prior to his unannounced departure, allegedly seeking out Jack the Ripper and further constructing his case. It has been noted by specialists that, in the interim since Mr. Holmes met with highly debilitating injuries on the night of the horrifying double murder, no further crimes have taken place, although such strong negative evidence can hardly be considered conclusive proof against so public a figure as Mr. Holmes. Nevertheless, it seems the clear duty of the Yard to ascertain the unorthodox vigilante’s whereabouts as quickly as possible, for the timing of his desertion appears from certain viewpoints to be an admission of the most damning variety.
Holmes whistled appreciatively. I recall a mad desire to use the paper as kindling to burn down its author’s residence.
“I’ve arranged to be kept well apprised of the cur’s pet projects, you see,” Vandervent continued. “This gem has no doubt already gone to the printer’s. I thought to be forewarned is better than nothing.”
“I shall have to take care not to end up in the dock at this rate.”
“The nerve of the scoundrel!” I fumed. “It is no worse than I expected, but it is hardly less vexing for that.”
Vandervent’s brows shot up in surprise. “You have been expecting another attack from this bounder?”
“Dr. Watson and I thought it highly improbable that Tavistock would cease his efforts once he had discovered so very fertile a ground for self-expression,” Holmes explained.
“Ha,” said Vandervent, skeptically. “Well, I have no doubt but that the pure venom of this beauty is due in large part to that caper pulled in his office Saturday night.”
“How extraordinary. And what caper might that be?” the detective asked serenely.
“Surely you’ve heard by now. Chaps ought to be given a knighthood, for my money. Broke untraceably into Tavistock’s office under cover of darkness and left a hailstorm of snowy white chicken feathers. The source of the feathers, a scrawny plucked little fellow, was found sitting in Tavistock’s desk chair presiding over his foul projects.”
A peal of laughter from Holmes caused me very quickly to examine the state of my shoes as he clapped me upon the shoulder. “So he has been shown the white feather. I shall make a point of thanking the culprit. That is, of course, if his identity is ever discovered.”
“Well, as we’re all plagued with troubles, I shan’t take any more of your time,” Vandervent dismissed us. “If you require any special assistance escaping the building, do let me know. There’s nothing those jackals outside would like better than to sink their teeth into Sherlock Holmes an hour or two before his incarceration. Just mention the word
Tavistock’s article blazed forth from the front page of our
“I must leave you for a time, Watson, but I beg that you will be here this evening,” he said after coffee, toast, and his morning pipe. “I’d planned we should visit Lestrade at the Yard tonight, but upon further reflection it seems best to avoid tempting them with my actual presence upon their threshold. The inspector will be here by eight, and we shall see what can be done.”
“I am very glad of it. We have been bullied by a shadow for far too long.”
“He is flesh and blood enough. I assure you, Watson, I don’t mean to hold you in suspense, but I’ve had to be very sure of my facts. Tonight I shall make everything as clear as I can.”
“I will be here.”
“You’ve been both constant and fearless over this wretched business, my dear Watson. It makes you quite invaluable, you know.” I raised my eyes to attempt a response to this unprecedented display of esteem, but he had already risen abruptly and secured his hat. “Tell Mrs. Hudson there will be five for supper. If I am not back by eight, I will have no doubt been arrested. In that case, of course, there will be four.”
As I glanced at my watch for the second time to assure myself it was only a quarter to eight, I heard the clatter of four hooves below our window. Energized by the tension of long-stifled curiosity, I threw open the sitting room door long before our bell rang, and I smiled at the sight of Miss Monk and Stephen Dunlevy climbing the stairs.
When I had ushered them in, I noted that Miss Monk, under her usual dark blue fitted coat, wore a simply tailored linsey* dress of deep beige, narrowly striped with a vivid emerald green the shade of her wide-set eyes.
“Miss Monk, you look lovely.”
“Oh. It’s warmer, over the old skirt. I mean—thank you.”
“He’s right, you know,” Dunlevy observed innocently.
“I believe as I recall your saying so. In the growler. Or was it outside my lodgings? Both, I think.”
“The point bore repeating.” He shrugged cheerily.
“Where’s Mr. Holmes?” Miss Monk inquired.
“He’s due to return at any moment. Ah, Lestrade! Come in, Inspector.”
The doughty Lestrade stood in our doorway as if he had all that week been pursued by rabid dogs and had only just taken the time to change his collar. He shook my hand and nodded to our guests.
“Miss Monk, was it? I’m not likely to forget a single moment of that night. And you are, sir?”
“Mr. Dunlevy is a journalist,” I explained.
“Is he indeed?” Lestrade questioned, with a cold eye.
“He has been assisting us. He was in Whitechapel the night of Martha Tabram’s murder in August.”
“Martha Tabram! It’s a wonder Mr. Holmes doesn’t start investigating the Drebber* case again, for all it has to do with Jack the Ripper. I suppose he’ll be here soon?”
“I certainly hope so,” I replied.
As if by magic Sherlock Holmes flung open the door and hung his hat on the peg. “Good evening to you all! I see that Mrs. Hudson has outdone herself. Please do sit down.”
“Here’s the author of this charming note: ‘Whatever you are doing, cease by seven thirty so as to be at Baker Street by eight,’” the inspector pronounced.
“Lestrade, you look very much in need of a drink.”
“Mr. Holmes,” said Inspector Lestrade impatiently, “I’ve no doubt that whatever you have to say to us is of great importance, but I’ve enough work at the Yard to keep me there all night through as it is. Apart from the heightened patrols, we have the honour of keeping the peace at the Lord Mayor’s Show on Friday. From Guildhall to the Courts of Justice and back again, we are expected to maintain order, prevent demonstration, and repress rioting, all while policing a meat tea for three thousand destitute in the heart of Whitechapel. Suffice it to say that neither of us should be here. We ought by rights to be at the Yard, with me outside the bars and you behind them.”
“Shall we have a bite of supper, then, or shall I begin at once?”
“At once, if you would.” Lestrade seated himself with an expectant air and we all followed suit excepting Holmes, who procured his pipe from the mantelpiece and then leaned against the sideboard as he lit it.
“Very well, then. In the first place, Lestrade, you are going to have to redraw the beats in the northwest corner of Whitechapel abutting Spitalfields, to be implemented tomorrow.”
“Do not toy with me.”
“I am deadly serious.”
“But why?”
“Because the man who calls himself Jack the Ripper is intimately acquainted with them—their exact layout, the constables posted, and the time required for each circuit.”
“That is the most preposterous statement I have ever heard you pronounce.”
“How many other preposterous statements have you known me to make?”
“A great many.”
“And how many of them were true?”
“I’ve no intention of redrawing the beats simply because you imagine someone has stolen the duty roster.”
“He had no need of stealing the duty roster. The person of whom I speak is a Metropolitan police officer.”
A terrible silence settled over the room. Holmes sighed heavily. “Will you pour the inspector a drink, Watson?
