The House Of Silk

this very senior level have a way of saying a lot whilst giving away very little and this particular gentleman managed to impress upon me what I am now trying to tell you. You must leave it alone! The death of a street child, as tragic as it may be, is completely insignificant when set against the wider picture. Whatever the House of Silk is, it is a matter of national importance. The government is aware of it and is dealing with it and you have no idea of the damage you may do and the scandal you may cause if you continue to be involved. Do you understand me?’
    ‘You could not have been more lucid.’
    ‘And will you heed what I have said?’
    Holmes reached for a cigarette. He held it for a moment as if wondering whether to light it. ‘I cannot promise that,’ he said. ‘While I feel myself responsible for the death of the child, I owe it to him to do all I can to bring his killer – or killers – to justice. His task was simply to watch over a man in a hotel. But if this inadvertently drew him into some wider conspiracy, then I fear I have no choice but to pursue the matter.’
    ‘I thought you might say that, Sherlock, and I suppose your words do you credit. But let me add this.’ Mycroft got to his feet. He was anxious to be on his way. ‘If you do ignore my advice and go ahead with this investigation, and if it does lead you into peril, which I believe it may, you cannot come back to me for there will be nothing I can do to help you. The very fact that I have exposed myself by asking questions on your behalf means that my hands are now tied. At the same time, I urge you once more to think again. This is not one of your petty puzzles of the police court. If you upset the wrong people, it could be the end of your career … and worse.’
    There was nothing more to be said. Both brothers recognised it. Mycroft bowed slightly and left. Holmes leant over the gasogene and lit his cigarette. ‘Well, Watson,’ he exclaimed. ‘What do you make of that?’
    ‘I very much hope you will consider what Mycroft had to say,’ I ventured.
    ‘I have already considered it.’
    ‘I rather feared as much.’
    Holmes laughed. ‘You know me too well, my boy. And now I must leave you. I have an errand to run and must hurry if I am to make the evening editions.’
    He rushed out, leaving me alone with my misgivings. At lunchtime he returned but did not eat, a sure sign that he was engaged upon some stimulating line of enquiry. I had seen him so often like this before. He put me in mind of a foxhound, running upon breast-high scent, for just as an animal will devote its entire being to one activity, so could he allow events to absorb him to the extent that even the most basic human needs – food, water, sleep – could be set aside. The arrival of the evening newspaper showed me what he had done. He had placed an advertisement in the personal columns.

£20 REWARD – Information relating to The House of Silk. To be treated in the strictest confidence. Apply 221B Baker Street.

    ‘Holmes!’ I exclaimed. ‘You have done the very opposite of what your brother suggested. If you were going to pursue your investigation, and I can understand your desire to do so, you could at least have proceeded with discretion.’
    ‘Discretion will not help us, Watson. It is time to seize the initiative. Mycroft inhabits a world of whispering men in darkened rooms. Well, let us see how they react to a little provocation.’
    ‘You believe you will receive an answer?’
    ‘Time will tell. But we have at least set our calling card on this affair, and even if nothing comes of it, no harm has been done.’
    Those were his words. But Holmes had no idea of the type of people with whom he was dealing nor the lengths to which they would go to protect themselves. He had entered a veritable miasma of evil, and harm, in the worst possible way, was to come to us all too soon.

TEN
Bluegate Fields

    ‘Ha, Watson! It would appear that our bait, cast though it was over unknown waters, may have brought in a catch!’
    So spoke Holmes a few mornings later, standing at our bow window in his dressing gown, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. I joined him at once and looked down into Baker Street, at the crowds passing on either side.
    ‘Who do you mean?’ I asked.
    ‘Do you not see him?’
    ‘I see a great many people.’
    ‘Yes. But in this cold weather very few of them wish to linger. There is one man, however, who is doing precisely