The House Of Silk

was entirely mine. I can assure you that the Society for the Improvement of London’s Children and the family of our benefactor, Sir Crispin Ogilvy who, as I told you, paid for the purchase of Chorley Grange, have no knowledge of what we have been doing and would, I am sure, be as dismayed as you. I have no need to protect them. I am merely telling you the truth.’
    ‘It was you who ordered the killing of Ross?’
    ‘I will confess to it, yes. I am not proud of it, Mr Holmes, but it was necessary to ensure my own safety and the continuation of this enterprise. I am not confessing to the murder itself, you understand. That was carried out by Henderson and Bratby. And it might be as well to add that you would be deluding yourself if you thought of Ross as some innocent, a little angel who fell into bad ways. Mrs Fitzsimmons was right. He was a nasty piece of work and brought his end entirely upon himself.’
    ‘I believe you have been keeping a photographic record of some of your clients.’
    ‘You have been into the blue room?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘It has been necessary from time to time.’
    ‘I assume your purpose was blackmail.’
    ‘Blackmail, occasionally, and only when absolutely necessary, for it will not surprise you to learn that I have made a considerable amount of money from the House of Silk and had no particular need for any other form of revenue. No, no, no, it was more to do with self-protection, Mr Holmes. How do you think I was able to persuade Dr Ackland and Lord Horace Blackwater to appear in a public court? It was an act of self-preservation on their part. And it is for this very same reason that I can tell you now that my wife and I will never stand trial in this country. We know too many secrets about too many people, some of whom are in the very highest positions, and we have the evidence carefully tucked away. The gentlemen whom you found here tonight were but a small selection of my grateful clients. We have ministers and judges, lawyers and lords. More than that, I could name one member of the noblest family in the country who has been a frequent visitor here, but of course he relies on my discretion, just as I can rely on his protection should the need arise. You take my point, Mr Holmes? They will never allow you to bring this matter to light. Six months from now my wife and I will be free and, quietly, we will begin again. Perhaps it will be necessary to look to the continent. I have always had a certain penchant for the south of France. But wherever and whenever, the House of Silk will re-emerge. You have my word on it.’
    Holmes said nothing. He stood up and together he and I left the room. He did not mention Fitzsimmons again that night and nor did he have anything further to say on the subject the following morning. But by then, we were busy again, for the entire adventure had of course begun at Wimbledon and it was to there that we now returned.

TWENTY
Keelan O’Donaghue

    The snowfall of the night before had tranformed Ridgeway Hall in a way that was quite startling, accentuating its symmetry and rendering it somehow timeless. I had thought it handsome on both occasions that I had visited, but as I approached it for the last time, in the company of Sherlock Holmes, I thought it as perfect as the miniature houses one might see behind the window of a toy shop and it almost felt like an act of vandalism to scour the white driveway with our carriage wheels.
    It was early in the afternoon of the following day and I must confess that, had I been given a chance, I would have postponed this visit at least for another twenty-four hours, for I was exhausted from the night before and my arm, where I had been struck, was aching to the extent that I could barely close the fingers of my left hand. I had passed a wretched night, desperate to fall asleep in order to put out of my mind everything I had seen at Chorley Grange, yet unable to do so precisely because it was still so fresh in my memory. I had come to the breakfast table and had been irked to see Holmes, quite fresh, restored in every way to his old self, greeting me in that clipped, precise way of his as if nothing untoward had occurred. It was he who had insisted on this visit, having already sent a wire to Edmund Carstairs before I had risen. I remembered our meeting at The Bag of Nails when I had described what had befallen the family, and Eliza Carstairs in particular. He was as concerned now as he had been then and clearly