"Mam'selle, it must be wonderful to mix with so many great people. When I was a maid in Paris with a wealthy family I saw many grand occasions, but always from the outside."

"Do you miss Paris, Marie? You were born and brought up there, I suppose?"

"Sometimes I miss it, mam'selle, but I do like living in London. Yet I am not Parisienne by birth; I am from Alsace. Papa he was a dealer in wines and liqueurs in Strasbourg. I was born in 1873, under Prussian rule of course. By upbringing, though, I am French, and like many Alsatians, I speak both French and German, and also Italian, for my mother is from Genoa."

"Why did you go to Paris?"

"Papa tired of living under the Prussians. When I was thirteen he moved his business to Paris, where he planned to give me the education of a jeune fille de bonne famille. But hélas! The business fell on hard times and we began to struggle, so that I never completed my education."

"That would be in '86, wouldn't it? I was in Paris then, working in cabaret."

"So I understand, mam'selle. I took up domestic work as a housemaid to help my family. I eventually became a governess, and at nineteen came to England to try to better myself. Again I secured a situation as governess, but after I had been there a year the master of the house and his son both began to - how do you say it? - make advances to me which I rejected. I lost my post, but Mrs Richard Winstanley knew the family and recommended me to you when you were looking for a lady's maid."

"Surely you could do better for yourself than a lady's maid, Marie. You could go to night classes. I should be only too happy to help you in any way at all, you know."

"Thank you, mam'selle. You are most kind, as ever, but I would probably end up as a lady typist or a schoolmistress, and I have no desire for that kind of work. I like working for you. I like all your friends, if I may say so. And as for education - zut! Is it not an education to see the things I have seen with you? The adventure in Ireland? The case of the dreadful vampiress? To meet men like Mr Hearst and Mr Spruce and the amazing Major Winstanley. What moustaches! And how he talks! Like a mitrailleuse, hein?"

We moved into the dining-room where I breakfasted while Marie did some mending with her workbasket. As she finished and began to clear the table she paused.

"May I ask, mam'selle, is Mr 'Olmes now living at the Diogenes? For if he is, I shall strip his room and beat the carpet and clean and air everything."

"Very well, Marie. Do that."

"And - if I may make so bold, mam'selle - is all well between you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, if I have annoyed you - "

"No, no, Marie. Speak freely. We have few secrets between us, you and I."

"It is just -" She twisted a napkin between her fingers. "It is simply that I have noticed that he is not as - what is the word? - attentive to you as he used to be. And I have also noticed, and forgive me for saying so, but he seems to be paying too much attention to a young married lady."

"Lady Bywell, you mean, Marie?"

"The same. I noticed in Ireland, and since then he has got a signed photograph of her ladyship which was in his room but is not there now."

"A photograph!"

"I saw it once or twice when I was cleaning. Usually he locked it away, but sometimes it was left on the mantelpiece. It was in a silver frame."

"Do you think he's taken it to the Diogenes?"

"Undoubtedly, mam'selle. And I think it looks very bad, I mean the fact that he has taken it away with him. And you did not know? I thought not. It is not good, mam'selle."

We fell silent. Marie obviously felt that she had spoken out of turn after all, but I knew that I had to face the truth. The relationship between Mycroft and myself was not what it had been. With a sigh I thought back to the old days in the Diogenes Club, when I had shared rooms with Mycroft, certainly as his mistress, but also as his friend and colleague, "Mr Dalziel".

As one of the founders, Mycroft had the privilege of rooms in the Diogenes, and becoming a member had been easier than I expected. The club existed for the most unsociable men in London who nonetheless desired the comforts and amenities of club life. However, the rule of silence on the premises meant that in almost eight years I never actually spoke to a fellow member.

What escapades and adventures Mycroft and I shared, not least in bed together, and how I revelled in my impersonation of a man! Although my imposture lasted for years, very few saw through it, and certainly not the other members of the Diogenes, or the staff. Even Tubby Winstanley had, to the best of my knowledge, never realised that Mr Dalziel and I were the same person.

Watson worried me when one of his stories in the Strand Magazine described Mycroft as living in rooms opposite the club, but he assured me that it was a blind for the reading public at Mycroft's request. Naturally, when I myself moved to the very same rooms opposite the club, I feared that the public might try to seek out Mycroft, but they were always more interested in Sherlock. 1

Marie seemed to know nothing of that part of my past, and I had often wondered whether to confide in her, for I had found her to be a most trustworthy maid and companion. But I preferred to keep that my secret, for the time being at any rate.

My reverie was broken by an unexpected call. Tubby Winstanley of the Advocate-General's Office came with a man I didn't know but seemed to recognise. He was middle-aged, of medium height and build, with thinning brown hair and a pepper and salt beard.

Despite the summer's morning, Tubby wore an overcoat with his usual tweeds underneath. I always suspected that he wore thick flannel underwear, for his years in India had given him an addiction to heat unbearable to the rest of us. My suspicions about his underwear lay in the fact that he always perspired freely. That day he was absolutely bathed in perspiration, so much that he was wiping his face with a large silk handkerchief as he entered.

"Mornin', Anna. Like to introduce Mr Stead. Miss Weybridge, Stead."

We shook hands.

"I see, Miss Weybridge, that you are acquainted with Mr Hearst."

Mr Stead's first words made me start. He chuckled.

"I was present at the ball last night. I noticed you dancing with him. I myself am in the same line of business - journalism."

I suddenly recognised him as W. T. Stead, the famous journalist. 2

"Holmes - er - er - called yet?" asked Tubby.

Tubby knew of our "domestic irregularity", as he called it, and was clearly trying to conceal it from Mr Stead. He registered surprise when I made it clear to him that Mycroft had returned to the Diogenes.

"H'm!" he grunted. "Dashed awkward. Gettin' in there like breakin' into Bank of England. Coffee, you say? Won't say no. Very kind of yer, Anna."

"You seem to be in a bit of a state, Tubby," I smiled, reflecting that I had hardly ever seen him when he was not in a state. "Why don't you sit down? You'll find it much more comfortable."

His waxed moustache was frayed at the ends, a sure sign that he was agitated about something. He blew out his cheeks and considered for a moment before plumping down into a chair. Mr Stead sat down carefully and folded his hands on his lap.

"Need consult Holmes, old girl," said Tubby. "But if Holmes not here, and Diogenes damned diff to get into, best thing take you into confidence. Time of essence."

"In what respect?"

"Emergency, old thing. Need help." He turned to Stead. "This where you come in, old man. Anna very broad-minded. Speak freely."

Stead leaned forward.

"As you may know, Miss Weybridge, I carry out a good deal of investigation in my work. I visited the East End, for example, a few years ago to expose the sordid trade in vice involving young girls."

I nodded. I had read his accounts.

"I am now investigating a most disturbing traffic, which I am determined to expose until it is stamped out. It is a vile trafficking in young women, selling them to men in the Near East. I have discovered that this appalling trade goes on not far from here. I reported the whole business to Major Winstanley, who thought that Mr Mycroft Holmes should know at once."

Tubby blew out his cheeks.

"It's Lucy Alnford-Ross, Anna."

Lucy, whom I had not met, was the unmarried younger sister of Joanna Winstanley.

"In danger. Own damn silly fault, but still in danger."

"What sort of danger? This trafficking?"

Before he could reply, Marie brought the coffee. Tubby seized his cup gratefully and buried his nose in it, his moustache bending upwards against the rim as he noisily drank. Mr Stead was more decorous, sipping with appreciation.

"Dashed good coffee that girl makes, what?" spluttered Tubby as he emerged from his cup.

"Never mind the coffee! Tell me more about this danger."

"Two men. Austrians. Stead? Details?"

"Baron Adelbert Grüner and his nephew, Karl-Gustav," Stead added. "The Baron is a virile man of thirty-five, his nephew some years younger, I should say."

"You've met them, Mr Stead?"

"Yes. I interviewed them as part of my investigation. I was informed about them from a source I must not name, and my interview confirmed my suspicions that they are white slavers. It's almost unbelievable in this day and age, Miss Weybridge, but they are. Naturally they admitted nothing openly. In appearance they are eminently respectable men, moving in the highest society."

"Baron in particular, accordin' to Stead," rapped Tubby. "Dressed height of fashion, carefully groomed, small waxed moustaches - What's wrong? Somethin' amusin' yer?"

I had to stifle a laugh in my handkerchief.

"I'm sorry," I replied. "Please excuse my rudeness, but so many men I meet seem to have waxed moustaches. You, Mr Spruce, and now this man. Are his anything like yours?"

Tubby looked puzzled but continued.

"No. Quite small, almost invisible. Don't know why feller wears 'em. Anyhow, as Stead was sayin', Baron virile man mid-thirties."

"Good-looking?"

"Remarkably handsome. Fascinates women."

"How?"

"Manner, voice, puts on air of mystery, yer know sort of thing, Anna. Dash it! Woman yerself, what? Don't need me to tell yer what attracts 'em to men, eh? Now, as to nephew -" He cocked his head on one side and appraised me. "Probably same age as you. Late twenties."

"Very flattering, Tubby. I'm actually thirty-one."

Tubby looked surprised. "Really? Put yer at twenty-seven or eight, bit younger than old W. H. Still, nephew - late twenties. Handsome feller like uncle. Good physique, built a bit like brother Beefy. Sportsman, swordsman, marksman, horseman, that sort of thing. Goes sheein'."

"Goes - what?"

"Sheein'. On shees. New thing, racin', speedin', all done on long snowshoes of some kind. Very athletic chap. Wouldn't like to get on wrong side of."

"Oh! Sheeing. I know what you mean now. Dr Watson says a friend of his does it." 3

"The Baron collects porcelain," added Stead. "He is a European authority on Ming. A more inoffensive-seeming man you could not hope to meet. Yet under the surface the man is downright evil. So is his nephew. In fact, I would say the nephew is the worse of the two. Something about his eyes tells me that he is a killer. I've interviewed too many people in my time not to be able to read their faces. I've passed some photos to the Major."

Tubby fumbled in a pocket and produced two photographs. They were of very well-favoured men, and it was difficult to tell which was the uncle and which the nephew.

The Baron was, as Tubby had said, remarkably handsome. The photograph, a studio portrait, showed a face that seemed swarthy, as many Austrians are. He had large dark tender liquid eyes, the lids almost drooping as he gazed placidly at the camera. His hair was glossy, obviously raven black. Although I had laughed at Tubby's mention of the waxed moustache, I felt no mirth as I gazed upon it in the picture. The small, carefully-groomed moustache just fitted the well-proportioned features above it.

"Well?" smiled Tubby after a few minutes. I felt my face flush.

"He's very handsome."

"Now, as woman, Anna, what impression do yer get of him?"

"I could fall for him if you hadn't already undermined his character."

"Exactly!" answered Tubby. "But what do yer think of mouth?"

I looked more closely.

"Thin-lipped. Doesn't quite fit the rest of him. One could say a cruel mouth."

"Splendid, old girl! Most women don't notice it, and Baron has silky voice, perfect manners to match. What about nephew?"

The Baron's nephew, Karl-Gustav, was almost the image of his uncle. A little younger when you made a close comparison, but with the same liquid gaze and glossy hair. His hair was styled rather differently from his uncle's, having a thick forelock over his forehead. He was clean-shaven, but the mouth was the same as the Baron's, that tell-tale slit which put me on my guard now that I had listened to Tubby.

Mr Stead glanced at his watch, replaced it in his pocket, and rose.

"Miss Weybridge, I must ask you to excuse me. I have an appointment to keep. I only hope that your friend Mr Holmes can do something about this - this hellish abuse that is desecrating the name of our city and our country. And I trust that Miss Alnford-Ross will be saved from the danger she is in. However, the Major will doubtless explain all that to you."

He bowed and left. Closing the door, I turned to Tubby.

"You say that Lucy Alnford-Ross is in danger from these two? How?"

Tubby shifted awkwardly in his seat.

"Ever met Lucy? No? Thought not. Holmes never talked of her? He knew her some years ago, when - er - friend of Joanna."

"I know about Mycroft and Joanna," I said guardedly. "Joanna told me once. That, oddly enough, was the beginning of our friendship."

"Bless my soul!" spluttered Tubby. "What you women talk about! Well, if yer know, yer know. Then yer may know Lucy unmarried. Late twenties. Despair of Stella and Joanna because bit of a free-thinker. Believes woman should lead man's life, that sort of thing."

"A man's life?"

Tubby obviously felt that he was getting into dangerous waters, for he was perspiring and blowing like a porpoise as he struggled for an explanation.

"Oh, you know. Chap leads free and easy life, out every night, visitin' mistress and so on. Wife expected stay at home sewin' or writin' letters."

I knew that Mycroft had led the sort of life Tubby meant, in which a man would go from one woman to another. I suspected he was beginning to do that with Lady Emmeline and me. Women, of course, were expected to live like nuns, but we were the ones who bore the children of incautious liaisons, as had already happened to me. I could feel my eyes pricking, and resolved not to think along those lines any further. 4

"Well, Lucy believes women should live like men. Like that play you and Holmes went to see - friend of yours in it. What the devil called?"

"I don't know. Tell me more about it."

"Mrs Pat! Friend of yours. Played woman with past. Damned peculiar name. Led a man's life."

"I think you mean The Second Mrs Tanqueray. Mrs Patrick Campbell played Paula Tanqueray." 5

"That's it! Holmes told me all about it. Led life of Riley but past caught up with her."

"Not quite as Pinero wrote it, Tubby, but I take your meaning. And that is the life Lucy leads?"

"So Holy Joe says - brother Sebastian, I mean. And his wife Stella. Eldest sister of Lucy."

"I've met Stella."

"Course yer have! Forgot. Mind you, old Holy Joe strict on morality, bein' a parson. Still, Lucy does lead pretty risqué life. Fellers flockin' round her. Seems to have bit of a reputation, from what I gather."

"Then this Baron Grüner will doubtless find her easy prey?"

Tubby pounded the arm of his chair with a fist.

"Absolutely right, old thing! You see it, I see it, we can all see it, but Lucy can't. Simply shuts it out of mind, what? But Grüner very dangerous chap. Collects women as some chaps collect butterflies. She's his next specimen, and she can't see it. But if not careful, he'll pin her to the cork and keep under glass. Libertine."

"Is she very attractive?"

"Absolutely stunnin', Anna. Puts Joanna and Stella in shade. Think of Ellen Terry when younger. Combine her and Mrs Pat and you get close to Lucy. Grüner bound to make play for her. Sort of trophy for him, don't yer see?"

"And that's all she would be to him? A trophy to show off?"

"Right, old girl. But once he tires of her -" He threw open his hands in a gesture of dismissal. "Flung aside like old coat, what? Moves onto another. God knows how many women he's ruined. Met one. Same line as yours - actress. Kitty Winter. Know her?"

I shook my head.

"Nice girl once, by all accounts. Still young, only about eighteen, nineteen. Humble background but beautiful, well-spoken. Fell into Grüner's clutches last year. Wouldn't listen to friends. Now - ruined by gin and depravity. Career, friends - gone! Shunned by all who knew her. Life of vice East End. Dreadful, dreadful. Yer will get word Holmes urgently, won't yer, Anna? Mustn't sit about here. Thanks for coffee. See meself out."

I sent a note to Mycroft telling him what I had learned, then took a cab to Lowndes Square, where the Winstanleys lived. Joanna was at home, and I tackled the subject of her younger sister. Her face became grave.

"She will go to the bad, Anna, mark my words, for she is the kind of girl who ruins good men. Even Sebastian cannot get her to change her wicked ways."

She produced a letter from her writing desk.

"This is the latest letter from Stella. See what Sebastian has added at the end."

I took the letter and read: "As a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman which is without discretion. Proverbs 11 xxii."

"That's rather strong stuff," I said, not knowing what else to say.

Joanna dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Sebastian believes that something will occur that will cause great grief to the whole family."

I told her everything that Tubby had told me, and the colour gradually left her face. She rose and paced the room.

"I had no idea things were so bad."

"I've told Mycroft," I said.

"Oh dear! Yes, I think you were right, but - oh, my dear Anna! Mycroft!"

To my surprise, Joanna sank down beside me and, flinging her arms about me, began to weep.

"It's all right," I said. "Mycroft will find a way to help your sister."

"Mycroft! You obviously don't know," she sobbed. "I don't know whether to tell you."

"What? Is it something about Mycroft?"

Her story gradually trickled out. When I left the Diogenes some years earlier to have Mycroft's child, he began an affair with Lucy. It lasted for eighteen months, even though he still visited me. And I had suspected nothing. Dazed, I listened to the rest of the story.

"I told him exactly what I thought of him, Anna. But he seemed besotted by her. It was mostly her doing, I know. She is so attractive to men. I gave her a piece of my mind but I wasted my time. She merely laughed in my face. I almost threw the fire irons at her, I was so angry. Yet she is my sister and I cannot let her ruin herself."

The news of Mycroft's infidelity left me unable even to think. I collapsed where I sat, and abandoned myself to grief, shock and self-pity. I was so affected that Joanna took me to a spare bedroom where I lay in utter misery until it grew dark and I had cried myself into exhaustion.

Joanna escorted me home, where Marie put me to bed and spent the next day, Sunday, fussing over me. She was dreadfully anxious about me, and, swearing her to secrecy, I told her about Mycroft and Lucy. She already knew about William, the little boy I had borne to Mycroft and who had died in infancy. I was too much drained to weep any further, but she went white.

"Mam'selle! Mam'selle! How dreadful! Oh, Mr 'Olmes! How could he do it? How could he treat you like that?"

She grew very angry, and pale became red. Glaring at a framed photograph of Mycroft, she swore lengthily at it in French. Eventually she calmed down.

"Please excuse me, mam'selle. I should not have said what I said. But now Mr 'Olmes is misbehaving with Lady Emmeline, no? Men! They want everything their own way, do they not?" 6

I decided to tell her what Tubby had told me of Baron Grüner. Marie was shocked again.

"You mean this Baron makes a career of ruining innocent girls? Mam'selle, I know what I would do with such a man."

She held up the large sewing scissors and snipped them with meaning.

"Lucy is hardly an innocent girl, Marie. Mrs Winstanley holds her responsible for what may happen to her."

"But mam'selle, is there no way that Miss Lucy can be saved from her own foolishness? Does not Mrs Winstanley have any scheme to put her sister back on the - what is it you say? - the garden path? The narrow path!"

"She is baffled by her sister, Marie. Miss Lucy seems to be a headstrong young lady. What are you smiling at?"

"Forgive me, mam'selle. I was thinking of the way you and Mrs Winstanley and I went to Ireland in defiance of Mr 'Olmes and everyone else. Surely you and Mrs Winstanley could put your heads together, mam'selle. If I was not so angry with Mr 'Olmes, I would suggest that you ask him for advice. But to my mind, he is almost as bad as the Baron."

I attended evensong at St James's to calm my feelings, but Marie had set me thinking. Next morning I set off to Lowndes Square. Before leaving the flat I glanced in the looking glass, and stood appalled. I looked like an old crone. My face was drained of colour, my eyes red-rimmed, my nose sharp like someone at the point of death.

"Pull yourself together, Weybridge!" I muttered. "You'll be old before your time and the Baron certainly wouldn't go out of his way to add you to his collection. Not that I want him to."

I repaired the damage with a little powder and rouge, and felt better when Joanna embraced me as I entered her parlour. We wasted no time in small talk.

"Joanna, we must do something ourselves. I could not countenance asking Mycroft to help us. What about Richard?"

"He's at Richmond," answered my friend, "visiting Lord Bywell. I'm sure he would help us if he knew the facts, but I've kept him in the dark because he's busy over some nonsense in South Africa. Henry will help all he can." 7

I thought of someone else. "I wonder if - "

"Yes?"

"If Lord Bywell would help? I know he's busy, being in the new Government, but he may be able to exert pressure on Lucy."

"Oh, she would ignore him, Anna. You don't know her."

"Could I meet her?"

"Why not? You'll have a better idea of the task we're facing. We'll call tomorrow. She lives alone in Adelaide Road, on the fringes of St John's Wood. And you know what sort of reputation that area has."

"I thought it was respectable."

"Supposedly so. But, my dear, I've heard of what's supposed to go on in some of those villas. Don't you know that dreadful man Swinburne was regularly whipped in a brothel in St John's Wood?" 8

I suppose many people knew about the poet Swinburne, but, as with Oscar Wilde, no-one talked openly about him. However, Joanna could speak pretty plainly when she had a mind to.

For the sake of the exercise I walked home. On my way I met an old acquaintance, Mr Stoker, business manager of the Lyceum Theatre. We chatted of old times, and I enquired after Sir Henry Irving, as he was by then, and how plans for the forthcoming American tour were going.

"Very well," said Mr Stoker. "Just now I'm visiting an angel in Adelaide Road."

I knew what he meant. An angel is anyone who financially backs a theatrical production.

"Oh?" I said. "I'm due to visit someone there shortly."

"You may know her," he continued. "A Miss Alnford-Ross."

"Why, I've just left her sister."

"She's a most attractive young lady. Could easily have gone on stage. Seems to move in the highest circles. Foreign aristocracy, that sort of thing. Actually," he confided, "she's given me an idea for a character in a novel I'm writing. It's got a foreign count as the villain who's not quite what he seems. But there's a cab. Excuse me, Miss Weybridge. Goodbye." 9

On the afternoon of Tuesday 30th Joanna and I took a cab to Adelaide Road. Lucy lived in one of a row of solid-looking, prosperous houses. I had already revealed her angelic intentions, to Joanna's amazement.

"Why, I didn't know she had that kind of money, Anna! You'll know better than I that money used to back theatrical productions is usually thrown away."

"Perhaps she got it from the Baron?"

"Oh, don't say that! The prospect is too horrible!"

The maid showed us into the drawing room where Lucy was already entertaining a gentleman visitor. Both Joanna and I paused uncertainly. The visitor was Baron Adelbert Grüner. We might have expected it, of course.

Lucy presented her sister, who in turn presented me. Baron Grüner bowed courteously over our hands. I noticed that he did an odd thing. Although he seemed to be right-handed - for he had certainly held his tea cup in his right - he used his left to take Joanna's hand, then mine as he bowed over them and kissed them in his foreign way.

Naturally Joanna and I presented our left hands, and even as I did so I realised why. He was quickly glancing at our ring fingers. Joanna's sported her wedding ring, but mine was unadorned. As the Baron raised his head he flashed a look into my eyes which made my blood run cold.

"Mrs Winstanley," he purred, "I'm charmed, madam, charmed. And Miss Weybridge, if you will pardon me for saying so, if a lady of your beauty remains unmarried it is surely due to an unusual independence of mind."

I was taken aback by his forwardness, but his manner as he said this was so obviously meant to be disarming that I could do little but glare at him. He immediately bowed again.

"Miss Weybridge. Forgive me. I had no intention of offending you. Please look on my words as a compliment."

I had to murmur polite exoneration, and Lucy bustled about with the tea things. As Joanna and I settled into our seats I had a chance to appraise Lucy. Without doubt she was the most beautiful of the three Alnford-Ross sisters. She took after the eldest, Stella, in looks, but was fairer in complexion with lovely auburn hair.

Although in her late twenties, she had the bloom of a girl of nineteen, and possessed a radiant charm which would bowl over any man exposed to it. She moved with a natural grace, like Joanna, and her slim figure was well served by the exquisite dress she wore. It was of a delicate cream silk and cut in the latest style. She made us look quite dowdy.

"I love your dress, Lucy," said Joanna. "I don't think I've seen it before."

Lucy smiled and blushed a little.

"A tribute to the Baron's taste, Joanna."

Joanna glanced at me in some alarm. The dress must have cost well over a hundred guineas. Marie would know. She knew all the latest fashions and where they came from. I had a good idea myself.

"Paris, Baron?"

He smirked in a self-satisfied way.

"You obviously recognise the creations of Monsieur Worth when you see them, Miss Weybridge. When a country produces such lovely women as England does, it is a pity that they have to go to Paris to dress well."

"I gather," said Joanna, "that you have become an angel, Lucy."

Lucy laughed. "Yes, the Baron is taking care of that for me."

She changed the topic and the afternoon visit passed in trivialities. Whenever we tried to probe further into the matters of buying clothes, or giving financial support to theatrical productions, either Lucy or the Baron would perform a skilful evasion. When we left we were none the wiser.

"He's keeping her," said Joanna between her teeth as we walked along Adelaide Road in search of a cab or an Atlas omnibus.

"It looks like it. That dress!"

"And the theatre money. All his, Anna. The price she's making him pay, I suppose. Oh, the little fool! I could shake her, I really could."

We found a hansom and set off for Lowndes Square.

"What do you suppose is his next move?" asked Joanna.

"I don't know. What do men like him do? It can't be anything as crude as chloroforming her and shipping her abroad in a box. Surely things like that don't happen, even with white slavers."

"He'll probably go for her money before he does anything else," said Joanna. "This buying of dresses and so on is his way of getting her confidence."

"Offer of marriage, perhaps? Then a honeymoon abroad."

"And lock her away or worse. Possibly, Anna. Oh, we do need help with this. We can't go any further on our own."

"I'll have to swallow my pride and see Mycroft," I said.

"No! Sherlock!" said Joanna. She rapped on the cab roof with her parasol. "221B Baker Street, please. And go as fast as you can!"

"Right, mum!"

The cabby whipped up his horse and we flew. We thundered along Lisson Grove, almost running down foot passengers and avoiding other vehicles by a whisker, the bell tinkling in a fury.

It was one of Mycroft's regular cabbies, I realised, as we took the corner of Marylebone Road on one wheel and dashed for Baker Street. We spent the journey shrieking and clinging to each other.

On alighting, we paused for a few minutes outside 221B to recover our breath and calm our nerves. We were both unsteady on our feet, and swayed a little before heading for the door. Mrs Hudson opened it just as Joanna wrenched determinedly at the bell pull.

"This way, ladies. Mr Holmes is expecting you."

"He's showing off again," I whispered to Joanna as we went upstairs. "Probably saw us as we paid off the cab."

"Do come in, ladies," said Sherlock affably. "I am glad that Mrs Hudson saved me a broken bell wire."

Joanna and I looked in bewilderment at each other. Sherlock smiled, and Watson chuckled.

Sherlock looked at me keenly.

"It isn't you, I hope, Miss Weybridge?"

"No," replied Joanna.

My God! I thought. He knows something about Mycroft.

Joanna told him what we knew about her sister and Baron Grüner. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he whistled.

"Watson, would you mind reaching down my crime index? G. Thank you. Now, let me see. Ah! Here we are. Grüner, Baron Adelbert. Yes."

He read silently for a few moments then closed the volume and looked gravely at both of us.

"My dear ladies, you are right to come to me in that I can give you a good deal of information about this dangerous man."

"Dangerous!" cried Joanna. "We know that! What can you do to help us?"

Sherlock raised a hand.

"Information is all I can give you. Tomorrow, Watson and I sail for Norway, in connection with the tidying up of a case I have just concluded."

He nodded at a huge barbed spear that was propped against the wall.

"The case of Black Peter - Captain Peter Carey - has occupied me for the greater part of this month. As I shall be unable to help you actively in this most promising case, you had best see Mycroft. Before you do that you may wish to take note of the following." 10

He opened his crime index again and read out the details on Baron Grüner.

"Grüner, Baron Adelbert. Born 1860, Austria. Education - h'm. Not important. But this is. Married 1885. Suspected of murder at Prague 1888, but acquitted on technical legal point following suspicious death of witness. Wife died 1890 in apparent accident at Splügen Pass, Italian - Swiss frontier."

He closed his book.

"He chooses the sites of his crimes well. The death of his wife occurred precisely on the line of the frontier, which hampered the authorities so that the case was lost in the legal wrangling."

"How did she die?"

"A fall, Mrs Winstanley. Assisted by him, naturally, although nothing was proven. Now do you see why he is dangerous? It is absolutely vital that you seek help from Mycroft, or I fear that Lucy will become his next wife. I know nothing of this nephew of his, but he's probably as deeply involved as his uncle. One word of warning I will give you. That business of inspecting your ring fingers. I don't like it. Beware! Especially you, Miss Weybridge, for even taking Lucy as his wife would not stop his other amorous activities."

Sherlock gave us much to think about on our journey home. As our cab reached Piccadilly, before the driver could turn right for Lowndes Square, Joanna directed him to the Diogenes Club in Pall Mall.

"I'm going to talk to Mycroft, Anna. Don't come if you'd rather not, but we need his brains behind us."

She was right, and the pair of us badgered Harris at his desk in the lobby of the Diogenes Club. I was not looking forward to meeting Mycroft, for I did not know how I would act towards him.

"It's a bit irregular, ladies visiting. I'll have to see Mr Dinwoodie," said Harris. "If you'd care to wait here."

He waddled into the hall. Eventually old Dinwoodie appeared and, with much quavering and doddering, showed us into the Strangers' Room.

"They have very few lady visitors," I said, as we sat in the sumptuous armchairs. "None of the members is married, of course."

"It's a very nice room, in a masculine way, but I can't imagine ladies wanting to come here," said Joanna, then suddenly stopped herself. "Well, that is - "

"I know," I replied. "I passed eight years here without being found out because they couldn't imagine a woman living here as a man. That's probably why they never recognise me when they see me now."

"They're taking their time," said Joanna, tapping her foot.

"Dinwoodie will take at least a quarter of an hour to get to Mycroft. He must be nearly eighty-three now, you know."

By the time that Mycroft appeared, Joanna's temper was badly frayed. I could tell from the two spots of colour on her cheeks and the way in which she repeatedly patted her hair. So could Mycroft, for he was all conciliation and apology.

Joanna brushed aside the apologies. For my own part, I remained silent. I could not bring myself to speak to him, so I spent the first part of the interview mostly staring at the carpet and rotating the point of my parasol on the floor.

I did glance at Mycroft as he settled back into his chair with his hands folded across his stomach and his eyes closed, listening as Joanna told him our fears for Lucy. There was not as much as the flicker of an eyelid from him as Lucy's name was mentioned. This was even though he had slept with all three of us and knew that Joanna, at least, was aware of his affair with her sister.

I determined that before long he should know that I also knew. I sat silently looking at the floor as Joanna repeated the description of the Baron from Sherlock's crime index.

"This man is planning murder," said Mycroft as Joanna finished. I looked up startled and met Joanna's equally startled gaze.

"Yes," continued Mycroft, "you may well be surprised. Yet I can see no other reason for his interest in Lucy."