“His musical interlude was, I will admit, remarkably effective,” he remarked over his shoulder. “I had not anticipated quite such a number of opponents, lying in wait for us.”

“Nor I. Holmes, where have you been?”

“First Wick, then Amsterdam,” he said succinctly.

“Yes, Billy told me you were there, although he did not know why. Rather a long detour to London, was it not?”

“Damian was more comfortable when we ran before the wind.”

“Is he all right?”

“His shoulder is healing. I left him in the tender hands of a lady doctor.”

“You found a lady doctor in Amsterdam?”

“We abducted one from Wick.”

“Abducted? Oh, Holmes, do you think-”

“Needs must, Russell. Can you climb in that frock?”

I sighed. “Needs must, Holmes.”

The external ladder led to a flat above the bookshop, which by all evidence belonged to the bookseller himself. Holmes moved to the gas ring and put on a kettle, tossing my way a few details of the trip he and Damian had made, along with this doctor lady.

When I had unearthed a chair from a dozen ancient volumes and settled with my cup of tea, I returned to my question.

“When I asked where you were, I meant more recently. I expected to see you at the bolt-hole.”

“Life became rather more complex than I had anticipated.”

“You went down to Southwark,” I suggested.

“Either they are good or I am getting old, because I nearly handed myself to them twice.”

“If they got the better of Billy in his own home ground, they know what they’re doing.”

“And you?” he said. “Any problems on the way down from Scotland?”

“Ah. Goodman didn’t give you the letter?”

“Goodman is your blond friend? No, I received no letter.”

Of course not: Even I had needed a moment to see behind the priest’s disguise. I took another revivifying swallow of tea and began my report on the past eight days. Thirty seconds in, he interrupted.

“Brothers is alive?”

“The book, Holmes. Brothers had his death journal with him, probably in his breast pocket where the bullet hit. I thought it odd that the Orcadian police seemed only marginally interested in the site, but Lestrade confirmed it when I went to his house this morning-news had reached him of a fire and loud noise like a gunshot, but since there was no body, that was all he’d heard.”

“That does rather change things.”

“But I can’t see-” I jolted to a halt: I had not seen Holmes since Mycroft’s death, and his brief description of the week’s activities had skipped over that central event. I put down my cup and laid my hand over his. “I’m so sorry, Holmes. I read of it in The Times, on Wednesday. It was… couldn’t believe it.”

“Nor could I,” he said flatly. “And I’ve now wasted a week.”

“Holmes, I can’t see any relation between Brothers alive and Mycroft…”

“Dead? Brothers had help from within the government, either directly or purchased for him by others. I was operating under the theory that he came here under the auspices of a Shanghai crime cartel, who then lost control over him at the same time he lost control of his reason. If he is alive, it throws another light on our target, but in either case, we are facing a group with considerable resources: men in Holland and in Harwich, an insider in the passport office, twelve men this afternoon. Mycr-”

“A sharpshooter in Thurso,” I added to his list.

He raised an eyebrow, and fell silent. I told him all: Javitz; aeroplane; sniper; crash; wild man of the woods; telegrams and newspaper notices; five armed invaders, two of whom had been at the cemetery this afternoon; our trip to London; Javitz and Estelle. I told him what I had found in the apartment of the absent Richard Sosa, and what I had uncovered in Mycroft’s flat: a note from Lestrade; sixteen documents that could change the world; a key; and one letter with an anomalous capital I.

“Sophy Melas,” he said, when I told him the last.

“You know her? I mean to say, you know her from before, but recently?”

“We’ve met. And I knew that Mycroft had continued dealings with her, after she returned to this country. That was she at the funeral, in the veil.”

“The only one in tears,” I said. Then, distracted from my train of thought, I asked, “I saw the Prime Minister there, but who was the grey-haired man with the entourage?”

He gave the name of a high-ranking but painfully introverted Royal, commenting that Mycroft had assisted the man some years before. Other mourners had included Sinclair, head of the SIS, and Vernon Kell, the man in charge of the domestic Secret Service. Not, apparently, Peter James West, nor Richard Sosa.

“And of course Lestrade was there,” I added.

“You went to his house, you say?”

“I let myself in during the wee hours, and found him waiting.”

“I imagine he was well pleased.”

“Well, I didn’t want to wake his family. And he ought to have a better latch.”

“Did his note alone lead you to believe a visit to his house would not be a trap?”

“It didn’t strike me as his kind of ruse. Besides which,” I added, “it was three in the morning and I’m a lot quicker than he is. I thought it a reasonable risk.”

“As, too, breaking into Richard Sosa’s flat.”

“The only indication that I was there was a small ivory carving I knocked to the floor when I moved the curtains. I put it back, but I can’t be sure I had the precise place. If there was one-Sosa seemed an odd mixture of great caution with slips of carelessness.”

“Which might make one wonder, were not most criminals apprehended because of a moment’s carelessness.”

“So, Holmes. What next?”

“This pilot of yours: Will he keep the child-will he keep Estelle safe for another day or two?” I was glad he’d finally come around to his granddaughter.

“Captain Javitz is a determined and honourable man, and he and Estelle get along like a house afire. And he’s a bit embarrassed at one or two recent displays of weakness, which means he’ll be scrupulous about guarding her. As for Goodman, I’m not sure what he’ll do. The last I saw of him-other than at the head of that awful band-was at the bolt-hole this morning. He’s like a jack-in-the-box, always popping in and out. Later I saw that he’d taken the letter I’d written to you, giving details about this past week-I thought I should set it all down in case Lestrade decided to arrest me. I put the Sussex address on the front, and stamps. I hope he remembers to put it into the post.” And to seal it first.

“You have doubts?”

“It is beyond me to predict what the man will do. He’s an extraordinary creature, like something from another world.” Time enough later to tell him what I knew of the man’s history. “Perhaps we’d best go back to Baker Street, just to be sure. I’ll need a change of clothes, in any case; it might as well be from there.”

“A man who cannot be trusted to post a letter is someone you trusted with the bolt-hole?” He did not sound angry, merely curious.

I could not explain my confidence in this odd man, not even to myself.

“I had to do something with him, Holmes. Billy was out of the equation, most of our friends are known, Mycroft’s flat felt exposed, and I didn’t want to risk an hotel. When you meet him, you can decide if I’ve compromised the place too badly.” And you have five other bolt-holes, I thought but did not say.

“Very well, let us go now. There will be rough garments there, I believe.” He picked up the tea-pot and cups, returning them to the sink.

“Rough?” I repeated to his back. I did not care for the sound of that word. “Why do we need rough garments, Holmes?”

He turned in surprise. “Oh, if you wish to retain the frock, by all means, do so, Russell. I merely assumed you would prefer more practical garb for the purpose of grave-digging.”