Dr. Mortimer met us at the wayside railway station near Baskerville Hall on the 24th . "It is so good to see you again, Dr. Watson, and Mr. Holmes!" he bubbled as Perkins, the Baskerville groom, loaded our baggage into the sleigh. "Sir Henry was overjoyed to receive your telegram, and would have been here himself, but there were too many last-minute details to attend to for his Christmas party tonight. He is introducing our new neighbors to Princetown society, so he wants to have everything perfect."

As our sleigh jingled up the road to the Hall, Dr. Mortimer jangled effusively about his trip around the world with Sir Henry Baskerville. They had stayed several months in Spa, then nearly a year in Vienna; crossed the Alps for a long sojourn in Italy and Greece, then some time in Egypt and a cruise through the Suez Canal and around the Arabian peninsula; and across India by train, with side-trips into the foothill towns of the Himalayas. "Sir Henry had been missing the Rocky Mountains of North America," Dr. Mortimer explained, "though he said these were even more magnificent than the ones he grew up in sight of."

"Yes, I have seen them," said Holmes.

"Really? When were you there?"

"Dr. Watson is my storyteller - perhaps he shall tell the world someday. But do go on."

By the time we reached Baskerville Hall, Sir Henry and Dr. Mortimer had visited Singapore, China, and Japan and steamed across the Pacific to Vancouver. After a railway trip across the Canadian Rockies, which Dr. Mortimer, at least, had found magnificent even after the Himalayas, they had spent several months at Sir Henry's old ranch in Alberta. Dr. Mortimer's only regret was that he didn't see any of the vast, sea-like herds of bison which, he had read, roamed the North American plains, nor any significant wildlife, for that matter, until Sir Henry had pointed out that hidden among the cattle were swarms of the American prong-horned antelope. They had dropped down into the United States to view the Columbian Exposition, then returned to England to resume the lives of a country gentleman and a country doctor.

Barrymore met us at the door, and called out to an enthusiastic, shirt-sleeved Sir Henry, who himself showed us to our rooms and aided Perkins with our bags. I was pleased that I was once more in the room I had had those years ago, when Sherlock Holmes had freed Sir Henry from the curse of the Hound and foiled its master, Stapleton.

We dressed for dinner, and descended to the new wing which Sir Charles Baskerville had begun, and which Sir Henry had had completed during his voyage. Sir Henry had decorated the reception room, where we and the other early guests now were, with souvenirs of his journeys and artifacts of his early life on the American plains, all trimmed tonight with the traditional trappings of the Yuletide season. Baskerville Hall was still clearly a bachelor establishment. I quietly asked Dr. Mortimer about this after he and his wife met us at the door of the room, and he replied, "I'm afraid no one has taken Beryl Stapleton's place in his heart, even among the women of four continents. Unfortunately, the strain of events was even harder on her than on Sir Henry, so that we had to commit her to an asylum."

He led us over to Sir Henry, who shook hands with us once more and introduced us to the woman beside him. "Mr. Holmes - Dr. Watson - I would like you to meet Mrs. Godfrey Norton. She and her husband have bought Merripit House."

Though over seven years had passed since I had seen her, briefly, they had done little to diminish the beauty of the former Irene Adler. I saw that Holmes, too, recognized her (as might be expected), but as he said nothing of their previous battle of wits, I did the same. "So you are the famous Sherlock Holmes, of whom I have read so much. I am very pleased to meet you in person."

"Likewise, madam, I am happy to make your acquaintance. My, Sir Henry," he turned to our host, "Devonshire is quite becoming a North American colony - yourself from Canada, and Mrs. Norton, I perceive," returning to The Woman, "was born in the Eastern United States - probably New Jersey, although your accent seems to have been modulated somewhat by vocal training."

"You are most perceptive, Mr. Holmes. I have, in the past, sung in a few operas."

Here I was seeing two consummate actors at work. I introduced myself to her and asked, "And Mr. Norton?"

She lightly waved her hand toward the Italian marble fireplace, where a tall, sandy-haired man was listening in strained silence to a red-faced Mr. Frankland. Recalling that Norton was a lawyer, I had no doubt that Frankland was importuning him for representation in his next lawsuit.

"Come, let us rescue him, and introduce ourselves," said Homes; but as we approached the lawyer Holmes suddenly veered toward a Chinese table upon which Barrymore had set an Austrian crystal punchbowl and glasses; and as he came behind him murmured, loud enough for only Norton and I to hear, "Thank yer, guv'nor". Norton, startled, looked about, but saw only the well- tailored back of my friend's evening dress.

"Merely getting into the spirit of the holiday, Watson," Holmes explained. "But I will be merrier still when I have Michael Moriarty within my grasp."

After dinner I found Holmes hastily donning a pair of rubber boots and his coat, and he indicated that I should do the same. When I asked him the reason, he showed me a note saying,

   Meet me in the summerhouse
      - I. N.

"Holmes!" I ejaculated, "I had always thought your regard for her was strictly professional admiration!"

"It is, as is hers for me. I'm surprised it has escaped your attention, widower that you are, that she is obviously very much in love with her husband. No, there must be some other reason for this billet."

We followed the fine bootprints of Irene Norton down the alley - the dark green boughs of the yews setting off the glistening moonlight on their veils of snow - past the moor gate to the small structure. She rose from her seat to greet us as we entered. "Mr. Holmes - I was surprised and actually glad to see you tonight; ah, and you have brought Dr. Watson with you; this tale shall have a chronicler."

"And just what has led us to spend part of a winter's night in the summer house?" Holmes asked.

"Merely one of those odd little puzzles of which you are so fond, if Dr. Watson tells us true." She motioned us to sit, and began.

"Had you not happened to appear here tonight, I should have written to you. I had rather an odd visit this morning.

"A man came to the house, asked to see me, and began by extolling my fame and skill as a singer. I found this strange as, other than in the local church choir these few months that we've lived at Merripit House, I haven't sung in public since my marriage seven years ago, nor have I ever used the name 'Adler'.

"He then came to the purpose of his visit - to ask me to sing the part of Pitti-Sing in a special performance of The Mikado to be given on January 5 for the Emperor of Japan."

"Rather an odd choice of - ahem - opera for that particular audience."

"I don't know, Holmes. The Emperor is well known for his sense of humor."

"Pray continue, Mrs. Norton," was Holmes' only reply.

"Now although I no longer sing professionally myself, I still keep track of the opera news, and that performance was cast long ago. I know the woman who's singing the role quite well.

"There was one other part of the request that was odd - he said that this would be an opportunity to have another go at Sherlock Holmes."

Holmes was silent a moment, then said, "Describe the man."

"He was of slightly less than average height - although his rounded shoulders may have made him look shorter. His large head was bald, and his eyes were very sunken -"

"Thank you, Mrs. Norton, you have told me enough, except: where is the performance to take place?"

"At the South London Palace of Amusements." Belmont's dying clue had suddenly taken on a double meaning.

Holmes thought it would be advisable, for propriety's sake, for us to reenter the house by a different route from Mrs. Norton's, and so we left the path via the moor gate and followed the alley on its outer side. All at once Holmes stopped and bent over. "Look, Watson - We have had company." A set of footprints led from the moor to the gate, then returned to the moor. Even I could see that the intruder had been running when he departed. "Prison shoes - the square toes coupled with that particular maker's trademark tell me so."

"Colonel Moran?"

Holmes shook his head. "The feet are too small, and the man is too lightly built." He growled disapproval to the stars. "When will those official idiots learn that it is not merely the literal answers to questions that are vital to the detection of crime, but _anything_ out of the ordinary? Come along. There is nothing more to be learned here, and they'll be looking for us."

The party were, indeed, looking for us, as they had been for Irene Norton, for the caroling was to begin. The vicar's wife was an accomplished pianist, and Holmes had brought his violin, which he could play well if he so chose. To their accompaniment we blended our voices in the ancient carols that celebrated our Savior's birth - Irene Adler Norton's exquisite contralto; the softer soprano voices of Mrs. Mortimer and Laura Lyons, who had forged a reconciliation with her father, and accompanied him this evening; Dr. Mortimer's piping tenor, and the stronger voice of Godfrey Norton; my own adequate baritone with that of the vicar; and Mr. Frankland's croaking bass, made somehow beautiful by the words we were singing. Memories flowed through my mind of Christmases past, in particular, as I looked at the Mortimers, and the Nortons, each couple arm in arm, of those Christmases I had spent with my beloved Mary. Yet in spite of the warmth of the company, and of my memories, there was a cold spot in my mind that reminded me that even on this holiest of nights, somewhere in the darkness a gang of desperate men was plotting deep evil.

The Nortons were the last to leave, about midnight. No sooner had they gone than Holmes said "Quickly, Watson! Get your boots and your coat again - and your revolver this time. Irene Norton is in grave danger!"

We hurried to the stable, where Holmes hastily saddled one of the horses and told me to do the same. We then rode over to the gate of the yew alley and followed the track we had found earlier out across the moor. We rode carefully, so as to avoid mires, but as swiftly as we could. Soon we had crossed the moor to a jumble of rocks near Merripit House - by the spot where Beryl Stapleton had warned me against wandering the moor, thinking that I was Sir Henry. Holmes dismounted, as did I, tied our horses to small, bare shrubs, and carefully crept through the rocks toward the road.

We could hear the tramp and the jingling of the Nortons' horse and sleigh as they approached, and saw, rising slightly from the shadows of the rocks, a slender, sinister figure, resting a rifle upon the rock in front of him. I recognized the silhouette of an air-rifle of the style Colonel Moran had used in his attempt on Holmes. At once a taller figure sprang up behind him, grasping the rifle in one hand and the assassin's arms and chest with the other. I realized that this was Holmes, capturing the blackguard, and ran forward to aid him; but before I reached them the man broke free and ran like the devil. Holmes started after him, but his foot hit a stone hidden under the snow, twisting his ankle and slowing his pursuit. I started after the assassin, pausing only to fire my revolver - unsuccessfully in the dwindling light, for the moon had gone behind a cloud; but I stopped short when I realized where the villain was heading: the Great Grimpen Mire.

Holmes had limped up to me when we heard the man's screams. "Help me to my horse, Watson - we'll need to pull him out if he is to give us any information." I did so and helped him mount, then walked the horse and its rider to the edge of the mire. The screams were becoming weaker as the cold mud began to squeeze its victim's chest, but at least he was still alive. "Catch the rope when I throw it to you!" Holmes shouted. The saddle which he had taken was of the American style, with a wooden knob on its pommel to attach the rope, which had been tied to the side of the saddle with a leather string. As our prisoner caught the rope, Holmes wrapped the near end around the knob, then backed his horse, pulling the man free of the Mire.

By this time Norton had come up, carrying the sleigh's lantern. By its light I saw that the assailant had lost his hat, revealing a brilliant shade of red hair which I had seen but once before in my life, though on a much older and stouter man.

Holmes looked down at the redhead as Norton and I picked him up. "Well, well!" he chuckled. "Watson, I believe you've never formally met Mr. Archie Leach, late of Princetown Prison, I have no doubt; alias Duncan Ross of the Red-Headed League."

Norton and I bound Leach with Holmes' rope and led him back to the sleigh. I rode with him in the back of the vehicle, my pistol held to his chest, and Holmes backing me up, still a-horseback. Godfrey Norton rode my horse back toward the town to find a constable.

At Merripit House Irene Norton made tea, forbearing to rouse her maid for the purpose, while I examined Holmes' ankle and rendered first aid; Holmes, ignoring my ministrations, interrogated Leach. Once Holmes had given Leach most of his own story, and convinced him that the law would be more lenient with him than Moriarty would be, he found him a ready talker.

The same "workmen" who had freed Moran had released Leach and several others, none of whom Leach knew. They had been taken to a cave on the moor, where Moriarty had spoken to them and provided them with civilian clothing. The next day, after Moriarty returned from Merripit House, all had then departed, save Leach, who had been given the airgun and ordered to watch Irene Norton and wait for an opportunity to kill her.

"You're not a killer, Leach - you're a swindler and a burglar. Why did you agree to do it?" Holmes asked.

"I agreed to it because Moriarty said that if I did, he would get Johnny free."

"You mean John Clay?"

"Yes."

Holmes leaned back in his chair, nodded his head and half-closed his eyes, and steepled his fingers as he often did when deep in thought. "Watson, do be so good as to ascertain whether the hoofbeats we hear are Norton and the constabulary."

It was, indeed, and Leach was soon on his way back to Princetown. We thanked Mrs. Norton for her hospitality, and returned to Baskerville Hall.

The next morning I went to an early church service with Sir Henry, the Barrymores, and Perkins; Holmes' comment, as I dressed, was, "I have always considered that God would much rather have one do good than merely to hear it"; his own plans were to visit the caves about the moor and the prison in hopes of learning more about Moriarty's whereabouts, and his gang's.

"I do have a task for you upon your return, however." He brought forward a Christmas package from behind his back. "In this package you will find," - embarrassment pulling at the corners of his mouth - "two bound volumes of your stories of my little problems.

"We have known since just after my interview with Michael Moriarty that he is a reader of yours. Now, with the evidence of Mrs. Norton and Mr. Leach, we find that he is using your writings not merely to impersonate his late uncle, but to find clever recruits for his organization.

"What I need you to do, then, is to review your published works and determine as well as you can the current status of the villain of each piece. I shall see you this evening." With that he was off.

After church I did as he had asked, making a chart of my findings, we I have reproduced here:

STORY VILLAIN FATE

A Scandal in Bohemia        Irene Adler Norton   Living at Merripit
  House, Princetown, Devon.

The Red-Headed League       John Clay            Imprisoned
                            Archie Leach         Princetown Prison

A Case of Identity          James Windibank      Unk.

The Boscombe Valley         John Turner          Dec'd
  Mystery

The Five Orange Pips        James Calhoun        Presumed Drowned

The Man With the            No crime
  Twisted Lip

The Blue Carbuncle          James Ryder          Fled the country

The Speckled Band           Grimesby Roylott     Dec'd

The Engineer's Thumb        Lysander Stark       Unk.
                            Unknown German

The Noble Bachelor          No crime

The Beryl Coronet           Sir George Burnwell  Unk.

The Copper Beeches          Jephro Rucastle      Dec'd

Silver Blaze                John Straker         Dec'd

The Cardboard Box           Jim Browner          Hanged

The Yellow Face             No crime

The Stockbroker's Clerk     Beddington Bros.     1 Imprisoned,
                                                 1 Hanged

The Gloria Scott            Prendergast          Unk.; aged
                            Victor Trevor, Sr.   Dec'd
                            Hudson               Unk.; aged

The Musgrave Ritual         Richard Brunton      Dec'd

The Reigate Squire          Cunningham           Hanged
                            Alec Cunningham      Hanged

The Crooked Man             Accidental death

The Resident Patient        Worthingdon Gang     Presumed drowned

The Greek Interpreter       Harold Latimer       Presumed Killed
                            Wilson Kemp           "  "

The Naval Treaty            Joseph Harrison      Unk.

The Final Problem           Professor Moriarty   Dec'd

As I read my memorial to Holmes, I thought again of the dear friend that I actually had lost, forever, and added,

The Sign of the Four        Jonathan Small       Died in Prison
                            Tonga                Drowned

A Study in Scarlet          Jefferson Hope       Dec'd

A thought struck me and so I rode into town and importuned the telegraph operator, who was home for the holiday, to go in and send a message to Scotland Yard for me, asking where the known prisoners on my list were; they replied that they would need to check their records and wire me back in the morning. Holmes applauded my initiative, when he returned, and examined the rest of the list.

"We may obviously eliminate the deceased; other than Ryder, who wouldn't have it in him to be of any use to Moriarty, the "Unknown"'s and the "Presumed Dead"'s may return to haunt us, but it is the prisoners that he will have the easiest time finding." He looked at the list again. "I can answer for a few of the men in your inquiry, as they were at Princetown until Moriarty's men sprang them - Leach, obviously - Harry Beddington - and Windibank! Take him out of the Unknown category. I recall telling you, at the time we solved "his" disappearance, that he would rise from crime to crime, until he ends on the gallows."

"And right you are, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, thanks to you, except for the gallows, of course," said a voice which, after a second, I recognized as Windibank's, as the villain rose from the shadow of a large wardrobe. He held an air pistol, aimed directly at Sherlock Holmes' heart!