"Out in the East End again last night, eh Holmes?"

He looked at me with an expression of mingled surprise and vexation. It was the winter of 1895, and, with the memory of his miraculous and dramatic return from what all the world (myself included) had believed was his certain death at the hands of Dr. Moriarty still fresh in the public mind, he was in constant demand from all quarters. I could not, of course, accompany him on all of his cases--unlike Holmes, I needed at least six hours' sleep and three meals a day to remain in working order--but I knew for certain that he was handling at least three inquiries, perhaps four. At that moment, he was sitting by the breakfast-table in the armchair into which he had thrown himself when he finally emerged from his bedroom.

"Indeed," he answered. "And, absurd as it seems, I suppose I must now ask you what observation led you to this inference."

Looking at his thin, drawn features and the shadows under his usually bright eyes, I could not help but relent. He was, once again, driving himself to the brink of exhaustion, and was heading toward one of those periodic collapses with which I was to become all too familiar in the coming years. It would be uncharitable to prolong his agony when he was clearly already suffering.

"Much as it would gratify me to explain the three-and-twenty separate steps by which I arrived at a knowledge of your last night's exploits from an inspection of the left cuff of your dressing-gown," I answered, "I am afraid I must confess that I owe this rare moment of triumph to pure chance. As I was coming in last night on the westbound line, I happened to observe you boarding the last eastbound train of the evening."

He fixed me with a gaze that looked for a moment like fear, but was, evidently, amusement, for he threw back his head with a laugh and drew his legs up, clasping his knees with long nervous fingers. "I am relieved to hear it, Watson; I should hate to think you had been wasting your life in the field of medicine while allowing your hitherto invisible deductive powers to lie dormant. It does sadden me, however, to discover that your poor friend Whitney has yet to cast off the yoke of opium."

In response to my rather sullen glare, he flashed one of his mischievous smiles. "Since you were so kind as to sacrifice your little practical joke to spare me, I shall in turn spare you the indignity of asking how I know. Given the hour and the part of town from which you were returning, it could hardly have been a social call. If you had acquired any new vices during my three years' absence I should have detected them already; therefore it is unlikely you visited that peculiarly iniquitous district intent upon satisfying your own depraved cravings. It must have been a professional call. You have sold your practice, and the few patients you do treat are culled from among the ranks of your personal friends. The small blot of darkened resinous material I observe still adhering to the upturned sole of your boot, which looks uncommonly similar to the residue left behind after opium is prepared for smoking, indicates the probable scene of your visit, and of course," he concluded, with a little sigh of self-satisfaction," it has been six or seven years but I do remember your mentioning, during the Neville St. Clair investigation, that you had concluded that the press was making too much of the opium craze, since amongst your acquaintance you knew of only one case of addiction and that was Whitney."

"I have been watching you for years," I began, with some warmth--

"--and yet I still have the power to surprise you," he answered merrily. "I am gratified to hear it; it gives me a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Or midafternoon, as the case may be." He turned his head toward the table, more to disguise a yawn than to inspect the breakfast.

"I confess that my deductive powers remain so feeble that even though I now know where you have been disappearing to these past few weeks I am at a loss to explain why."

He pushed the teacup from him impatiently. "My dear Watson, I would have availed myself of your invaluable assistance if I had thought you would take the slightest interest in the matter. Of the five cases I am looking into at the moment, it is the one most completely devoid of those bizarre details that most inspire your peculiar muse. A commonplace sordid little affair. Serious enough for the client, but of no interest to the specialist, or to the connoisseur of sensationalist fiction."

"Still," I said as he made a desultory effort at sampling one of the scones, "it seems to be consuming a fair amount of your time."

He dropped the knife onto the table with a clatter and stood up, the food still untasted. "Often the simplest and most tiresome cases require the most effort to clear up. Take my word for it, Watson--this is nothing worth inflicting upon your reading public."

And with that he had vanished again into his bedroom, whence he emerged some minutes later fully dressed and looking as fresh and energetic as ever. "Come, Watson!"

"Where are you going?"

"To the Friesland, of course."

I hastened to accompany him on what proved to be the final stages of an investigation that had already brought us more than its share of danger and intrigue, and which I may yet lay before the public if circumstances ever permit it. Despite the satisfaction I knew he took in his triumph, and despite the public acclamation that attended the three other matters he resolved soon after, however, I soon noticed a marked deterioration in his spirits and morale. His improvised violin performances became more frequent, and more mournful; his fits of inaction and torpor seemed to last longer, and he was more often in one than out of it; and, as he continued to make his nocturnal excursions, I gathered that his 'commonplace sordid little affair' remained unsolved. I shrank from pressing him to confide in me, as he was always more reluctant to divulge information if he observed that I particularly wanted it. I did attempt to puzzle out for myself what it was that kept him engaged out in the East End. As usual, I made little headway. He adopted no extraordinary disguise that might have given me a hint, and so successfully defeated my attempts to draw him out that I could glean nothing from his conversation.

Matters came to a head one morning when I entered the sitting room and found him upon the windowseat, still in his streetclothes, his chin sunk upon his breast and his eyes, usually so keen and piercing, staring unfixed at the carpet. From his red-rimmed eyes and unshaven face it was clear that he had not been to bed at all that night. Nor did he appear, as I squatted on the carpet before him, to take the least notice of me. But I was not to be put off.

"Holmes," I said.

He lifted his head slowly, finally meeting my eyes with a look of utter exhaustion and despair that went straight to my heart. Be his reasons for it never so sound, his silence was about to come to an end. "Holmes, you must tell me about it."

He fell back against the panes with a sigh, swollen lids dropping over his eyes as he passed one white hand over his high forehead. "Watson, I cannot discuss--"

"You can, you must and you shall. In all our long association I have never seen a case worry you to this extent. Your health is threatened. Your tobacco consumption has doubled and your meals are more irregular than ever. This cannot go on. If I cannot aid in your efforts at deduction at least let me serve as an audience. The mere act of narration may clear something up."

Holmes sat up, and fixed his eyes upon mine with an intensity I found both puzzling and troubling. "Ah, Watson," he said, "your cooperation might, indeed, be invaluable if only--"

"If only...?"

He appeared to be looking for some sign of comprehension, some flash of intuition that I could not provide. I was still in the dark, as must have been plain from my face. His quicker intellect, frustrated by my failure to perceive what was clear to him, revolted against his other instincts and he sprang from the windowseat in a fit of nervous irritation.

"I was going to say, if only I were permitted to request it. You see, Watson, it is a sensitive case--one of the more painful and delicate matters I have ever dealt with--and the fear of scandal is paramount. I gave my word that I would not reveal my client's identity to anyone, not even to you. I really cannot go back on it."

"So your description of it as a commonplace sordid little affair was mere prevarication."

"I am sorry, but I knew that it would hurt you to think I was keeping you from an adventure of any real significance. And yet for all that--it is commonplace, and sordid, and little. The identity of the client is the only thing elevating it from the realm of the tedious."

"If you cannot reveal your client's identity, can you not at least tell me the circumstances?"

He wavered on the brink of indecision.

"Surely it could not hurt to tell me what sort of crime it is. Murder? Robbery? Espionage?"

"Blackmail," he spat out, dropping into a chair with a sneer of distaste. "That far I am prepared to go. But no more, Watson. As you are a gentleman and as I have been privileged thus far to call you my friend, I beg that you will press me no further."

I should have been insulted at this apparent lack of trust in my discretion if his distress had been less extreme or less evident. "My dear Holmes, of course if that is how things stand we need say no more about it. I only wished to know so that you might at least have company in your misery."

There was a pause as he looked up at me from the depths of the armchair, and then he snapped suddenly into a state of quivering attention. "What time is it?"

"It's nearly ten o'clock," I answered.

He leapt into action, unfastening his collar and racing for the washbasin. As he performed his ablutions in a state of considerable agitation, I wordlessly removed the rumpled jacket that was still hanging off his shoulders, braved the chaos of his wardrobe and returned with a fresh one. This was not the first time he had nearly forgotten an appointment, although it was the first time I had seen him so upset by it.

"Thank you, Watson, I should be lost without you," he said, combing down his hair as he struggled into the jacket. "And now if you think you could find something to do out of doors for an hour or two--"

"Holmes--" The ring of the bell cut off my protest, and sent my friend into a paroxysm of anxiety. I felt his fingers clutch one of my shoulders in an iron grip, and discovered that I was being propelled toward the doorway.

"Your client?" I persisted.

"His blackmailer," Holmes hissed. "Watson, I cannot explain, but it is vital that you leave this instant and stay away for at least an hour. You will do that for me, won't you?"

His burning eyes bored into mine and, as so often before, my resolve melted under the influence of his masterful spirit.

"As you wish, Holmes," I said unwillingly.

He reached for the handle of the door. Before he could grasp it, it swung outward to admit a cleanshaven man of medium height and stocky build who I recognized immediately. I shot a glance at Holmes, who did not return it.

"Mr. Athanson," said Holmes, with more equanimity than I thought he would be able to muster. "Do come in, we can begin immediately. Dr. Watson was just leaving."

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that," said our visitor, stepping in and pulling the door to behind him. "It was my particular wish that he should be present at these negotiations."

"My client has very strong objections to his involvement."

"Ah, Mr. Holmes," said Athanson, with a self-satisfied sneer that made me long to strike him, "if your client were in a position to enforce his wishes on me, we need not have this meeting at all, need we?"

I hesitated on the threshold, glancing from one to the other. Holmes appeared outwardly collected, but to me, who knew his smallest gestures and tricks of expression through years of observation and intimacy, it was clear that he was in an agony of indecision. I thought it better to go, and was in the act of turning the handle when his voice suddenly rang out:

"No, Watson--stay." He fixed Athanson with a defiant gaze and pulled a third chair onto the hearth-rug. "It may serve my client's interests after all."

"If you think so, Holmes," I said, and took my seat. Athanson smiled and assumed his with that cool insolence I had learned to detest. He had once been a successful partner in one of the city's most respected firms, until an embezzlement attempt, brought to light by Holmes, cost him his place. It would have cost him considerably more if he had not had connections at the highest level in the British courts. But his acquittal had not lessened his bitterness, and he had vowed revenge. My friend had heard too many of those threats to attach any importance to it at the time.

"I believe I made my terms clear to you in my letter of the 14th," he began.

"And I remain convinced that they are too high," replied Holmes, with studied nonchalance. "I do not see that the danger averted outweighs the price demanded."

Athanson chuckled. "You know as well as I do what a scandal disclosure would make. It would be a lead article in every major newspaper in the city. The foreign press would undoubtedly take an interest. The consequences would be devastating."

"My client is unmarried and childless," Holmes answered. "Such a consideration carries less weight with him than it would with many another. He holds the world's approval lightly and can do without it if need be."

His opponent leaned back slightly in his chair with a cruel smile on his lips. "No man is an island, Mr. Holmes, as Donne tells us." Why he was turning his insinuating stare on me I could not imagine. "The world's opinion is one thing, and that of one's nearest and dearest quite another."

"I have advised my client to make a clean breast of it to the party to whom you rather clumsily allude," said Holmes with some impatience.

"And has he taken your advice?"

"He is still considering it. I hope he may, for it would leave you with no hold over him whatever."

"Ah, not so fast, Mr. Holmes," answered our visitor. "If there's nothing to fear from the home front, surely the prospect of a gaol term ought to make him think twice. It wouldn't be a hospitable place to a man of his upbringing, especially considering his occupation."

"My client is guilty of no legal breach," Holmes shot back, his color rising and eyes flashing. "He has merely violated--"

"--the Offences Against the Person Act," Athanson cut in. "Two of its provisions, and on more than one occasion. If you are not familiar with its terms, as you seem not to be--a shocking gap in your professional knowledge, it grieves me to say--I'm sure Dr. Watson is."

Wounded, Holmes turned to me. "There's no reason you should know it, my dear fellow, for it hardly ever comes up in the courts," I hastened to assure him. "It covers various forms of sexual misconduct, including the purchase of chemical or mechanical contraceptive agents or the performance of any procedure that might cause a woman to miscarry her child, which is how it happens to come within my province. But it is very seldom enforced."

"Seldom," Athanson said, "But not never. And in this case--given the identity of your client--I should think the authorities would be bound to pursue it, if only to avoid the charge of favoritism."

Although he was fighting to keep up the appearance of confidence, I knew from the slight change in his colour that this was a serious blow to him. It was a point of pride with him when discussing a case to have a solid grasp of all relevant information, and to have exposed his ignorance, even on such a small point, must have been acutely painful in this situation.

"Aside from the financial demand," said Holmes, "which my client might--I say might--be willing to consider, this second stipulation is quite out of the question."

"It is essential," the other answered. "He must quit public life forever. I'm doing your client a great favor, really. It is a nasty business, and he is well out of it."

There was a long pause in which I felt tension crackling in the air between them like an electric storm. Then Holmes was on his feet and holding the door open.

"I am afraid I can give you no answer today," he said in as neutral and dispassionate a tone as could be. "I must share this new information with my client and take his recommendation."

Athanson stood. "I will give you forty-eight hours from this moment," he said, sliding toward the door in his unctuous way. "After that, the evidence will be before the public eye, and what happens then--well, I really can't say. Good day, Doctor Watson, Mr. Holmes. Do let me hear from you."

Holmes pulled the door shut with more force than was necessary and strode into the middle of the room, where he thrust his hands violently into his pockets, extracted his matches and tobacco, and filled and lit his pipe while pacing nervously back and forth upon the carpet. I watched this performance for a few moments, then finally worked up the nerve to speak.

"Holmes, this is the last straw. You must tell me what this is all about."

He flung an arm out violently in my direction, as if to ward me off. "I tell you I cannot tell you more, without revealing the identity of my client, which I am not at liberty to do."

As he was about to resume pacing, I lost what little patience I had left, seized his narrow, taut wrist and brought him around to face me. "Very well," I said in answer to his astonished stare, "you cannot tell me who he is. Suppose I deduce his identity for myself?"

I could hardly have predicted the effect my suggestion had on him. In an instant his despair had lifted and his eyes lit with all the eager anticipation of a hound who has found the scent. "Of course, Watson! Of course!" By now he had led me over to the window seat and in his excitement pushed me down upon it rather violently, as he crouched before me looking up with a flushed face and brilliant eyes. "Deduce! Infer! Come, come, let me see for the second time in as many weeks those hitherto invisible deductive powers in action. Who do you suspect my client is?"

"Well..."

"Come on, man!" he fairly shouted. "Use the principles and methods you have seen my apply a hundred times now--from the evidence you have, what inferences can you make?"

"Your client is male, obviously," I began rather slowly. "He is a public figure, or else the national scandal Athanson threatened would never materialize."

"Good, good," said Holmes. "Continue."

"He is of good breeding, as Athanson alluded to his upbringing, and his profession is something that would make him a target for the violence of the other inmates. It is clear he has not committed any violent crime or burglary since you were not aware it might carry a legal penalty. In fact, if it comes under the Offences against the Person Act, it almost certainly involves a sexual indiscretion that would shock the nation if it were rumored abroad..." He nodded, hanging upon each of my words with a furious concentration that I found most unsettling. "Aha! I have it!"

"Excellent, Watson!" he cried, leaning forward and seizing me by the shoulders in his excitement. "Who is it?"

"Inspector Lestrade!" was my triumphant cry.

Holmes released me and sat back on his haunches with an expression of exquisite disappointment.

"Watson," he said, "do, please, take me through the unique logical process by which you arrived at this conclusion."

"I--well, aside from the sale of contraceptives and the inducement of miscarriage, the main thing the Act covers is prostitution. Athanson said your client had violated two of its provisions, on more than one occasion. It is not too great a leap, surely, to infer that he has been frequenting prostitutes--the repeat offense--and that, as a result, one of them has conceived his child. Hence his attempt to procure an artificial abortion, which accounts for the second violation. To do so, however, he would have had to put himself to considerable risk as well as expense, showing that he has a strong motive for preventing the birth of this illegitimate child. Lestrade certainly would, since to have London learn that he had been habitually violating the law would certainly ruin his career irreparably; and he could hardly afford to support an illegitimate child and a blackmailing mother on a police inspector's salary. His career would certainly make him unpopular there. And," I added, "while another client would not care if you told me his name, Lestrade would, since he knows me personally."

"Capital, Watson," said Holmes, with I thought more sarcasm than was warranted. "You have made a number of useful basic inferences from the facts at your disposal. The only drawback--and it is a great pity--is that every conclusion you have drawn from them is manifestly wrong."

I was naturally hurt by his tone. "Tell me, then--where did I go wrong?"

"My client is, as you astutely observed, male, and can lay some claim to the status of public figure. And, with your unfailing grasp of the obvious, you have also accurately determined that the offense involves sexual misconduct, albeit not the sort that would lead him into the particular difficulty you imagine. Perhaps you may yet find the right scent. Watson, please, make a second attempt. Much depends upon your success or failure."

With him crouching at my feet, looking up at me as a drowning man looks at a life preserver that he fears is just beyond his reach, and fresh from my first disappointment, my command of logic failed me. "I am sorry, Holmes, I cannot imagine who else it might be."

"Oh, think, Watson, think!" he cried, clenching both fists. "Does nothing suggest itself to you?"

It pained me inexpressibly to be unable to give him the answer he wanted. Never before or since have I felt my own shortcomings so keenly, or wished to desperately to be able see what he saw.

"No, Holmes. Nothing."

To my great surprise he sprang backward with a snarl, livid with rage of which I was the hapless object. "I cannot believe it," he exclaimed. "To think that a man of your age and education, having lived some two-score years upon this planet, cannot solve this simple a conundrum--is it conceivable, I ask you, that an adult member of this great British race who has lived among human beings in both the deserts of Afghanistan and this teeming metropolis, who has exercised the noble art of medicine for years, albeit with no very spectacular success, who has had I might add the not inconsiderable opportunity of observing first-hand for several years the world's leading practitioner of the science of deduction--it beggars belief that this man should, when presented with evidence that surely ought to be enough for any Scotland Yard bungler from Lestrade on downwards, still be incapable of making even the most elementary deduction! I tell you it strains human credulity to the limit. It's too bad, Watson, it really is too bad."

He had thrown himself into the armchair previously occupied by Athanson and his sharp, eager face was turned away from me, the eyes hard and the knifelike profile both dangerous and somehow fragile. I rose to my feet and slowly approached him. The breath rushed faster through his quivering nostrils but otherwise he betrayed no awareness of my presence.

"Holmes," I said, deliberately keeping my voice level, "because you are not well, because you have not slept to-night, and because you have occasionally, in the past, abused me in this manner without meaning anything by it, I will let this pass. I can only tell you that until you are willing to give me some further hint, I must remain as much in the dark as ever." He shook his head slightly with a sharp noise of contempt. "We have forty-eight hours," I said, opening the door. "I have one or two calls to make and I will return this evening. After you have had some time to sleep, and to talk to your client--" Here he involuntarily let out a short, bitter laugh. "--we shall see what can be done." I had wanted to be firm, but I could not help adding, "You know that you may always rely on me, and that I will do anything within my undeniably limited power to help you."