The House Of Silk

used for musical recitals and in this, at least, he must have been telling the truth for there were several coaches parked outside and I could hear piano music coming from within.
    We took up our positions behind a clump of trees where we could remain unobserved. It was half past eight and it had begun to snow, fat white feathers falling out of the night sky. The ground was already white and it was markedly colder up here, at the brow of the hill, than it had been in the city. I was in considerable pain from the blow that had been inflicted on me at the fair, my entire arm throbbing and my old wound twitching in sympathy, and I feared I might have the beginnings of a fever. But I was determined to show none of it. I had come this far and I would see it through to the end. Holmes was waiting for something and I had infinite faith in his judgement, even if we had to stand here all night.
    Lestrade must have been aware of my discomfort for he nudged me and handed me a silver hip flask. I raised it to my lips and took a sip of brandy before handing it back to the little detective. He wiped it on his sleeve, drank some himself and put it away.
    ‘What’s the plan, Mr Holmes?’ he asked.
    ‘If you want to catch these people red-handed, Lestrade, then we must learn how to enter without raising the alarm.’
    ‘We’re going to break into a concert?’
    ‘It is not a concert.’
    I heard the soft rattle of yet another approaching carriage and turned to see a brougham pulled by a pair of fine, grey mares. The driver was whipping them on, for the hill was steep and the ground underfoot already treacherous, mud and snow causing the wheels to slip. I glanced at Holmes. There was a look in his face quite different from any that I had seen before. I would describe it as a sort of cold satisfaction, a sense that he had been proven right and that now, at last, he could seek vengeance. His eyes were bright but the bones in his cheek drew dark lines below them and I thought not even the angel of death would appear quite so menacing when finally we met.
    ‘Do you see, Watson?’ he whispered.
    Concealed behind the trees, we could not be seen but at the same time we had an uninterrupted view both of the school building and of the lane as it ran in both directions. Holmes pointed and, in the moonlight, I saw a symbol painted in gold on the side of the brougham; a raven and two keys. It was the family crest of Lord Ravenshaw and I remembered the arrogant man with the swollen eyes whose watch had been stolen and whom we had met in Gloucestershire. Was it possible that he was involved in this too? The coach turned into the driveway and stopped. Lord Ravenshaw descended, clearly recognisable even at this distance, dressed in a black cloak and top hat. He walked to the front door and knocked on it. It was opened by an unseen figure, but as the yellow light spilled out, I saw him holding something which dangled from his hand. It resembled a long strip of paper but of course it was no such thing. It was a white silk ribbon. The new arrival was admitted. The door closed.
    ‘It is exactly as I thought,’ Holmes said. ‘Watson, are you prepared to accompany me? I must warn you that what you will encounter on the other side of that door may cause you great distress. This case has been an interesting one and I have long feared that it could lead to only one conclusion. Well, there is no helping it. We must see what has to be seen. Your gun is loaded? A single shot, Lestrade. That will be the signal for you and your men to come in.’
    ‘Whatever you say, Mr Holmes.’
    We left the protection of the trees and crossed the road, our feet already crunching on an inch of freshly laid snow. The house loomed up in front of us, the windows heavily curtained and allowing only a soft rectangle of light to show through. I could still hear the piano playing but it no longer suggested to me a formal recital – someone was performing an Irish ballad, the sort of music that might have been performed in the lowest public house. We passed the line of carriages, still waiting for their owners, and reached the front door. Holmes knocked. The door was opened by a young man whom I had not met on my last visit to the school, with black hair pressed close to his head, arched eyebrows and a manner that was both supercilious and deferential. He was dressed in a vaguely military style with a short jacket, peg-top trousers and buttoned boots. He also wore a