The House Of Silk

is precisely the reason why I warned Sherlock to stay away. If there is something, a fellowship or a society, at the heart of government which is being kept from me, and which is so secret that even to mention its name has me summoned instantly to certain offices in Whitehall, then my instinct is to turn and look the other way, not to place damn fool advertisements in the national press! I told my brother as much as I could … indeed more, perhaps, than I should have.’
    ‘So what will happen? Will you allow him to stand trial?’
    ‘What I allow or do not allow has nothing to do with the matter. I fear you place too high a value on my influence.’ Mycroft produced a tortoiseshell box from his waistcoat pocket and took a pinch of snuff. ‘I can be his advocate; no more and no less. I can speak on his behalf. If it really becomes necessary, I will appear as a character witness.’ I must have looked disappointed, for Mycroft put the snuff away, rose to his feet and came over to me. ‘Do not be disheartened, Dr Watson,’ he counselled. ‘My brother is a man of considerable resource and even in this, his darkest hour, he may yet surprise you.’
    ‘Will you visit him?’ I asked.
    ‘I think not. Such a thing would embarrass him and inconvenience me to no discernible advantage. But you must tell him that you have consulted me and that I am doing what I can.’
    ‘They will not let me see him.’
    ‘Re-apply tomorrow. Eventually, they must let you in. They have no reason not to.’ He walked with me to the door. ‘My brother is very fortunate to have a staunch ally as well as such a fine chronicler,’ he remarked.
    ‘I hope I have not written his last adventure.’
    ‘Goodbye, Dr Watson. It would upset me to have to be discourteous to you, so I would be obliged if you did not communicate with me again except, of course, in the most urgent circumstances. I wish you a good evening.’
    It was with a heavy heart that I returned to Baker Street, for Mycroft had been even less helpful than I had hoped and I wondered what circumstances he could have been referring to if these were not urgent already. At least he might have gained me admittance to Holloway so the journey had not entirely been wasted but I had a headache, my arm and shoulder were throbbing and I knew that I was close to exhausting my strength. However, my day was not over yet. As I left my cab and walked over to the front door I knew so well, I found my path blocked by a short, solid man with black hair and black coat who loomed at me out of the pavement.
    ‘Dr Watson?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes?’
    I was anxious to be on my way but the little man had imposed himself in front of me. ‘I wonder if I might ask you, doctor, to come with me?’
    ‘On what business?’
    ‘On a matter that relates to your friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes. What other business could there be?’
    I examined him more closely and what I saw did not encourage me. To look at, I would have taken him for a tradesman, perhaps a tailor or even an undertaker, for there was something almost studiously mournful about his face. He had heavy eyebrows and a moustache that drooped over his upper lip. He was also wearing black gloves and a black bowler hat. From the way he was standing, poised on the balls of his feet, I expected him to whip out a tape measure at any moment. But to measure me for what? A new suit or a coffin?
    ‘What do you know of Holmes?’ I asked. ‘What information do you have that you cannot tell me here?’
    ‘I have no information at all, Dr Watson. I am merely the agent, the very humble servant, of one who does, and it is this person who has sent me here to request you to join him.’
    ‘To join him where? Who is he?’
    ‘I regret that I am not at liberty to say.’
    ‘Then I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. I am in no mood to go out again tonight.’
    ‘You do not understand, sir. The gentleman for whom I work is not inviting your presence. He is demanding it. And although it pains me, I have to tell you that he is not used to being denied. In fact, that would be a horrible mistake. Could I ask you to look down, sir? There! Do not start. You are quite safe, I assure you. Now, if you would be kind enough to come this way …’
    I had stepped back in astonishment for, on doing as he had asked, I had seen that he was holding a revolver, aimed at my stomach. Whether he had produced it while we talked, or whether he had been holding it all the time, I could