost certainly thought that you were acting as a messenger over the plans for the DE2. His suspicions probably began when you visited Holmes at the Diogenes."

"It will be dull without you - "

"Then call on your friends. Now, I need Marie to pack for me, since the hospital won't allow poor Roberts home for a few more days."

After she had done Stephen's packing, Marie and I had a little conference, the upshot of which was that early next morning, after Stephen had left, my maid and I did some packing of our own.

"Worse than Baron Grüner, mam'selle?"

Marie, laying out my evening wear on the bed, paused with wide-open eyes. I had just come out of the bath, relaxed and ready for the entertainment that we had planned for the evening.

"Yes, if what Mr Holmes says is true, Marie. And I have no reason to doubt it. Worse than Haynes, even."

Marie gasped and shuddered.

"Do not mention the man Haynes, mam'selle. I still have dreams."

I turned to the window and looked out over the Northumbrian countryside, lit up by the evening sun. We had followed Stephen to Newcastle by a later express, and, after much consultation of an Ordnance Survey map, had taken a local train to a small inn at Riding Mill, a village on the banks of the Tyne a scant couple of miles from Stephen's estate on the north side of the river. We made good time on the express, reaching the Duke of Wellington Inn tired and pleased to find rooms available.

A good night's sleep gave us the energy to explore the district the next day. We had quickly learned the whereabouts of Bywell Manor, across the river from the next station, so we ventured by train to spy out the land. It was sobering to remember that Colonel James Moriarty was also in the vicinity. The Colonel, we knew from The Times, was staying at Broomley, a mile or two away from us.

"What I do not understand, mam'selle, is why Colonel Moriarty put that announcement in The Times that he was coming north for the shooting. After the burglary, I would have thought he would lie down and keep his head low, as they say."

"As Mr Holmes said, Marie, a man who makes his movements so plain is likely to remain free of suspicion. There is apparently nothing to link the Colonel with the burglary and the assault on you and poor Roberts."

Guns slapped their dull distant echo across the fields.

"That may be his lordship shooting, mam'selle. What will he say when he finds out we are here?"

"He need not know, Marie. You arranged for someone to come into the flat and redirect any letters?"

"Yes, mam'selle. John - Dr Watson - he will do that. Mr Roberts he will be indisposed for a few more days."

"Very well. We shall return before Roberts comes out of hospital. Are you sure you understand what we are to do here?"

"We are to watch the Colonel in case he goes near Bywell Manor. But how are we to get to the place - what is it called? - Brump - Broomley? By walking?"

"I've hired a trap and we shall drive ourselves."

"Can you drive, mam'selle?"

"Good heavens, yes. When I went out West I drove from the age of twelve. Besides, if Mycroft can do it, anyone can. And it isn't far."

"And we shall wear these clothes such as you and Mrs Winstanley wore in Ireland, mam'selle?" She held up my evening outfit - a green jersey and twill breeches. "What will the people say? Think of the trouble you had in Ireland when you dressed so."

"We shall be very discreet, Marie. These clothes will enable us to remain unobserved in the countryside."

"Unobserved? Mam'selle, we shall stick out like the proverbial sore tongue! Everyone will comment on us."

"Not if we are discreet. I intend us to be almost invisible against the trees and hedgerows. But we shall set off quietly and return quietly."

"And if the Colonel strays near the Manor?"

"Well, we can warn Mr Winstanley and Lord Bywell."

"And then, as they say, there will be fireworks." Another fusillade rattled across the distant fields, and Marie followed my gaze out of the window. "We are up against a dangerous man, you think, mam'selle?"

Dangerous indeed. Mycroft, as he had promised, had consulted his brother about the Colonel's record. I had not yet told Marie, and her dark eyes once more opened wide as I described what Mycroft had found.

"Four murders!"

"At least, Marie."

Marie blew out her cheeks and felt at her waist. I, too, was reassured by my little .32 Webley lying in its holster and belt on the bed.

"Is he a good shot, mam'selle?"

"He's here for the shooting, so I suppose he must be."

"As good as you?"

"I hope we never have to find out."

"I am grateful to you for teaching me something of shooting with the pistol, mam'selle. But why is Colonel Moriarty not awaiting the gallows?"

"Nothing can be proved, Marie. The Colonel is as clever as his late brother in covering his traces. Mycroft says that the earliest case seems to have occurred in 1889, on the Colonel's return from India, and concerns the mysterious death of Lord Berthill. He breathed his last in the grounds of his own estate in Surrey, impaled by a broken-off railing from the churchyard. No culprit could be found for his murder."

"Mon Dieu!"

"And then there was Sir Basil Spile, whose body was found in 1890 at the foot of Great Gable in the Lake District. He appeared to have fallen, but since he was not a rambler or climber, and was wearing full evening dress and dancing pumps without a mark on them, again, no-one could explain what happened. There was also Miss Drusilla Dunholme, the heiress to a tobacco fortune, whose decapitated body - "

"Mam'selle, please! No more! Colonel Moriarty was responsible for all this?"

"And more, Marie, according to Mr Holmes."

My little maid sat down on my bed, pale and with a hand to her heart. I sat down beside her.

"You need not come with me, you know, Marie," I said.

"Mam'selle, must you go to where this evil man is?"

"Yes, Marie. I can't rest while Lord Bywell is apart from me. He's in more danger than you or I."

"Mam'selle, if I may say so, you are very much in love with his lordship. Would it not be more sensible to keep out of danger yourself?"

"You've answered the question, Marie. I'm very much in love with his lordship. It's different from when I was with Mr Holmes. He could easily look after both himself and me, but Stephen - Lord Bywell - isn't used to these escapades."

"But he is a very brave man, mam'selle. He is also strong and a great athlete."

"Of course he is. But he's not a good shot with a pistol and that's why I want to be with him, or at least near him at this time."

Marie smiled. "Very well, Mam'selle Anna, and I am coming with you."

"Come then," I said. "Let's try on these breeches and jerseys. I fancy that you will wish to make a few last-minute alterations."

Later that sunny evening, with our breeches concealed by skirts, stout boots on our feet, and our pistols securely belted on, Marie and I took charge of the horse and trap I had hired. The groom looked doubtfully at us as we climbed aboard.

"Ye sure ye can manage this, missus?"

"Oh, I think so, thank you," I answered.

"Aye, ye've drove afore, hevn't ye?" he continued, cocking an approving eye at the way I gathered the reins. "The mare's quiet enyeuf, and used ter strangers drivin'. The road's aall reet gannin' up, but ye'll need ter use the brake comin' back, or ye's'll both be oot on the groond. An' then we'll hev ter bring ye's both yem on a shutter. So tak my advice an' divvent gan ower far. There's aboot two hours o' daylight left."

With that he sent us on our way. The mare responded first time to my "Walk on" and we clattered away.

"Mam'selle," said Marie once we were out of earshot, "what was he talking about? I could not understand a word, and I thought I was doing so well with the Cockneys. But here it is worse than the speech of the Vosges."

I repeated the groom's warning about the road. When I first went north with Stephen I, too, could not understand a word of the local speech, but by now I was getting used to it. We trotted briskly along the country roads with the sinking sun behind us warming our backs pleasantly. We could still hear the crack of guns from the direction of Stephen's estate, but as we trotted on it gave way to a distant flat rapping, a repeated pressure on our eardrums, that told us of another shoot some distance across the quiet fields.

The Times had said that the Colonel was shooting with one Sir Michael Elliott, and an enquiry at a farmhouse set us on the road. At length we began the climb to Broomley, with the guns growing louder in our ears. By then there was "aboot" an hour and a half of daylight, and the shoot was still blazing away.

Reaching a stand of trees near the deserted road, we stopped, took off our skirts and jackets and donned our warm jerseys and ear-flapped travelling caps which we had in a small basket. The guns were at some distance on the other side of the trees. I checked my ivory-handled Webley, my well-appreciated gift from Annie Oakley which had saved my life - and Mycroft's - more than once.

"Have you loaded your pistol, Marie?"

"Yes, mam'selle."

"I shall have to train you with a revolver, but your derringer will do to defend yourself. Now, let's walk through this stand of trees and perhaps we shall see Colonel Moriarty."

The trees, it turned out, were an end of a long wood. As we cautiously made our way through them, we could see the beaters at work some hundred yards away. It would be the last beat of the day, and a small covey of game birds flurried out into the line of guns as we watched. We were too far away to make out faces, but I had no doubt that the tall fellow at the end of the line was Colonel Moriarty. As I looked, he downed a brace with both barrels.

"He's good," I began to say, when a voice cut in.

"Aall reet, the two o' ye's. Aa've got a gun on ye's, so divvent dee nowt rash!"

Even in the deepening shade of the trees, Marie's face was as white as I'm sure mine was. If she didn't understand the language, she understood the tone. Slowly we turned and looked into the double barrel of a twelve bore gun. Holding it was a grim-faced, wiry man, with a lad beside him. The very threads of their tweeds proclaimed "gamekeepers". The lad had a nasty-looking dog on the end of a short leash.

"Haway. Oot o' this."

The pair of them swiftly ushered us through the trees, the dog sniffing in an unpleasant way at our legs. As we emerged into the dying sunlight, the two men registered astonishment.

"Why, ye - ye're women!"

"How interesting," said a new voice.

Silhouetted in the low sun was a figure whose face I could not make out, no matter how much I screwed up my eyes.

"Miss Anna Weybridge, I believe. We haven't been formally introduced, although I have had the pleasure of waiting on you, as it were."

Lighting a cigarette, he moved casually out of the sun.

"Colonel James Moriarty at your service. This will be your maid and companion, Mademoiselle Saverne. Very well, Barker. Miss Weybridge and Mademoiselle will come with me. They have left a trap on the road. Richard, you can go and drive it back to the Duke of Wellington. Tell them Miss Weybridge has accepted an invitation to stay with Sir Michael. Take this money to pay the bill. See that the ladies' things are packed and sent across. Leave the dog with Mr Barker. Oh, and if the ladies have left any belongings in the trap, make sure you bring them back with you."

He gave these instructions in the cool manner of one who is never disobeyed. The boy Richard ran down to the road, while Mr Barker, carrying his shotgun under one arm, began to escort us down a field path away from the direction of the shooting party. The dog sniffed at the backs of our knees the whole time, and for my own part I was too frightened to say anything. Marie stumbled along beside me.

We boarded a waggonette standing in a farm track. Barker drove and the dog ran behind. The Colonel sat opposite us placidly smoking cigarettes and contemplating us with those little sideways movements of his head. Marie and I held hands to try to control our trembling, but not a word was spoken throughout our drive, which took us along the track to a house set among trees well away from the road. The unfortunate Miss Drusilla Dunholme filled my thoughts.

Since we were both armed, we should have drawn our pistols, but Marie was trembling so much that I don't think she could have held her pistol steadily, or even safely. I was managing hardly better self-control, and the trouble was that Colonel Moriarty sat the whole time with Barker's shotgun across his knee. Now I have said before in these jottings of mine that on occasion I've drawn and fired without even being aware of it. But I had foolishly strapped on my waist-belt so that the holster was behind me under my jersey, and I was sitting on the pistol. Not only was it fearfully uncomfortable, but to have drawn and covered the Colonel before he brought up his shotgun would have been impossible. Even if I could have done it, I could not commit murder. I had killed men, once in self-defence and once to save Mycroft, but I could not do it in cold blood, to say nothing of the fact that I should hang for it.

We alighted at the front door in the glow of the setting sun, and were ushered inside by Colonel Moriarty, with the dreadful dog still sniffing about our legs until we were over the threshold. I kept a grip on the comfort of Marie's hand as the Colonel bowed us politely into the drawing room where the lamps had already been lit. Waiting to greet us was the very tall man from the shooting party, whom I had mistaken for Moriarty himself.

"Sir Michael Elliott," said the Colonel. "Miss Anna Weybridge. Mademoiselle Saverne."

Sir Michael took my hand and bent over it. To Marie he gave a curt bow. He had sandy hair and a sunburned complexion, a well-trimmed moustache underlining a firm nose, and a monocle which gave an unnatural gleam to one eye.

"Shall I have Mademoiselle shown to the servants' hall?" asked Moriarty.

"No," replied Sir Michael. "She may as well hear what we have to say to her mistress. What the - ?"

He might well exclaim. As Moriarty no longer had his shotgun, I found the courage to act decisively. Hoisting up my jersey behind me, I drew my revolver and covered Sir Michael. Beside him, the Colonel goggled.

"By George! Can you use that thing, Miss Weybridge?"

"Yes, Colonel. I can shoot quite straight."

Sir Michael and the Colonel looked at one another and broke into guffaws.

"A woman of spirit!" said Sir Michael. "You never told me this about her, Moriarty. And the maid too, by God!"

For Marie drew her derringer, cocked it and pointed it unsteadily, first at Sir Michael, then at the Colonel.

"Sir Michael," I said, my voice quivering, "the Colonel has brought us to you by force - "

"I protest!" said the Colonel. "I did no such thing. Mademoiselle, would you mind relaxing the pressure of your finger on the trigger? That looks like a .41 calibre, and at this distance it will make a considerably bigger hole in me than Miss Weybridge's .32 Webley will make in Sir Michael."

"It would be better, ladies, if you put away your pistols," said Sir Michael. "I can assure you that we intend no harm to you. At any time, you may leave this house and return to the Duke of Wellington. I should be sorry, however, if you chose to do so. But I beg that Mademoiselle at least puts away her pistol. Her hand seems a little unsteady and I don't wish to lose my friend here."

Remembering how Marie had fortunately but inadvertently shot Karl-Gustav Grüner, I nodded to her. But Marie was trembling so much that as she lowered her gun, she fired into the rich Turkey carpet, between the very feet of the Colonel. Moriarty didn't flinch. Instead, he looked solemnly at Marie, who seemed unable to move, and said, "Now see what you've done."

In rushed Barker with his shotgun, and after him the butler holding the striker of the dinner gong. Whether he had been about to use it or had merely snatched it up as a weapon, I could not say, but at the sight Sir Michael laughed again.

"Thank you, Beresford, we do not need you. We are in no danger, Barker. The carpet has suffered a mishap, but I can assure you that these ladies mean us no harm, despite appearances."

In the hallway a large looking-glass hung on the wall. Reflected in the glass was a third man, a well-built man with a revolver, who was standing out of my direct line of sight. I noticed that his nose was slightly twisted as though he had suffered an accident in boxing or rugby. Sir Michael stepped up to this man, patted his arm and said something in a low voice. He returned, closed the door and asked us to sit down. Marie was so white that I thought she would faint, but she managed to sink into a chair, the Colonel putting her pistol into her pocket for her, as I re-holstered mine.

"Mademoiselle, a little brandy?" said Sir Michael. "Moriarty, would you mind? It's over there. Napoleon is invaluable in times of strain. Miss Weybridge, would you care to join Mademoiselle? No? A little wine, then? I fear our meeting has not gone as I hoped."

He was all affability, serving Moriarty, Marie and himself, for I refused everything. I was half afraid that he might try to drug us both, but Marie rallied and the colour returned to her cheeks. Moriarty lit a cigar at a lamp while Sir Michael pulled up a chair.

"I have a serious topic to discuss with you, Miss Weybridge."

"I did not think you had brought us here to invite us shooting, Sir Michael."

"Miss Weybridge, you and Mademoiselle are very level-headed."

"Devilish cool hands," added Moriarty at the lamp, "if you'll excuse my language. I'm not altogether sure that Mademoiselle's shooting trick was an accident, eh, Elliott?"

"Colonel," I said, "don't try to flatter us. You brought us here against our will. Now please let us go."

"My dear ladies," said Sir Michael, "as I said, you are free to leave here at any time. Unfortunately, I have no means of transporting you back to Riding Mill. This house is isolated and it's a long walk across country. If you glance through the window you'll see how dark the night has become. It's clouded over, although I think the rain will keep off, but I must warn you that there are a few desperate characters who tend to be out and about at night between here and Riding Mill."

"Armed ladies with cool heads won't worry about cut-throats," said Moriarty, blowing a smoke ring.

"I'd be worried," said Sir Michael. "If someone crept up behind me with a length of piano wire and garrotted me, what good would a revolver be? And if the odds were two against one, why, what chance would I have? Or you, Moriarty? And as for two young ladies, no matter how courageous - and they're pretty courageous, you'll agree - could they stand up to ruffians with wires?"

"Wires and knives," said Moriarty cheerfully.

"And dogs," added Sir Michael. "Lurchers, bull terriers and so on."

"What do they do with the bodies?" asked the Colonel.

"Oh, I'm told there are plenty of places in the woods where no-one ever finds them," replied Sir Michael.

"Thank you, gentlemen," I said sharply. "We understand your drift."

"A sensible lady, Miss Weybridge," said Moriarty.

"The reason why we brought you here," said Sir Michael, "although you are free to leave at any time, was to put to you a proposition that we thought might interest you."

"It's finance, mind," said the Colonel. "High finance involving lots of money."

"Some of which will come your way," said Sir Michael. "And your way too, Mademoiselle Saverne. I'm sure Miss Weybridge is a generous employer, but could even the most generous employer pay her lady's maid a salary of a thousand a year? A young woman with that income could marry her intended as quickly as she pleased."

"And did the stage ever pay five thousand a year?" asked the Colonel, smiling at me. "I know that Miss Terry and Sir Henry must be earning close on that or even more, but they are exceptions."

"The ladies must be wondering what we have in mind, Colonel. Would you broach the topic?"

The Colonel poured himself a drink first. I sat tight-lipped. I was sure Marie shared my feelings about these two. The irony was that, although we were both armed, we were powerless. There were others in the house who would come in at a call from Sir Michael. I had no doubt that someone was listening at the door and that any attempt by us to leave would be either stopped or, worse, followed. I was certain that the threats were real, and that henchmen were stationed along the dark route where we would have to walk back home. Moriarty sat down again and leaned forward, a hand on each knee, his glass on an occasional table beside him.

"Miss Weybridge, I shall not try to conceal the fact that for some weeks I have been watching your movements. I know about the Difference Engine and what it will be able to do once it's built."

"Colonel," I interrupted, "I know nothing about the Difference Engine, except that it's to be built. How it works, I do not know."

"Very well, Miss Weybridge. But I myself have a good knowledge of its principles, for it has never been a secret, and you need not fear that we intend to try to force non-existent knowledge from you. Given the money, Sir Michael and I could build a Difference Engine of our own. Given the money, I say. But since we have not the money, and the Government has, we turn to you."

He outlined their plan. Marie and I were to act as spies against the man I loved so as to enable Moriarty and Sir Michael to use the Difference Engine secretly. I was now convinced that Moriarty had been behind the burglary because he was unable to find a copy of the plans in libraries and needed Stephen's to study.

"There will be times," said Sir Michael, "when the Difference Engine will be unguarded. All we need to know, Miss Weybridge, is when we can gain access to it. You need not involve yourself directly. You could send Mademoiselle as if on some legitimate errand - "

"Comment?" gasped Marie.

" - or send some other messenger. The important thing is that we get unhindered to the machine for a few hours per week, by night preferably."

"Why?"

I was almost bursting with indignation. Sir Michael smiled.

"We know that we can use the machine for calculations that will be useful to us - yes, Beresford?"

The butler had hurriedly entered.

"A gentleman has called, sir. He sent in this card and said you would know what it meant."

Sir Michael studied the card, turned it over and read something, then looked sharply at Moriarty as he handed it to him. I saw the handwriting and my heart soared.

"Dear me," said the Colonel. "I didn't count on his coming here."

"He gives me no choice but to see him," said Sir Michael. "Carry on with the explanation, Colonel. I'll see him in my study."

Mycroft pushed in past the butler. In all my life I was never so relieved to see his massive figure as then. One hand in his coat pocket, he immediately placed himself between the Colonel and me. Barker and his shotgun came in after him.

"Really, Mr Holmes," said Moriarty coolly, "there is no need for this melodramatic intrusion."

"Thank you, Barker," said Sir Michael. "We are still in no danger. Thank you, Beresford. You may go."

A door clashed and the man with the crooked nose appeared for an instant in the passageway mirror before Barker blocked my view by leaving the room.

"Now, Mr Holmes," said Sir Michael. "I trust you have an explanation for what the Colonel quite rightly calls a melodramatic mode of entry."

"My explanation is sitting opposite you," answered Mycroft. "These two ladies, I believe, were carried here against their will."

His face darkened and he gazed at the carpet, sniffed the air, and glanced at Marie and then at me.

"Your carpet tells me that a shot has been fired in here. The powder smudge on Marie's right hand is the penalty of using a short-barrelled pistol. Unfortunately, the Colonel's cigar masks the smell of powder. Why did you fire, Marie?"

"It was an accident, sir. My hand was trembling because I was frightened. Mr 'Olmes, I am so afraid. Please help us."

"You had already drawn your pistol? And Miss Weybridge?"

"Mam'selle had drawn hers, but she did not fire."

Mycroft directed a stern glare at Sir Michael and Moriarty.

"I should like to speak to you both privately, gentlemen."

Sir Michael nodded and led the Colonel and Mycroft to a door, at the same time touching the button of an electric bell.

"You will not object, Mr Holmes, to one of my servants waiting on the ladies while we are out of the room."

Beresford came in, rather to my relief, for the surly Barker would have been unbearable. The butler stood impassive, blocking the doorway as the three men went out by the other door into what I imagined was the study. For several minutes Marie and I sat in silence until Sir Michael re-entered looking red and angry.

"Ladies, you will find a trap and driver waiting at the front door. You need not fear. The driver has been engaged by Mr Holmes. It has been a pleasure meeting you. Good night."

Our initial astonishment yielded to an overwhelming urge to get out of the house as quickly as we could. The butler gravely showed us to the door. The man with the bent nose had disappeared, and outside, a trap was ready with a driver muffled up against the night. Surprisingly, he made no move to help us up, so Beresford handed us both into the vehicle, which immediately set off.

Only after we had got clear of the house did the driver say over his shoulder, "The amount of hot water you get into, Anna, would fill the pump room at Harrogate."

"Beefy!"

"Lord Bywell thinks I'm safely tucked up in bed with a queasy stomach. I'll say nothing to him about this evening's events, of course, and I advise you to do the same. Holmes wishes you to make an immediate journey to Norfolk. Your trunks are already at the station, and you'll almost certainly be followed by Moriarty if you don't get out of this district quickly. There's a train to Newcastle in twenty-five minutes, and your connection is the sleeper to King's Cross. However, you must break your journey at Peterborough and take the first train into Norfolk. Put up anywhere on the coast, Holmes says, wire him, and don't go home until Lord Bywell's there. We think your flat will be watched. Don't forget to let Watson know so that he can redirect any letters."

We drove from the track onto the road and Beefy whipped up the horse.

"I'm taking fearful risks at this speed when I can hardly see a dashed thing, but I'm afraid we'll be followed."

Marie and I seized each other's hands and began to cast nervous glances behind us as we jolted on. It was more frightening than one of Mycroft's hansom rides, and I tried to take my mind off our onward rush between high hedgerows and under dark trees.

"What's Mycroft doing here?"

"Same as you, only more expertly. Honestly, Anna, you do get yourself into scrapes. Why couldn't you just have left it all to us?"

"Because the man I love is here, and in some danger! If you were a woman you'd understand. Ah! Look out!" as we careered round a tight bend and Marie and I clutched each other and shrieked.

"Whoops! That raised the old hair. Well, I must confess I did have the dickens of a job to stop Jo from coming here with me. Just as well, because she'd have been in the thick of it with you two, even in her present condition."

"Did Mycroft know we were in Northumberland?"

"Of course he did! He deduced it all when he spotted Watson leaving your flat this morning with some letters in his hand. Since Watson locked the door behind him, it was clear the flat was empty. There was only one place you would be, knowing you as we both do, so Holmes decided to join Bywell and me. He didn't make his concern about you known to Bywell, but he told me in a coded wire. Once he'd got here this evening, Holmes made enquiries locally and soon found your digs. He went round to try to make you go home, and found you'd gone off in a trap and the people at the inn were getting worried about you. He took this trap himself, called at the back door of Bywell Manor for me, told me to fob off Bywell with some excuse, and we got here as fast as we could."

"How did he know we were with Sir Michael?"

"The groom at the Wellington told him about you being 'invited' to Sir Michael's place. They'd sent one of their lads off in a dog cart with your luggage, so we overhauled him and redirected it to the station. The rest was easy. Oh, by the way, that basket under your seat has your skirts and things in it that you left in your trap."

We hadn't even thought about the scandal of appearing on a station platform in our breeches and stockings. We opened the basket, not without a struggle in the buffeting trap, and took out our garments as Beefy pulled up.

"We're on the outskirts of the village of Stocksfield. There's a farm track here. Walk along it. Don't be afraid. When you reach a gate barring your way, in about a hundred yards, feel for a stile on your right. Head across the field for the station lights and climb the fence. You will then cross the railway line to the end of the platform. Wait in the shadows until the train comes in and board it unobtrusively. Here is some money. You must travel third class. At Newcastle Central Station enquire for the sleeper to King's Cross. You won't need your skirts yet. Too many fences to climb. Good luck."

Even as we swung down from the trap, Beefy turned it then whipped up the horse and rattled off, leaving us carrying our skirts and jackets over our arms. Something bounced and grated on the road as he drove off.

"There's the basket!" he called as he vanished into the darkness. Sighing, Marie and I picked it up, put our skirts and jackets into it and began to trudge along the deep darkness of the farm track. At length we found the gate and the stile and plodded across the field in the direction of the station lights. Still carrying our basket, we climbed the fence, crossed the track, put on our skirts over our breeches, and hid in the shadows till the train came in. A noisy little crowd of countrywomen alighted, coming home late from market, and we mingled with them and hastily entered their third class carriage.

Looking carefully out, I noticed a man further along the platform peering into the first class carriages. The whistle blew, we moved off, and as we rose from hurriedly ducking down, we observed Moriarty gazing after the train.

"Mon Dieu, mam'selle!" whispered Marie. "These men, they move quickly, non?"

After a few days in Norfolk, Marie and I returned to the flat. Stephen had returned the day before, and we spent some time that night in the breathless practice of love. When I collapsed contentedly beside him, I confessed that I hadn't been on a visit, as he supposed, and told him of the little adventure that Marie and I had undergone. At first he was angry with me, as much for dragging Marie into danger again as for disobeying him.

"It's no part of Marie's duties to accompany you in your follies, Anna. I know she never refuses, but that's because she's completely devoted to you. You cannot repay such devotion by exposing her to danger of death. As for me, I've learned that you'll never pay a ha'porth of attention to anything I say."

He raised himself on his elbow and gazed into my eyes, for we had left the lamp burning. He smiled and shook his head.

"Marie's not the only one devoted to you. When I think of what might have happened if Holmes hadn't interrupted - "

He seized me and pressed his lips against mine, searching my mouth with his tongue. I responded, and soon we were testing the springs again as I gave myself to him once more.

"Don't you realise," I gasped when I was able to speak, "why I followed you?"

"I believe I do," he replied, punctuating his own panting with kisses. "When we marry, though, I'll take great pleasure in pointing out to you the part in the service that says something about obeying."

He rolled from me and fell into a deep sleep. For a while I lay thinking about what Stephen had said. He was right. I should not expose myself to danger, nor should I expect Marie to accompany me. That she always did without question was proof of her own courage as well as her devotion, but Stephen was unaware that Tubby had enlisted her to keep an eye on me. I decided that these escapades must cease.

Mycroft visited us next day, but Stephen did not follow his usual practice and withdraw. Instead, he gave Mycroft his hand and said, "Holmes, I owe you so much. I - I - well, 'thank you' is all I wish to say." He was usually good at making speeches, but not just then. Mycroft enfolded Stephen's hand in both his own and said, "My dear Lord Bywell, it was a pleasure as well as a duty."

Mycroft sat at Stephen's invitation. He had called, he explained, to describe the latest developments in the Difference Engine project, but since he realised that Stephen knew of my unauthorised visit to Northumberland, we discussed the whole adventure.

"I doubt," said Mycroft, "that they expected you to board the train at Stocksfield. My belief is that Barker watched Riding Mill, for I saw him ride away as I left the house myself. They may have watched other stations along the line. But I knew that as long as you obeyed the instructions I passed on through Winstanley you would have no trouble. I gather that Moriarty himself turned up outside the flat here the following afternoon. Major Winstanley's men observed him, but he soon realised that the place was empty. When Roberts came out of hospital and returned to the flat, the Major's men kept a closer eye on things, but Moriarty made no further appearance."

"Do you think he went in search of Anna?" asked Stephen.

"Perhaps, but to find out her whereabouts would have taken more time than we allowed him. I cannot understand, though, why he placed his cards so clearly on the table about the Difference Engine."

"He was about to explain why when you came in," I said.

Mycroft looked grave.

"He did not complete his explanation?"

"No. He mentioned wanting to calculate something, but the butler interrupted and then you came in."

Mycroft tut-tutted.

"I doubt whether he was about to reveal anything to you, for what would he gain from revealing his plans?"

"Didn't you get anything out of him?"

"Not at all. I expended much energy bargaining with them to let you go. They repeatedly assured me that you were free to go at any time, but that freedom was a sham, for on the way to the house I saw at least two small gangs of men lurking in shadows as we passed."

"Sir Michael and Moriarty made veiled threats about what might happen to us on the road if we left."

"The threats were rooted in reality. I was not molested, partly because I openly carried my revolver as I left, but mainly because I took a different route away from the house and crossed the fields to where Winstanley picked me up after dropping you off. But you would almost certainly have taken the road and fallen in with people who meant you no good. Of course, with Winstanley driving, you simply rushed past them."

"What did you bargain with?" asked Stephen.

"They wanted the use of DE2, as they told Anna. I countered with detailed analyses of four murders which I know were committed by Moriarty. I did not openly accuse him of them, but it was interesting to see him struggling to keep his face under control as I described them and how they had been committed. The decapitation of Miss Drusilla Dunholme was the most interesting from a technical point of view. It was achieved by means of specially-prepared lengths of piano wire stretched across a hill down which she was in the habit of cycling at speed in the evenings. Sir Michael also knew about those murders, or some of them at any rate, as his face told me. That was useful information too."

"I wonder you got out alive," said Stephen.

"Oh, I pointed out that I had taken elementary precautions, such as leaving a sealed letter with Sherlock and having friends waiting. That did not go down well with the Colonel, but it left him powerless. The one problem is why they want the machine. Well, I shall work on the whys and wherefores, but meanwhile I must get to Cricklewood."

"And I must get to Whitehall," said Stephen. "I'll come out with you, Holmes."

"Two of the Major's agents are outside," said Mycroft as they left.

I sat for a while, turning over what had been said. Marie came in with her work basket to keep me company, as was her habit when I was alone. As she sewed, we went over our adventures of the previous days.

"I am so ashamed of firing my pistol, mam'selle. What if I had hit the Colonel in the foot?"

"It would have served him right, Marie. But did you notice when you fired and the others rushed in? There was the butler and Barker, but outside was a man with a crooked nose. I could see him in the looking-glass. Did you see him?"

"Mam'selle, I was almost ready to faint. No, I saw nothing."

"That third man was not a servant, for he was well-dressed and Sir Michael seemed to speak to him as one gentleman to another."

"So there are more than just the two of them?"

"An organised gang, I should think."

"A gang of - gentlemen?"

"If you can call them that."

We speculated all morning without success as to why Sir Michael and Moriarty wanted the use of the Difference Engine. We saw nothing of Mycroft, who seemed genuinely baffled, and for the next few days Stephen was hard at work with the Babbage Scheme and came home fairly late in the evenings.

One day I was taking my bath, having spent the afternoon helping Marie to clean the kitchen range. Roberts offered to do the work for me, but we waved him away. I enjoy a little hard work at times, and it gave me an opportunity to discuss fashion with Marie. I had removed every trace of blacking from my person, and Marie was scrubbing my back when the doorbell rang. Marie hurriedly dried her hands and went to answer, but returned almost immediately.

"Mr Roberts he answered, mam'selle. Two gentlemen, Sir Hugo Fitz-Forsythe and - mam'selle, I caught only the tiniest glimpse from the landing, but it was a man with a crooked nose."

"The man from Broomley?"

"I do not know, mam'selle, for I did not see this man when you did. His nose it was like so."

With a finger she twisted her own nose to one side.

"With Sir Hugo? Are they with Lord Bywell?"

"Yes, mam'selle. Mr Roberts he showed them into the study."

"Did the man see you, Marie?"

"I do not think so, for the landing is dark. In any case he did not take notice of me."

She was wearing her cap and apron, and her face was streaked with blacking. My usually immaculate maid looked like an over-worked, under-paid skivvy who would be ignored as a matter of course in even the smallest domestic establishment.

"Clean yourself up quickly, Marie, and keep an eye on them. I shall dress myself. You've laid my evening things out?"

Leaving Marie washing the blacking from her face, I hurried into my dressing room. Since I have never needed corsets, she did not really have to help me dress. I dressed rapidly, taking no more than twenty minutes, including doing my hair, and emerged to find her, still in cap and apron, hovering in the dark at the stairhead where she could see the study door. As I joined her, it opened. I stepped back into the doorway out of the line of sight of the visitors, leaving Marie to observe them. Sir Hugo gave one of his gasping laughs, Stephen said something, and then the outer door opened, and either Stephen or Roberts showed them downstairs into the night. Marie scurried into the dressing room after me and closed the door, standing with her back pressed against it and her eyes wide.

"Mam'selle, the man, he glanced up, but I stayed in the shadows and I do not think he recognised me."

"He must know I live here."

"But he cannot know that you saw him in the looking-glass, mam'selle. Otherwise, he would not be so bold as to come and be recognised. And he is definitely not one of Sir Hugo's servants. Lord Bywell shook hands with him."

"Ask Lord Bywell if he's inviting them to dinner. Try to find out that man's name."

Anxiously, I paced the small room for the few minutes until her return.

"His name it is Callisto D'Eath and his lordship has indeed invited them to dinner this evening, mam'selle."

"And Mr D'Eath is coming? Yet Moriarty must have told him where I live. You must be right, Marie. He cannot know that I saw him in the mirror. And Sir Michael and the Colonel mustn't have realised either."

"I took the liberty of speaking to his lordship, mam'selle. As he now knows that we were in Sir Michael's house I thought it best that he should know that we have seen Mr D'Eath before. His lordship - "

At that moment Stephen entered. Marie withdrew, and Stephen took my hands.

"My darling, I didn't know until Marie told me that D'Eath was one of the men at Sir Michael's. I'll wire and put them off, tell them I've been called out on urgent business."

I shook my head.

"Stephen," I said, "we must say nothing until we've spoken to Mycroft Holmes. Treat Sir Hugo and Mr D'Eath as though you knew nothing. Marie and I think Mr D'Eath doesn't know that I saw him in the looking-glass at Broomley. Tell them I'm indisposed and entertain them yourself."

"Should I remove your portrait from the dining room and those photographs of us from the drawing room?"

"No. Surely Mr D'Eath knows I live here."

"Then if you don't come down to dinner, darling, he may suspect something."

Stephen was right. We had to pretend that we had no knowledge of Mr Callisto D'Eath and that there was no reason why I should not meet him.

Marie performed miracles that evening. Not only did she somehow contrive, in the time available, to wash and change into a clean uniform, but she had the chef of the Athenaeum send over a menu which included among its delights some old-fashioned but heavenly cręme ŕ l'Ibrahim Pacha, sole Dugléré and the new dish, pęche Melba.

I sat at the opposite end of the table to Stephen, while our guests faced each other. Sir Hugo had greeted me as "Lady Bywell", at which Mr D'Eath's face flickered for a moment. But he was careful to address me as "Your ladyship" all evening.

Marie was demure in her cap and apron, and never met the glance of either of our guests, who paid her scant attention. Roberts was the perfect attendant, silently ensuring that everyone's plate and glass was filled. He had been some years with Stephen, was completely trustworthy, and was therefore in our confidence regarding Mr D'Eath. He attended to the guests with great diligence, particularly in the serving of wine.

The soup and the fish were attended with small talk, Mr D'Eath keeping the conversation flowing with genuine wit. His head was round like a bullet, his short black hair brushed forward, and his eyes deep-set, with a fiery twinkle when he laughed. If I had not known what I did about the company he kept, I should have delighted in his brilliance.

Sir Hugo merely gasped and laughed uneasily, apparently trying to meet our gaze but failing to do so. Over the tournedos Rossini, as the wine took effect, he began to relax.

"What an excellent meal," he said. "I rather feared we should be served game."

"You nearly were," said Stephen. "I was shooting in Northumberland the other week. I had hopes that my neighbour might invite me to join him, but he had a house party, I gather. That's Sir Michael Elliott, I mean."

Roberts, who was opposite Mr D'Eath, glanced at his face. So did I. Mr D'Eath remained impassive. Roberts lifted an eyebrow at me and served some more vegetables. The conversation remained small talk until the end of the meal, when I rose and left the gentlemen to their port.

"Not a success, Marie," I remarked as she served me coffee in the drawing room. "Roberts plied them well with wine, but their tongues remained well-guarded."

"Quite so, mam'selle. Yet with you out of their way, they may even now be turning the conversation to some new and significant topic, non?"

She was right, for after our guests had left, and Stephen and I had gone to bed, he broached the subject with me.

"I think I'm on the point of being offered a substantial bribe, Anna, just as you were."

"What? By Sir Hugo as well?"

"No, by Mr D'Eath. And not openly, but in some more subtle way. After you left, the conversation got straight on to the Difference Engine. It was Sir Hugo who brought it up, with a commonplace remark about DE2 being a clever calculating machine. I've found that he knows very little about it in a technical sense, but Mr D'Eath chipped in with a comment that stockbrokers would love such a machine."

"I suppose they would," I replied. "They could calculate their gains and losses. And was that all?"

"No, for Mr D'Eath said it could be used to make predictions about when the markets were to fall and when to rise. He then got very expert about the Stock Exchange and lost me completely within seconds."

"And Sir Hugo?"

"Now you mention it, he seemed to follow it well enough, which I must say surprises me when I think about it."

"Is that all they talked about?"

"No, for Mr D'Eath then said something that I more or less understood, about the way in which the stock markets rise over many years and then fall suddenly, and how it was possible to make great sums of money if you knew when to sell. There was one other thing. He mentioned kinematography. He used the British Kinematographic Company as an example of how to cash in. Now, I thought that very few people knew about that, for Holmes nipped that scheme fairly in the bud."

"What of this bribe?"

"Nothing definite was said, but I felt that D'Eath was leading up to something, and that if Sir Hugo hadn't been there, I might have been sounded out. I felt that the ground was being prepared, though, and I'll ask Holmes round tomorrow."

Mycroft called next morning, Friday, and listened gravely as Stephen repeated what he had told me. For a few minutes he said nothing, merely nodding to himself and steepling his fingers as he sat deeply in an armchair.

"It is an attempt to recover Moriarty's losses on the Exchange," he said at last. "No other theory fits the facts as we have them. I pointed out to Anna some time ago that Moriarty had the appearance of a man who had lost on the Stock Exchange. That he is a criminal I already know. The murders he committed were all connected with money, and in the meantime I have again consulted Sherlock's crime index and found a brief reference to Sir Michael Elliott. He took part in swindles in the City of London for some years, and the Argentine canal fraud, but up to now nothing can be laid at his door. And that mention of the British Kinematographic Company sounds a loud alarm for me. Only the members of the scheme knew of it, apart, of course, from the Major, Mr Dundas and ourselves."

"So it's that awful syndicate?" I asked. "I thought Sir Ettrick Ralph was to be tried for murder."

"Oh, he is, and Mrs Cheveley, or Lastenby, rather, with him as an accessory. But the rest of the syndicate vanished into thin air, although of course these things never do vanish. As for this Callisto D'Eath, neither I nor Sherlock know anything about him. That perturbs me, for he appears to have come from nowhere, unknown to either Sherlock or Scotland Yard. Is he an Englishman?"

"So I presume," replied Stephen. "He seems to speak with an English accent, wouldn't you say, Anna?"

"Too English," I answered. "I mean, he has no accent of either class or region, now I think of it."

"The mark of the foreigner who speaks our language perfectly," said Mycroft. "Our friend von Tarden is very close to that type of accentless English, but I don't think this has anything to do with him. I think that in this case we have stumbled on the legacy of the Colonel's late brother, Professor Moriarty."

Stephen looked puzzled.

"I thought your brother brought the Professor's career to a timely end?"

"He did," replied Mycroft, "but what he could not do was put the Professor's considerable fortune into the hands of the authorities." He eased himself into a more upright position in his chair, his whole being becoming more alert in the manner I knew so well, as he launched himself into his theme. "Do you realise exactly how much wealth Professor Moriarty commanded? Sherlock found some significant facts, for example, that the Professor owned a Greuze."

Both Stephen and I reflected each other's blank query in our faces. Mycroft hastened to explain.

"Jean Baptiste Greuze was a French painter of the last century. Forty years ago his paintings could fetch the equivalent of forty thousand pounds at auction in Paris. What they are worth now is anyone's guess. The point is that Professor Moriarty bought his Greuze on a salary of seven hundred a year."

"Had he money left him?" asked Stephen.

Mycroft shook his head.

"The family were not wealthy. The youngest brother was a stationmaster in the West of England. Even the Colonel, I have discovered, was never regarded in his regiment as a wealthy man, not while his elder brother was alive."

"But you mentioned the Professor's legacy," I said.

"I spoke figuratively. I meant the legacy of evil that he left. Yet I suspect that there was a legacy in the more usual sense of the term, and that Colonel James Moriarty got some of it, which he lost on the Stock Exchange. Some may have gone to the stationmaster, for he retired not long after his brother's demise, and seems to live a quiet life. But the rest of the money almost certainly went to the Professor's second-in-command."

"Colonel Moran?"

"The same."

I told Mycroft of the five thousand a year offered by Colonel Moriarty, and the thousand a year offered to Marie.

"So perhaps Colonel Moriarty didn't lose all his money," I concluded.

Mycroft shook his head.

"The money he offered you, if it exists, would be promissory. Once they got the use of the Difference Engine, even for no more than a few hours a week, they could plot the vagaries of the markets and mark down shares that were likely to do better than most. They would buy and sell those shares to make money."

"Ah, no," said Stephen, "for the machine would be in use day and night."

"Eventually, my lord," said Mycroft, "but not at first. It would take a year or so of trials before Government departments began to make full use of it, and by then, of course, the Major should be well on the way to completing the Analytical Engine which is even more powerful. Colonel Moriarty and Sir Michael Elliott would doubtless be content with the Difference Engine, which would become redundant once the Analytical Engine was ready. Even the use of the Difference Engine for no more than a year would make them very rich, and some of those riches would almost certainly find their way to Colonel Moran."

"The authorities in Broadmoor would stop it," I said.

"Moran escaped from Broadmoor some weeks ago," said Mycroft, "and is now believed to be in Switzerland."

His revelation silenced me for the moment.

"Is Moriarty," asked Stephen, "a member of that British Kinematographic Syndicate?"

"He will almost certainly have some connection."

"Then he - or his agents - committed the burglary of our rooms?"

"By no means, my lord."

"What? But the plans for the engine - "

"Quite so," said Mycroft. "Why should the Colonel need the plans for the Difference Engine? He has already told Anna that he and Sir Michael have not the money to build it. It would be in his interest for the plans to remain where they were, and in any case he must have known or surmised that we would have copies, that it was hardly likely that you should have the only extant plans in your possession. Colonel Moriarty wishes the engine to be built so that he may gain access to it. It is someone else who is trying to stop the building of DE2."

"Mr D'Eath?"

"No, for he is surely involved with Moriarty. No, my lord, your burglars were set on by someone unknown to me at present, and all I can do is worry at the question until I identify that person."

The very next day Tubby came to our flat as we were finishing breakfast. His eyes were popping, his moustache bristling, and perspiration stood in drops on his forehead.

"Sorry for interruption, m'lord," he gasped. "Frightful business. Both sine qua non wheels, two carryin' levers missin'! Stolen durin' night. Watchman chloroformed. Police there now. Thieves got in with key. Havin' locks changed right away. Dreadful! Dreadful!"

Stephen rose in horror.

"But what are we to do?"

"Don't know," said Tubby miserably. "Sine qua non self-explanatory, what? Weeks of work gone." He scrabbled for his pipe and tobacco. "Point is, parts finely-machined to amazin' tolerances. Take weeks to replace. Came to tell you, my lord, and now, with yer permission, to the Diogenes for Holmes."

Pausing only to light his pipe, he bounded out of the room in a thick blue cloud, thundering downstairs and out into the street, where he hailed a cab and disappeared into the traffic.

Since there was nothing else he could do, Stephen left for his office to file a report on the theft. He then went on to Richmond to see to some repairs at his house. He proposed to spend the weekend there, and, as Emmeline was likely to turn up, I had no desire to accompany him. Relations between Stephen and Emmeline were civil and no more. They saw each other as little as possible, and they were to meet at Richmond merely to see to the business in hand. I spent the evening in Marie's company, and we amused ourselves with reminiscences of our exploits in recent years. Once that began to pall, I welcomed the diversion brought by Roberts, who was having an altercation with the coalman, and asked if I would mind coming downstairs to resolve matters?

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said as I went with him, "but Garrett says that he didn't deliver the other day, and yet both Mademoiselle and I know there was a delivery. I don't know what Garrett thinks he's about, I must say."

"Let's look in the cellar, then," I said, taking up a candle and opening the coal cellar door in the passageway. Mr Garrett, our coalman, was in the passage looking extremely angry.

"Beg pardon, ma'am," he said, "but we 'aven't made no delivery in the last fortnight. I don't know where Mr Roberts 'as got the idea from that we 'ave."

"But a delivery was made, Mr Garrett," I said, holding up the candle. "There! See for yourself. That heap of coal is newly-delivered, surely. Otherwise the stock would be well down by now."

The candlelight showed a fresh heap on the cellar floor beneath the coal chute. Mr Garrett shook his head.

"Well, ma'am, I can't understand that. But 'alf a mo'! That's not nutty slack. That's not my best quality what you always get, ma'am. D'yer mind?"

Taking the candle, he went down the steps.

"Wery inferior stuff this is, ma'am. Not what we deal with at all. Wery inferior indeed. A lot of stone 'ere. My guess is someone's got the wrong address."

"How infuriating!" I exclaimed, but the coalman gave a cry of surprise.

"Halloa! What 'ave we 'ere, then?" He dragged out a long metal rod. "An' 'ere's another."

Although I had never seen the carrying levers or the sine qua non wheels, I needed no explanation of what he had found.

"Scrap!" said Mr Garrett. "Flamin' cheek, beggin' yer pardon, ma'am, but somebody's been dumpin' scrap down yer coal-'ole. Bits o' brass rods an' wheels mixed up wiv all that rotten coal an' stone."

He brought them up with him and left them at the top of the cellar steps. I dealt with him as quickly as I could, and saw him on his way before dismissing Roberts and returning to the sitting room. There I told Marie what had been found in the coal cellar.

"Mr Holmes had better know, Marie," I said. "Come with me to the Diogenes."

Reaching the club, we found that Mycroft was at Cricklewood with the Major. I decided to take the parts to "The Pines" and surprise them. Marie insisted on accompanying me, and we made good time by cab. We did not dare travel by train with the precious parts of the Difference Engine.

It was dark when we reached "The Pines". As a precaution we had brought our pistols, but we hesitated. There was a light at an upstairs window, but the grounds were steeped in menacing shadow, and we did not know whether Tubby had stationed men there. The last thing we wanted was to be apprehended, or, worse, shot at, simply for bringing the missing parts, so we made our way very cautiously up the drive.

The door was unlocked but the house was completely silent, and, although we had seen a light, we could hear nobody. I knew where the machine was, and led Marie to the dining room. Reaching the closed door, we paused, for a faint sound came to us from another part of the house. It was the sound of a door being quietly opened. Had someone heard us and were we about to be apprehended? The dining room, where the machine stood, was in darkness, although the window curtains were drawn back. The Difference Engine gleamed dully in the light of a crescent moon, but of Mycroft there was no sign, unless his was the hand that had opened the door downstairs.

I decided to place the recovered parts of the machine beside it on the floor and leave quietly. If we could get away unseen, we should have carried out a fine little coup against Mycroft, but, even as the thought formed itself, the staircase creaked softly. Marie and I slipped behind the window curtains as a figure entered. A man silently crossed to the other window and let down the blind. He then came to where we were hiding, and reached for the blind pull as we stepped out.

"Hands up, Mr D'Eath," I squeaked, much to my mortification, for my voice was trembling.

Squeak though I did, I kept my pistol steady, and Mr Callisto D'Eath's moonlit face showed dumb astonishment, then he automatically raised his hands. Marie darted forward and removed his pistol from his waistband, almost dropping it in her excitement.

"Careful!" said D'Eath, then his tone became almost resigned. "Miss Weybridge and Mademoiselle. How foolish of me not to have anticipated something like this."

We made no answer and his eyes rested on Marie's derringer.

"I am thankful you have not cocked your pistol, Mademoiselle."

"I have now," replied my maid as she clicked back the hammer and aimed at his head.

"Please," he said, "I should hate to suffer the fate of the carpet at Broomley. Ah, but here is Holmes at last."

"Don't be fooled, Marie," I warned, but suddenly the huge form of Mycroft came through the door.

"D'Eath, my dear fellow! I see that Miss Weybridge has taken you in hand. I thought I saw the two ladies skulking in the shrubbery earlier. Ah! The missing parts, I see. You really shouldn't have troubled, Anna. They were safe enough in your coal cellar."

"Did you put them there?" I asked indignantly.

"Yes. I intended to surprise his lordship. And I think Mr D'Eath may lower his hands. He is in fact an agent of the Mexican government, as I found out earlier this evening."

"They told me you're a good shot, Miss Weybridge," said D'Eath, "so I deemed it best not to resist."

"You're Mexican?" I asked. "You certainly don't sound like one."

"I live in the United States," he said. "However, the time for lengthy explanations is not now. Holmes, is he coming?"

"I believe so," answered Mycroft. "Ladies, it's too late to ask you to leave this room, so will you please stand well back in the shadows? The other side of that screen would be most convenient. But I pray you, put away your pistols."

As Marie and I hid ourselves, Mycroft and Mr D'Eath crouched behind a large desk. I could hardly believe that Mr Callisto D'Eath was actually on the same side as we were, but before my thoughts could pursue that topic, a fine bar of light appeared under the door. It was from a dark lantern, for the gleam immediately went out, but the smell of paraffin crept into the room. My heart began to pound and my palms became wet. Despite Mycroft's request, I laid a hand ready on my holstered revolver as I awaited the arrival of Colonel Moriarty.

A black shape entered, sliding back the shutter of the lantern to play the beam onto the Difference Engine. Approaching the apparatus, the figure tripped over the parts I had left on the floor. He examined them in the light of his dark lantern, shook his head as if puzzled, and put them into a bag he had with him. He then approached the machine and applied some tool to it. There was a slight clink and a scraping noise, and he lifted out of the framework another long metal rod. At that moment Mycroft and Mr D'Eath stepped forward and shone the beams of electric torches on to the figure. He swung round in confusion.

"The game's up," said Mycroft.

"Why did he do all this?" I asked about an hour later, in our flat where Mycroft, Tubby and I had gathered in the lamplit sitting-room. I had permitted Marie to join us. Despite being tired, for it was past midnight, we were anxious to hear the explanation that Mycroft would offer. Mycroft sat back and placed the tips of his fingers together.

"He was, quite simply, jealous," he replied.

"Jealous of whom?" I asked.

"His is the type of mind that cannot tolerate the brighter intellect, the swifter grasp of ideas, the - how shall I put it? - the broader creative vision. You see, Anna, a man like Sir Hugo Fitz-Forsythe can understand someone of, say, Lord Bywell's capabilities, for his is a mind which, although perfectly competent, works in a quite predictable manner. Major Winstanley, on the other hand, possesses the kind of intellect that people like Sir Hugo instinctively abhor. Men like the Major, with their instant grasp of complex ideas, are never allowed to do really important tasks, for men like Sir Hugo will always thwart them. For once, however, the Major got his way and embarked on a brilliant project. Sir Hugo could not tolerate the state of things and began to interfere with the building of the Difference Engine. First came the burglary so that he could get a copy of the plans to Colonel Moriarty."

"Was he in league with him?" I asked.

"To begin with, yes. Moriarty wanted to study the Difference Engine because his late brother had been working on plans of his own for a similar machine, based on Babbage's. When he went over the falls at Reichenbach, he had the only complete copy of the plans in his pocket. Colonel Moriarty did his best with what plans he had of his brother's Difference Engine, but without success. Sir Hugo knew all that. Moriarty, naturally, provided the ruffians who carried out the burglary of your quarters."

"What of Mr D'Eath?"

"He is, as I said, an agent of the Mexican government. He became aware of the plan to build DE2 when Sir Hugo visited Washington last spring. Mr D'Eath feared that the American government might become interested in building the machine and convinced his own government that it would not be in the interests of Mexico."

"Why?" I asked.

"With a battery of Difference Engines, or the more advanced Analytical Engines, at its disposal, the United States would rapidly become the most powerful country in the world, and our own government agreed with Mr D'Eath that Mexico, and, more to the point, Canada, would probably end up being absorbed into the United States. Mr D'Eath thought it would be better if Britain developed the Difference Engine, and, having got the confidence of Sir Hugo, was introduced to Colonel Moriarty and Sir Michael Elliott."

"But Colonel failed reconstruct brother's plans," observed Tubby.

"Yes, Major. He and Sir Michael turned to the possibility of illicitly using our Engine to make money for themselves. Meanwhile, since they had fallen out with Sir Hugo and severed connections with him, that gentleman decided to bring our project to an untimely end. Such an action would bring him nothing material, but as I said earlier, he was also motivated by jealousy as well as not a little resentment over his treatment. However, all that is behind us now, and work can proceed on the Difference Engine."

If only things had been so simple. Stephen returned home early and invited me to Cricklewood to see the machine perform its first calculations. It was a glorious morning, one of those late summer days that seem so full of promise that you forget that the season is nearly over. The sun warmed our carriage and we had the windows down as we chatted.

"What sort of things shall we see?" I asked Stephen.

"I really can't say, Anna, but I gather that Richard Winstanley and the Major intend to astound us with some incredibly complex problem in submarine navigation. It would take a roomful of professors two years to solve, apparently, but the Difference Engine will do it in a matter of three to four hours. That is, once they get steam up and set it working. Some senior men from the Admiralty are there, and the Major will give them the results of the calculations. They will then be able to start building the perfected Bruce-Partington submarine. Holmes and his brother recovered the plans for that submarine when they were stolen last year, and - "

A thunderous roar interrupted him and he jerked his gaze in the direction of the noise.

"By heaven! That's surely not at the house?"

We turned into the roadway where already people were running out of their front gates and dashing to "The Pines". Our driver pulled up to avoid running down a couple of housemaids, and we alighted and hurried through the gathering crowd. A pillar of smoke was rising among the pine trees that screened the house, and with fear growing within us we rushed up the drive with half the neighbourhood following.

Two smoke-blackened figures stumbled out of the house, which was well ablaze. Tubby and Beefy, their clothing badly scorched and blackened, their hair smoking and their faces like raw meat from some great blast, collapsed at our feet. They were followed by three or four men in burnt and blackened Naval uniforms bearing traces of gold braid. Fortunately, one of the neighbours was a doctor, and he immediately sent for bandages and salves. Meanwhile, Stephen organised the spectators into a bucket chain from the greenhouse tap, and a boy cycled off for the fire brigade, but when at length the engines raced up, horses flecked with foam and bells clanging madly, the house was a ruin. By then the Winstanley brothers were bandaged and as comfortable as burned men can be, so, as the house finally burnt to the ground, they told us what had happened.

"Bally petrol engine exploded," gasped Tubby, lacking moustache and eyebrows, and indignantly glowering from a swathe of bandages.

"What petrol engine?" asked a puzzled Stephen.

"The one you sent, my lord," said Beefy.

"I sent no petrol engine. The only engine I installed was the Armstrong steam engine."

Tubby and Beefy stared at each other, then at Stephen.

"But - steam engine replaced last week," said Tubby. "Sir Hugo - "

He stopped as his face showed a sudden understanding. His brother completed the statement.

"Sir Hugo replaced it. This is another example of his damned deviousness! Well, he's wrecked the job now, without a doubt."

The Difference Engine was virtually destroyed. Only the twisted metal framework remained, containing distorted and molten lumps of brass and steel. Naturally, following the hostile report submitted by the injured admirals, the Treasury refused to fund another machine, and, although Stephen offered to put up a proportion of the necessary money on his own, Tubby dissuaded him as the costs would be beyond the means of a private investor.

"Costs increased far beyond estimates, m'lord," he explained. "Had to fight hard to keep project goin'."

Colonel Moriarty and Sir Michael got away scot-free. Mycroft and the Major advised me not to press charges for the unlawful detention that Marie and I had endured.

"It would be difficult to prove anything," said Mycroft, "and besides, the role played by Mr Callisto D'Eath must not be revealed. That gentleman could prove to be very useful to us again. Sir Hugo, however, is guilty of incompetence as well as deliberate malice. The petrol engine exploded because of a fault, it is believed."

"So Sir Hugo did succeed after all," I said.

"Ah, no," said Mycroft. "Not intentionally. Apparently he introduced the petrol engine as a favour to a friend in business, and the fuel tank blew up. They should have stuck to good old reliable steam, of course."

"But he was trying to destroy our work," said Stephen.

"I doubt whether he would have succeeded in halting the project altogether," replied Mycroft. "He must have realised that, and, being a devious man, he ensured that he would be seen trying to help. Of course, he overstepped the mark with his burglary of 'The Pines'."

"One thing I cannot understand," said Stephen, "was why you delivered a load of inferior coal with the missing parts hidden in it. What purpose did that serve?"

"Ah," answered Mycroft, "that was Sherlock's doing. I got him to go with Straightfellow to drag the river near Whitehall, as I wished to remain on guard at 'The Pines'. As I expected, the missing parts had been thrown into the Thames not far from where Sir Hugo lives. Sherlock took possession of them, promising Straightfellow to deliver them safely to you. But you know how he cannot resist a touch of the dramatic. Incidentally, my lord, we managed to salvage this from the wreckage. I would like you to have it as a memento."

He took from his pocket a small brass wheel, all that had survived of the Difference Engine. Stephen later had it polished and mounted on a wooden base. He uses it as a paperweight, and shows it off as the most expensive in the world, being all that remains of the thousands and thousands of pounds that were spent on the ill-starred Difference Engine.