Holmes turned to the body. "Well, Watson, we have had several singular clients visit our rooms, and a few of our clients have met their fate while they were engaging us, but Mr. Belmont was the first who had the misfortune of combining the two. Let us see if you have missed anything in your examination of his person, Watson. Perhaps, Lestrade, you would like to examine the body and see what you can add to Watson's report."

The professional grunted his agreement, and knelt down by the corpse. I could plainly see his discomfort knowing that his examination would be followed by one of Holmes' own, which would inevitably include a few scathing remarks on the "obvious" clues Lestrade had missed. He carefully went through the man's pockets, and I was pleased that I had not missed anything there.

Lestrade produced a magnifying glass and began to examine closely the handle of the butcher knife protruding from the man's back; I cast a glance at Holmes, who raised his eyebrows. Apparently the Scotland Yarder was trying to emulate the methods he had scorned so many times previously. After a few moments of careful examination he grunted as if he had discovered something and turned the body to examine Belmont's front. He grunted again, dropped the body, and stood to address us.

"Other than that which Doctor Watson found, I can see nothing more. The cause of death is a knife wound to the heart."

"Yes, I had noticed that," Holmes replied dryly. "Does nothing else strike you about the murder weapon or the wound?"

Lestrade paused warily, like a schoolboy who knew the teacher's question meant trouble, but was not yet sure what form it would take. "There are actually three wounds, with only the final one being fatal."

"Surely that is suggestive?"

"Mr. Belmont is a strong man, and it took many blows to fell him."

"No, Inspector, as usual you have missed the point entirely. Any man will go down with a single knife wound, if it is done correctly. A professional who knows his weapon will strike upwards, driving his blade past the ribs directly into the victim's heart. An even more effective method is to attack through the neck into the brain, which will curtail the victim's last cry. The downward motion of the first two stabs actually caused little more than flesh wounds; it was only the third which found its way through the ribs and into the heart. Does this, combined with the choice of knives, suggest anything to you?"

"It is a common butcher knife, like those found in most every kitchen in London. I fail to see how it will help us trace the killer."

"No professional assassin would ever use such a clumsy weapon, Lestrade; he would use a smaller, more easily concealed blade, such as a stiletto, which would produce a much cleaner kill. Combine this fact with the poor method of attack, and it points to a most amateurish, although still effective, murder."

"So the killer wasn't at the top of his profession - he still managed to get the job done."

"Yes, I thought you, of all people, would appreciate that, Lestrade." Holmes continued in his didactic fashion. "I expected that a professional would be able to discern more from the body that the good doctor. Nothing else suggests itself to you?"

"No, but I suppose you see a great deal more."

"I see nothing more than the two of you do; however, I understand what I see. The facts that Mr. Belmont served in the army in the West Indies several years earlier, had recently lost his wife, whom he did not love greatly, was in monetary trouble, and left his house quickly in an extreme state of agitation, are of course obvious. I won't insult your intelligence by telling you he feared a personal attack, since that would be the natural state for anyone who had informed on Moriarty's gang. However, I will point out that within the past week his expectation of being attacked rose sharply."

Holmes spoke the words as if these facts were obvious to the Inspector and I also, but I saw him cock an eye at us to see if we followed his line of reasoning. The inspector nodded as if he followed it, but I exclaimed, "Holmes, how can you say that?"

"None of those conclusions were particularly difficult to make. The handkerchief in the sleeve is indicative of a military man, while the tattoo on the back of the hand is one which was used exclusively by the cannibalistic Caribe Indians. When they were exterminated after a fierce resistance, the lower ranks of our Army in that area took to copying the tattoos as a sign of their victory and a tribute to their foe's bravery, and the tradition has continued to the present. That he suffered a recent loss is indicated by his band of mourning, and the absence of a wedding ring where there was one indicates that it is his wife who so recently departed this world. You can clearly see the ridge on his left ring finger where a ring was worn until recently. The two stubs of pawn shop tickets sticking out of his vest pocket would seem to indicate where the ring now resides."

Lestrade interrupted, "But perhaps he wore another ring which he removed, perhaps to be fixed. Also, the pawn tickets might be for anything, not just his wedding ring."

Holmes glanced at the detective and continued, "A valid point, unless one has noticed that his watch chain is held together in two places with copper wire. If he had visited a jewelry shop recently, surely that would have been left for repair as well. Also, the pawn tickets clearly indicate 'personal jewelry,' and it is unlikely Belmont would possess anything else which would fit that category. If I may continue, that he did not love his wife is evidenced by the fact that he has pawned his wedding ring so soon after her demise; the other ticket indicates that she did not take her ring with her into the grave. If he had loved her, he would not have wanted to part with these keepsakes so quickly, and would instead have pawned his watch."

"That he left home agitated is shown by his dishabille; he has neglected to don a collar or necktie, and his vest buttons are mismatched."

"But, Holmes, what about his being in fear of attack the past week?"

"Watson, if you examine his stick you will see that it is actually a sword cane, albeit a cheap one. That is probably where the profits from pawning were invested. If you will notice the base of the cane, you will see that it is not stained in any manner. It has been my experience that this is never the case in a cane which has been exposed to a London snowstorm, and you will remember the uncommonly early storm which visited us a little over a week ago. Therefore, he did not have the cane previous to this week."

I cried, "You have made it all as clear as day. Do you think that his fear and the Professor's return are connected?"

"That is just before the time our cryptic telegrams began to arrive. It is likely that the two are related."

The workers from the morgue had arrived as Holmes was speaking, and he now motioned to them that they may remove the body. Lestrade spoke up, "Yes, that is my hypothesis: Belmont was being followed by one of the Professor's henchmen, who, when he saw Belmont attempting to enter your rooms, assumed that he was informing again and made a murderous attack to prevent him from revealing any more information."

Holmes turned to Lestrade, "Does your examination of our stairwell bear out your hypothesis, Inspector?"

Lestrade's brow clouded over. "I have not yet made an inspection of the stairs."

"Dear me, Inspector, you walk through the scene of a gruesome murder and do not make even a cursory examination? Well, it is of no matter now. I made my own inspection as I entered, and I can tell you that your theory is completely false."

Lestrade's face had continued to darken even further as Holmes rebuked him and dismissed his theory. "How can you be so sure, Mr. Holmes?"

"Because I did examine the crime scene, and found evidence to the contrary. The murderer was waiting for his victim in the recess provided for the page to await visitors. Since currently there is no page in Mrs. Hudson's employ, it remains empty. The gas was on low and the recess was hidden in the shadows. After inspecting the stairs, I examined the recess. I found three cigarette butts, two fully smoked and the other smoked only half way and then crushed on the floor with a boot. The man who attacked Mr. Belmont was hidden there, waiting to strike, when Mr. Belmont interrupted his third smoke."

"But, Holmes, I am sure the gas was on full when I returned home."

"Was it, Watson? This means that the gas being low was not the result of an oversight by Mrs. Hudson's cleaning girl, but rather the act of the killer. It shows more intelligence than I would have given him credit him for, based upon the manner of the attack. Perhaps he is not stupid, but merely untrained in the art of assassination. So, Lestrade, you now have a good idea of the man you are looking for: he is a very tall, left-handed man with short, blonde hair and exceptionally long arms. He is well-dressed, chain smokes cigarettes, which he rolls himself, and is probably unknown at Scotland Yard, although the last point is just conjecture."

Holmes did not wait to see if we followed his reasoning, but continued, "Tall with long arms is evidenced by the position of the attacker and victim. My examination of the stairs showed me that at the time of the first wound, the attacker was standing on the base of the stairs, while Mr. Belmont was on the second stair. Mr. Belmont is a fairly tall man himself, as tall as I, and for the murderer to have been able to stab down into his shoulder, he must have been taller still and possessed arms of considerable length. Left-handed is indicated by the wounds, which start on the left and grow deeper to the right. The butts he left were clearly hand rolled, and he smoked three cigarettes in the short time between the Dr. Watson's arrival and the murder. Quite a few, even for a chain smoker. In fact, the absence of spent matches indicates that he may have used one cigarette to light the next. In the course of the attack, a great deal of Mr. Belmont's blood spewed onto his attacker's overcoat, and rather than attract attention by going about the streets in a blood stained coat, or carrying an overcoat under his arm on as cold a night as this, he discarded it in the broom closet at the base of the stairs. It was a very poor hiding place, but he was rushed and under the circumstances his options were limited. The coat is stylish and of high quality, so it is likely the rest of his wardrobe is also. If you will examine it closely on your way out, Lestrade, you will notice that there are short, clipped hairs on the collar, indicative of a recent hair cut; you may want to question all the upscale barbers while looking for your man. As for his unfamiliarity to the police, it is unlikely that anyone with a criminal record would have perpetrated such a clumsy attack."

While Holmes was explaining his flawless reasoning, a chilling thought gripped me. "Holmes, you yourself pointed out that Mr. Belmont's physique is much like your own. Is it not likely that in the poor light, the killer mistook Mr. Belmont for you?"

"Watson, you've outdone yourself tonight. That possibility immediately struck me when I saw the condition of our stairwell, and I marked it highly probable when I noticed the similarity in build between the victim and I. Of course, the attacker may have discovered Mr. Belmont's intention to visit me and laid an ambuscade for him in our stairwell. If that were the case, however, attacking him here would only serve to bring the crime to our attention, when it might otherwise not have been connected with us. No, I do not feel paranoid in stating that I was most likely the intended victim of the attack."

Lestrade said, "You believe the Professor is after you because you broke up his organization four years ago?"

"I think it is more likely that he wants me out of the way because he knows that I am the only man in London who can thwart his plans, whatever they may be. You smile, Lestrade, but I assure you that it is not egotism to say so. An overly generous assessment of one's abilities is still a fallacy, one which I have striven to avoid, and you should as well. The official police did not even know of Moriarty's existence until I had delivered to you evidence to convict his gang. Despite that, the police let the two most dangerous members escape. No, when I tell you that I am the only man in London capable of outwitting Moriarty, you may take it as the truth.

"Before you leave, Lestrade, there is one other piece of evidence which I must share with you." He reached into his pocket and produced a ticket for the Lyceum Theatre, dated for December 23. "I took this from the pocket of the murderer's coat. Does it mean anything to you?"

"Why, that's a ticket for the London Philharmonic's performance of Handel's Messiah. That is the hardest ticket in London to get, limited to the very highest echelon of society. How did the murderer get one of those?"

"That is indeed the question. Does it not suggest anything else to you?"

I exclaimed, "Holmes, the statuary! That is one of the theatres which had a statue stolen from it."

"Yes, Watson, first a statue is stolen from a theatre, presumably by Moriarty, and now a ticket for that same theatre is found in the pocket of one of his henchmen. There has to be a connection; it only remains for us to find it."

"But Holmes, that only gives us five days."

"Actually four, since it is near midnight and there is little more we can do this evening. Therefore, I suggest you both get a good night's sleep and we will investigate further in the morning."

Lestrade soon departed. Despite my remonstrances on the need for Holmes to sleep, he lit his pipe and began smoking with a faraway look in his eyes. I knew I could not help him in this phase of the case, so I took his advice and retired.

It seemed that I had only been asleep for a few minutes when I felt Holmes shaking me. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was six A.M. "Sorry to knock you up so early, but your medical services are needed."

"Not another dead visitor?"

But it was nothing so exciting. Although I had sold my medical practice when I returned to live with Holmes, I still tended to a few patients. For the most part, they were older people who had been with me since I had begun my practice and they had objected to changing doctors at that advanced point in their lives. One of them, a Mr. Johnstone, was an elderly man who was much affected by gout, and it seemed a particularly severe case had laid him up since last night. When the pain became too great to be endured, he had sent his servant to fetch me.

I was torn between the conflicting loyalties to my patient and to my friend, but Holmes urged me to go. "At this point, Watson, you cannot be of any aid to me; I still have several points of this case to ponder before we can take any steps. I promise you that I will not make a move from our rooms until you return." As I opened my mouth to protest, he produced a revolver from the pocket of his dressing-gown and continued, "As to the point which you are about to raise, I have a weapon, so I am not in any danger."

I quickly dressed and left with the servant. Mr. Johnstone's gout was quite advanced, and there was not much I could do other than ease his pain with morphine. I tried to leave quickly, but he seemed to have a never-ending list of complaints which he poured out to me. In spite of my haste to return, I did not make it back to Baker Street until after nine.

When I entered our living room, one glance at my friend was all I needed to tell me something was dreadfully wrong. He sat in his chair and stared straight ahead, an unlit pipe clenched in his teeth. He did not notice me until I closed the door, and then he jumped with a start. "My dear Holmes, whatever is the matter?"

He glanced at me as he spoke and I saw something I had never before seen in my friend's eyes: fear. "Would you say that I have lost any of my nerve in the last four years, Watson?"

"On the contrary, I would say that your nerves have never been steadier."

"I would have agreed with you until this morning, Watson, for I have been quite unnerved for most of your absence. You see, I have had another visit from Professor Moriarty."

"What!"

"Yes, the good Professor again graced our doorstep, and I was even more unnerved than our previous meeting here."

"That is easily explained - this time you were the more surprised because you thought he was dead."

"Nothing of the sort, Watson. In fact, I had been expecting a visit from him ever since I decoded that first telegram. Expecting it, however, did nothing to ease the shock I felt when our door opened and I saw Professor Moriarty framed in our doorway. His appearance has not changed in the years since our last meeting. I could not think of a single thing to say. He entered and began the conversation himself."

" 'As it was years earlier, it is still a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's dressing-gown.' "

"I removed the pistol from my pocket, but kept it leveled at him, and so nervous was I that my hand shook slightly. I covered him with it as he walked around the room."

" 'You evidently still don't know me', said he."

" 'So', said I, 'I thought that might have been you who again maneuvered Watson out of the way so we could meet tete-a-tete.' "

"He replied, 'No, Mr. Holmes, again I am innocent of your slanderous charges. I was, of course, immediately informed of the good doctor's departure, and decided to seize it as a chance for us to speak again.' "

" 'How did you get out of the gorge at Reichenbach?' was all I could think to ask him."

" 'Tut, tut, Mr. Holmes, that is unimportant. What is important is that you are again crossing my path, and the situation is again an impossible one. You were very fortunate the last time, Mr. Holmes, and you shall not be so fortunate again.' "

" 'So the attack which cost Jeremy Belmont his life was indeed intended for me,' I said."

"He chuckled slightly and said, 'Let us just say that Mr. Belmont's death was a serendipitous side effect rather than part of my plan. However, it does change things greatly, do you not think, Mr. Holmes? Why, after Belmont's unfortunate demise, along with the passing of Inman and Shaw, I think you will find that none of the charges against me would stand in a court of law.' "

"I realized that he was correct, and there was no longer a legal recourse against the man. All my work was now for naught, and I must start afresh if I wished to see him in the dock."

"He continued, 'Yes, I can see from your face that you agree that I am now free from prosecution for any actions I may have committed previously.' He chuckled again. 'You must now attempt to build a whole new case against me, and I am quite sure that a man of your intelligence will see that there can only be one outcome. You have witnessed that despite your best efforts, you can neither incarcerate nor kill me. It is necessary that you should withdraw. As much as our last conflict was an intellectual treat to me to see the way in which you grappled with that affair, now I cannot stand any interference in my plans. It would be a grief to me to take any extreme measure. I told you in our first meeting , Mr. Holmes, and I'll say it again, at the risk of being repetitious: You stand in the way not merely of an individual, but of a mighty organization, the full extent of which you, with all your cleverness, have been unable to realize. Again I say, you must stand clear, Mr. Holmes, or be trodden under foot. I only give you this warning on account of my respect for you - I would hate to see such a great mind be uselessly destroyed.' "

"'What do you suggest?,' I asked him."

"'You must drop it Mr. Holmes, you really must. Take a Christmas vacation from London. Tour Europe; you can still catch the end of the Christmas Festival in Salzburg. Anywhere, so long as you are away from London until after the Epiphany.'"

"'What happens on the Epiphany?'"

"'Tut, tut, Mr. Holmes, that is really none of your business. And if you attempt to make it your business, it will be your undoing. If you are not gone by tomorrow night, I shall assume that my warnings fell on deaf ears, and be forced to take steps which would be a grief to me. Good day, Mr. Holmes, and I hope that, this time, you will listen to reason.'"

"He left the room with a courteous bow, Watson, and it seemed that the temperature increased ten degrees. Since that moment, I have sat just as you found me."

His brow was knitted as tightly as I had ever seen it. He finally noticed his cold pipe and relit it using an ember from the fire. He sat down and puffed meditatively as he stared into the fire. I realized he did not need my assistance, so I sat and read the Times. I quickly surveyed the story about the missing statuary, and I saw that Lestrade was quoted as saying that he had several theories and expected an arrest shortly. I snorted, knowing that he had as little idea as to the disappearances as I did. The rest of the front page was dry, and I soon found my way to the society page. I read with interest the preview of the upcoming "Messiah."

"Once again this year, the social event of the Christmas season is the London Philharmonic Orchestra's performance of Handel's classic "Messiah" at the Lyceum Theatre on the Twenty-third of December. Conducted by the immortal Piranesi, this event is less famous for the music than the impressive guest list. With nearly every Peer of the Realm attending, their ladies on their arms attired in their finest gowns and most opulent jewelry, it is no wonder that the streets outside the theatre are filled with people straining to get a glimpse of the lords and ladies. It is rumoured this year that the Prince of Wales might even attend. Also rumoured is that..."

The paper went on the list the luminaries who were scheduled to attend, and for once it appeared that the paper was not guilty of hyperbole. The Marquis of Bute, the Duke of Northumberland, the Duke of Devonshire, Westminster, Balmoral, Marlborough with his new bride, the Vanderbilt heiress, and on and on. I made a note to tell Homes later, and continued to scan the paper.

I did not see anything else of interest until I came upon a short article about the restoration of the Princess Theatre. Since this was one of the theatres which had its statuary stolen, I glanced over the article. Nothing caught my eye until the final paragraph.

"Frank McCafferty, the architect overseeing the restoration, is confident that the repairs will be complete soon after the New Year, in time for the Embassy Follies scheduled for the Fifth of January. The annual event consists of vaudevillesque shows performed by the junior diplomats of the various Embassies situated in London. All of international society, including the Foreign Secretary, is expected to attend, so it is paramount that the repairs be completed in a timely fashion."

I considered disturbing Holmes, for I felt he needed to know about this in order to accurately assess the Professor's plans, but I feared his response if he did not deem it worthy of interruption. I was spared further internal debate, however, by Holmes himself.

He slammed his fist down on the arm rest of the chair and exclaimed, "Blast it all, Watson, it's wrong, it is all wrong! Listen to me for a few minutes, old friend, and let me use you as a sounding board yet again. All the obvious facts lead to the inescapable conclusion that Moriarty has returned and is up to his old deviltry, yet every fibre of my being strains against that explanation. How could he have survived the drop at Reichenbach? No human could have fallen from that precipice and lived."

"You appeared to have done so."

"True, Watson, but I did not actually fall from the ledge. However, I saw Moriarty fall with my own eyes." Holmes looked perplexed for a moment. "Could I have been deceived? Could those cries I heard and I thought were my imagination actually have been the Professor, who had somehow survived the fall?" He paused again.

He continued with more certainty. "No, I am certain it was not so. I saw him fall, hit a boulder, and bounce into the pond at the base of the falls. No human could have survived hitting the rock as he did, and even the strongest swimmer, entering unscathed, would have been hard pressed to survive the bubbling cauldron at the base of the falls. No, Watson, I cannot believe that Moriarty survived that."

"Also, there is the matter of the attack on poor Belmont. The Professor's gang's trademark was their professionalism. Yet Belmont's murder is as poorly planned and executed a crime as I have seen, especially when you consider that the wrong man ended up dead. I cannot imagine Professor Moriarty allowing into his gang so poor a criminal as the murderer, yet that is exactly what appears to have happened."

"But Holmes, most of his gang was incarcerated due to your evidence four years ago. Surely you cannot expect Moriarty, who must be putting his band back together by picking up the shattered remains of his previous gang, to achieve the level of criminal perfection they were at before you destroyed them."

"A good point, Watson: you keep me honest as I theorize. However, this attack was so poorly performed that I cannot imagine anyone whom the Professor picked could have carried it out. I said before that I could tell the master by his brush strokes, but this is so crudely done that it is like comparing a child's sketch to a Rembrandt." Holmes paused for a moment, as if struck by a thought, but then shook his head and continued. "And then there is the matter of our interview this morning. In retrospect, it has struck me as decidedly odd."

"What is odd about it, Holmes. It is similar to your previous interview with Moriarty."

"No, Watson, it is not similar, it is the same. And that is precisely what is so odd. Almost everything he said was said in our previous meeting." Holmes ran to the bookshelf where I kept my manuscripts and tore through them until he had found the story of his previous meeting with the Professor. "Look, 'You evidently don't know me'...'You crossed my path'...'It is necessary that you should withdraw'...'It would be a grief' twice...etc., etc. It is the same, Watson, almost exactly."

"Holmes, is it possible that you drifted off to sleep and dreamt of your previous encounter with Moriarty? That would explain the similarities."

"Yes, Watson, but it would not explain this." He pointed to the silver card tray where there was a calling card with "Professor Moriarty, Mathematics" printed upon it. "So you see, Watson, that my visitor this morning was real."

"As I sat and thought, I was struck by the idea that if someone wished to imitate the late Professor, your story would provide an excellent starting point from which to take lessons. However, rather than just imitating the Professor's rhetoric, he copied it, almost verbatim, as if he were playing a part in a play."

"But as I replayed the two interviews in my mind, I realized that there was one major difference between them. In the first, Moriarty said, 'You have not uncovered the entire dimensions of my organization.' However, I remember you relating how your literary agent changed that line to make it sound better. It was published as '...the full extent of which, you, with all your cleverness, have been unable to realize.' At the time of my return I complained of him taking such a liberty, but now can you see how it becomes of the utmost importance?

"Yes, of course, Holmes! If, for some unfathomable reason, the real Moriarty were attempting to repeat himself, he would have used his own words. But if someone were imitating him, and basing his imitation upon my narrative, they would have used the wrong wording, as today's visitor did!"

"Exactly, Watson! Yet assuming that this Moriarty is an impostor leads us to almost as many problems as we have assuming it is the real Moriarty. It is inconceivable that I could be deceived by an actor playing Moriarty at such close quarters."

"I do not understand that, Holmes. You had only met Moriarty twice before, and I have seen you affect several different appearances and never once be detected."

"True, Watson, but I have never attempted to become a certain person and carry off the deception at close quarters. For example, I could become a disabled Army surgeon and deceive any old solider I should meet. However, it is unlikely that I could play the part of John Watson, M.D., and deceive anyone who had more than a passing acquaintance with you, yet I have been studying you for years. No, Watson, there is no makeup which would allow anyone to imitate the Professor that well. The domed forehead, the deeply sunken eyes, the protruding head on rounded shoulders, I know those features too well to be deceived by anyone but..."

Holmes again paused and stared into the distance. I could see his mouth moving, but I could not make out the words. Suddenly, I saw his eyes flash with the gleam which had meant doom for so many criminals in the past. "Holmes, what is it?"

"An idea, Watson. An idea so insane that I hesitate to put it into words. I must go out, Watson, and I must go out alone."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Holmes cut me off.

"No, my dear Watson, I am afraid that your presence would not only be detrimental to my plan, it would also prove to be detrimental to my health. You see, I need to reconnoiter deep into the enemy's lair. I can do this quite effectively alone, but a companion would not only imperil my mission, but also my life. I assure you that I will take no unnecessary chances."

Sherlock Holmes could be quite masterful when he willed it and I saw he was right. Without his mastery of disguise, I was a greater liability than asset, so I acquiesced and resigned myself to remain in our lodgings as a potential reinforcement. Holmes disappeared into his bedroom and in only a few minutes an ill-shaven, roughly dressed plumber, complete with a tool bag, emerged from his bedroom. Despite being sure that it was my friend, I gasped in surprise, for his disguise was perfect, from his working cap to his hobnailed boots.

"I take it that means you approve of my costume, Watson. Although this mission calls for me to assume another persona later, this is the best for me to escape Baker Street unmolested; while a gentleman leaving our house might draw the attention of those watching us, the lower classes can come and go unnoticed. One request, Watson: do not go to the window and watch me as I leave, for that would tip even the dullest of watchdogs to my identity. Good- bye, Watson, and do not be alarmed if I do not return this evening, for my quest might be a long one."

How to describe the next twenty-four hours? As a man of action I found the waiting intolerable, yet I had promised my friend I would do nothing else unless summoned by him. I devoured the morning papers again but found nothing helpful. Moriarty had implied our rooms were watched, so I scanned Baker Street looking for a sentinel conducting surveillance, but with the daily hustle and bustle below, I could not spot anyone. Was this merely a reflection upon my poor powers of observation, or had those watching seen through Holmes' disguise and followed him? Was Holmes even now in the power of the evil Professor? I tortured myself with those thoughts for hours.

My mental wanderings were only interrupted twice. The first interruption was in the afternoon when the evening papers arrived. I scoured them from cover to cover, but there was nothing new about the case in the front section. However, I had picked up Holmes' habit of scanning the agony columns and today was no exception. One immediately caught my eye:

"M: Concede the point. Will leave on 3:15 tomorrow from CC. - SH"

Could that be a white flag of surrender from my friend? I checked the Bradshaw and saw that there was indeed a Continental Limited leaving Charing Cross Station at 3:15. That would certainly fit with the conversation of this morning, but Holmes had left with such high expectations. There were only a few hours between the time he departed and the deadline for that ad to have made it into the evening paper. What could he have found so quickly which would have made him concede? I had never seen him so shaken as this morning. It was possible that his nerve had failed him completely, and he was now ready to beat an ignominious retreat rather than fight a battle he thought previously won. If that were the case I resolved that I, who had accompanied him in so many of his triumphs, would accompany him in his defeat.

The second interruption was the arrival of Inspector Lestrade later in the evening. When he heard that Holmes was out investigating the case, he said, "It's too bad that I did not catch him before he left, for," and here the little detective fairly puffed with pride, "I have solved the case."

"What!" I exclaimed. "You have solved the murder of Jeremy Belmont and the reappearance of Professor Moriarty?"

Lestrade looked somewhat crestfallen and replied, "Well, no, not those cases. I was speaking of the case of the missing statuary."

It seemed Lestrade had "solved" the case when Scotland Yard received an anonymous telegram informing them that the statues were located in a warehouse in the Lower East End. When the police arrived, they found the statues there, although the thieves were not to be found. "But we will find them soon, don't you worry Dr. Watson, and then we will land that professor in the gaol. If he's behind it, of course. For, just between you and I, I am not nearly as sure as Mr. Holmes that the Professor is behind these crimes. I think Mr. Holmes may have professors on the brain, if you know what I mean."

I changed the subject. "Was there any sign of why the statues were stolen?"

"No, not that we can tell. The statues were not valuable, nor were they even particularly well done. Our only thought is that the thieves may have mistakenly appraised them far above their value, and when they discovered their true worth, they abandoned them in the warehouse and fled."

"No clue as to who sent the telegram, then, either?"

"None yet. It was sent from the Newgate Street Post Office. I am headed there now to see what I can discover. Good night, Doctor. Be sure and tell Mr. Holmes that I have solved the case for him."

I continued to wait for any word from Holmes. I scanned Baker Street constantly, scrutinizing every passer-by to see if it was my friend in disguise. I rushed to the window with each hansom clattering by, hoping he was in it, but to no avail. I can't remember what time I realized that Holmes was not returning that night, but eventually I dragged myself off to a fitful sleep.

There, I dreamt of Moriarty's face leering out of the darkness at me, of statues coming to life and walking off and of dead men falling into our rooms and returning to life. I gave up my feeble attempt at sleep about five, and I arose expecting that the morning would bring word of my friend.

Yet again I was to be disappointed. The morning passed much as the previous evening had, and as the noon hour came and went I decided that I would be on the platform before the Continental Limited left Charing Cross. I assembled my kit for a two week holiday from London.

Shortly before two, a hansom clattered to a stop in front of 221B Baker Street, and I rushed to the window hoping that my friend would step out. Alas, it was only a short, pot-bellied barrister who alighted; as familiar as I was with my friend's make-up techniques, this fellow was much too short and stout to be Holmes. When I heard his knock on the door, I realized that this fellow was here to consult Holmes. I resolved to tell him that Holmes was sick abed, lest word get back to the Professor that the detective was out on his tail. I admitted him to our rooms and asked him his business as I turned to stoke the fire.

"The same as it always is, Watson: to see justice done."

I turned and Holmes was standing before me. "But, Holmes, that barrister was a good foot shorter than I, how could..."

He cut me off deprecatingly. "Come, Watson, you know my methods. Taking a foot from one's height merely requires some practice and more pain."

"What did you discover about the Professor, Holmes? Is it Moriarty or an impostor?"

"What would you say if I told you it was both, Watson?"

"Both!?"

"Yes, Watson, both. This morning I told you how my visitor could not be the Professor of evil memory, yet it must indeed be Moriarty. At the time I thought that I was describing two mutually exclusive conditions, Watson. If you remember, as we were discussing the problems of this case yesterday morning, I was struck by a thought and paused in contemplation for a few seconds. You see, I had remembered the Professor's brother, Colonel James Moriarty, and I realized that there was a man who could have portrayed his brother well enough to convince me."

"But, Holmes, his brother is an honorable solider, never touched by even a hint of scandal. I am sure the letters he wrote defending his brother merely showed he was duped by him also."

"Yes, Watson, I had come to the same conclusion during my earlier investigation of the Professor, and I dismissed the thought. But I was struck by another thought when I remembered the Colonel's son, Michael. He was only a boy of sixteen at the time of my earlier encounter with the Professor, which would make him about twenty now. Previously, I had told you that the Professor's evil was a heredity trait, and I realized that it might have been passed on to young Michael. He had spent quite a bit of time with his nefarious uncle, and had been in trouble with the Police. on more than one occasion. It was only the intercessions of his father which kept him from becoming a gaolbird at an early age. I pieced this together with Belmont's final words: 'Mik' was the way you first described it."

"Michael!" I shouted. "Belmont was trying to tell us that it was Michael and not his uncle who was behind this all."

"True, Watson. I do not understand how Belmont got that information, for obviously he was no longer trusted by the remnants of the gang. However, he still ran in low circles and discovered young Moriarty's secret. He tried to convey it to me, but unfortunately received the attack intended for me."

"I departed our rooms yesterday intending to test my hypothesis. I don't have time to give you the entire story, for we haven't much time to make our train."

"Yes, the 3:15 Continental Limited."

Sherlock Holmes gave me a look which was as close to admiration as I had ever seen. "Eh, so you caught that? Watson, we'll make a detective of you yet! I thought that Moriarty might act more freely if he thought I was out of London, so I placed the ad before I had confirmed my hypothesis. But I was telling of my adventures. After I left our rooms and verified that I was not being tailed, I changed my appearance to a more dignified level at one of the rooms I keep about London for just that purpose. When I had last heard of young Moriarty, he was studying law at the University, so I commenced my search there. I found he had left a few months ago, but could often be found at The Brawling Barrister, a pub near Old Bailey, frequented by those members of the legal profession closer to its nadir than its zenith."

"I had waited long into the night for my enemy to appear and was just about to give up on him that night, when the door blew open to admit a cold wind and a group of young gentlemen. I call them gentlemen because they were well-dressed, but they were truly a dissolute group. Imagine my delight when I spotted those features I knew all too well! His face was a carbon copy of his uncle's from which someone had erased three decades. The same evil, sunken eyes, the rounded forehead, the look of malevolent genius in the face. Upon seeing that face, I realized that my supposition was correct."

"This motley crew went to the back of the pub and took command of several tables they viewed as their own, evicting the previous occupants quite roughly. From the groveling manner of the inn-keeper, I assumed this group had claimed this pub as their lair. A few minutes later a very tall, well muscled lad with short blonde hair entered still shivering from the cold, for he had no overcoat."

"Holmes, the murderer!"

"Yes, Watson, so I surmised. He came to the bar where I was sitting and told the bar-keep to bring ale for the group. I got a good look at him before he joined the rest, and his was a face from which I would not expect mercy. The publican, who had by now enjoyed eight hours of generous tips on my part, told me his name was Richard Lawrence and he was indeed a tough customer. It was a rare night he did not engage in a brawl, but as far as he knew, he had never been involved in any major crime."

"What happened next was quite interesting, for it showed how strong Moriarty's control of his gang was. When Lawrence joined the group, Moriarty gave him a glance which would have frozen water at fifty paces and the entire gang quieted. Moriarty spoke to Lawrence in a low voice so I could not make out the words, but it was clear from the way his head moved and Lawrence's downcast gaze that young Moriarty was quite put out with Lawrence. This went on for five minutes or more, and it left no doubt as to who was the leader of this merry group. When the scolding ended, the party continued as before."

"I felt that I had learned all I could in the enemy's lair that evening, so I left and spent the remainder of the night at the hole where I had changed identities previously. I spent today searching for clues about the mysterious thefts, and even more mysterious reappearance, of the theatre's statues, but without any luck."

"Why is their reappearance more remarkable?"

"Whoever committed the thefts was obviously well organized and disciplined to be able to simultaneously steal statues from three different theatres without anyone seeing a thing. It had all the earmarks of the Professor's gang at the height of their power. It is inconceivable that such a gang should be so confused as to steal worthless statues without another purpose. Everything I have seen of young Moriarty leads me to believe that he is most worthy of succeeding his uncle. His plan to get me to remove myself was inspired genius; he will never know how close it came to working. With Moriarty planning, they are capable of horrible and subtle crimes. I have no doubt that they themselves tipped Lestrade to the statue's whereabouts, and that it was all part of their plan."

"How do you then explain the poorly executed murder? And what could their plan be?"

"There is little doubt that that was Lawrence acting alone. From what I saw of him, he lacked a certain subtlety. The plan to remove me from the scene was still being executed when it appears that Lawrence decided that he had waited long enough and decided to take matters into his own hands. I am sure that Lawrence's initiative was the subject of Moriarty's lecture last night. Were we to allow this gang to operate much longer, I have no doubt that soon there would have been a conflict between those two, with Moriarty emerging victorious. Unfortunately for him, young Moriarty was not able to find a chief of staff as capable as the late Colonel Moran, but instead must make do with Lawrence."

"As to their plan, that, Watson, is what we must discover. But now we have a train to catch."

We arrived at Charing Cross Station with only minutes to spare before our train began to pull out of the station. As we took our places in our compartment in the first car of the train, Holmes pulled the shades on the doors and windows. He turned to me and said, "Now, Watson, I will share with you our plan. We are pretending to leave London to cause young Moriarty to become careless. With me out of the way, he knows that he is more than a match for the professional police force. Therefore, I will..."

Holmes paused and cocked his head to one side. Suddenly, with the spring of a tiger, he whipped open the compartment's door and grabbed a young man standing there. He pulled the man into our compartment and delivered a blow to his head which knocked him unconscious. I closed the door while Holmes rolled the man over. "Yes, Watson, I thought I heard someone outside our door. This is one of the young men who was cavorting with Moriarty last night. So the Professor's heir is just as thorough as he was. All he lacks is the Professor's long experience, which I hope to stop him from acquiring.

"Watson, this changes things slightly. I'm happy that I was able to discover the tail Moriarty attached to me; it makes things that much simpler. However, we don't have much time until the train stops at London Bridge Station, where I shall alight. This train is an express, and will not stop again until Dover. There you will hand this young man over to Inspector Martin of the Dover Police. I helped him solve the case of the Subterranean Smugglers, and he owes me a favor. Tell him that this man is part of a theft ring in London and I need him kept incommunicado for a few days. If he balks, mention the words 'Ruby bracelet' and I'm sure he will acquiesce."

As he laid out his plan, I realized that he expected me to spend several more days like the previous one, a thought I found intolerable. I protested, "Holmes, I..."

"Watson, now more than ever I need you to follow your orders like a good solider."

"Holmes, in all the time I have known you I have never thought..."

He cut me off with some asperity. "Come, Watson, you do yourself an injustice. I would say rarely rather than never. But you are not thinking now. Trust me when I say that I have given this more thought than you are capable of and am certain that this is the best course of action."

The train was pulling into the station and Holmes continued. "I must leave now. In three days, that is, on the morning of the twenty-third, you must return to London and register at the Russell Hotel as Dr. Ruskin. I will meet you there to map out further strategy. Promise me now that you will do so."

Against my better judgment, I gave him my word that I would do just as he said. I followed him to the carriage door, where he shook my hand. "Good bye, old friend. I look forward to seeing you in three days."

The train was just starting to pull out of the station when Holmes leaped off and disappeared down the stairwell leading from the train platform. As the train gathered speed, my eye caught a sudden movement at the far end of the train. A tall, blonde haired man had jumped out of the last car and disappeared down the stairs after Holmes!