The House Of Silk

not say, but it was as if he had performed some unpleasant magic trick and the weapon had suddenly materialised. He was certainly comfortable with it. The person who has never fired a revolver holds it in a certain way, as does the man who has used one many times. I could easily tell to which category my assailant belonged.
    ‘You will not shoot me in the middle of the street,’ I said.
    ‘On the contrary, Dr Watson, I am instructed to do exactly that should you choose to make difficulties for me. But let us be frank with each other. I do not wish to kill you any more than you, I am sure, wish to die. It may help you to know – and I give you my solemn word on this – that we mean you no harm, although I suppose it may not seem that way at the moment. Even so, after a while, all will be explained and you will understand why these precautions are necessary.’
    He had an extraordinary manner of speaking, both obsequious and extremely threatening. He gestured with the gun and I observed a black carriage standing by with two horses and a coachman in place. It was a four-wheeler with windows of frosted glass, and I wondered if the man who had demanded to meet me was sitting inside. I walked over and opened the door. The interior was empty, the fittings elegant and of rich quality. ‘How far are we travelling?’ I asked. ‘My landlady is expecting me for dinner.’
    ‘You’ll get a better dinner where we’re going. And the sooner you get in, the sooner we can be on our way.’
    Would he have really shot me down outside my own home? I quite believed he would. He had an implacable quality. At the same time, were I to climb into this carriage, I might be carried away and never seen again. Suppose he had been sent by the same people who had killed both Ross and his sister and who had dealt so cunningly with Holmes? I noticed that the walls of the carriage were lined with silk – not white, but pearl grey. At the same time, I reminded myself, the man had said that he represented someone with information. Whichever way I looked at it, it seemed to me I had no choice. I climbed in. The man followed me and closed the door whereupon I saw that I had certainly been foolish in one respect. I had assumed that the opaque glass had been placed there to prevent me looking in when, obviously, it was actually there to stop me looking out.
    The man had climbed in opposite me and at once the horses were whipped up and we set off. All I could see was the passing glow of the gas lamps and even those fell away once we left the city, travelling, I would have said, north. A blanket had been placed on the seat for me and I drew it over my knees for, like every other December night, it had become very cold. My companion said nothing and seemed to have fallen asleep, his head rolling forward and the gun resting loosely in his lap. But when, after about an hour, I reached out to open the window, wondering if I might see something in the landscape that would tell me where I was, he jerked up and shook his head as if chiding a naughty schoolboy. ‘Really, Dr Watson, I would have expected better of you. My master has taken great pains to keep his address from you. He is a man of a very retiring nature. I would ask you to keep your hands to yourself and the windows closed.’
    ‘For how long are we going to travel?’
    ‘For as long as it takes.’
    ‘Do you have a name?’
    ‘I do indeed, sir. But I fear that I am not at liberty to reveal it to you.’
    ‘And what can you tell me of the man who employs you?’
    ‘I could talk my way to the North Pole on that subject, sir. He is a remarkable person. But he would not appreciate it. All in all, the less said the better.’
    The journey was almost unendurable to me. My watch showed me that it lasted two hours, but there was nothing to tell me in which direction we were going nor how far, as it had occurred to me that we might well be going round and round in circles and our destination could in fact have been very close. Once or twice the carriage changed direction and I felt myself swinging to the side. Most of the time, the wheels seemed to be turning over smooth asphalt but occasionally there would be a rattle and I would feel that we had passed onto a paved causeway. At one point I heard a steam train passing above us. We must be under a bridge. Otherwise, I felt swallowed up by the darkness that surrounded me and finally dozed off, for the next thing I knew we had come to a