My association with my very good friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, has always been one of distinction and great personal reward. Not only have we both met the high and the mighty, we have also helped those whose needs are greater, whose wealth is considerably less, but whose very human facets were no less deserving than our own. Several such cases spring to mind, such as the case of the black cloth bag and the parson, the case of the celery and the subterranean caves, as well as that of the giant rat of Sumatra. However, none is less astounding or more surprising than the one I shall now commit to posterity in the hope that all may learn something of note that may be of value during the course of their daily lives.

It was the summer of 1896. The heat wave had passed for that year, but we were still dressed in light clothes and taking extra cold drinks. We had no need of our suits or our great coats and often we would rummage through that old wardrobe where Holmes kept the clothes he often made use of for his various disguises. For that moment, I sat in a workman's open shirt and slacks, whilst Holmes reclined in similarly humble attire. He had been reminiscing for a few hours over cases he had conducted before our acquaintance with an air of joviality, the man in his element. He had obviously taken to his line of work as a duck takes to water and I was keen to encourage further marvels of logical reasoning and deduction from a great man whom I regarded as someone who was, even then, destined to make his mark in the world.

"...and that was how the black cloth bag solved the mystery!" Holmes concluded his tale with gusto, grinning in such a manner that his usually thin features had rounded into those more common with a rotund, genial uncle. "But now, I suspect that our latest client will grant us further activity beyond the bounds of this room."

I was about to ask to which client he was referring when the front doorbell rang. I merely had to frame the obvious question with a look at Holmes, before he nodded in reply.

"Mrs. Hudson was working in the front room above," Holmes explained, "and I believe that job of cleaning after the departure of that other far less tidy client was likely to take some time. Therefore, when I saw her hurrying down the stairs to the ground floor, where there is only the front door and her own living quarters after only fifteen minutes had passed, clearly indicated that she had seen someone that we had not. She is not expecting guests, and her immediate family members are all away on holiday."

"Brilliant, Holmes!" I cried.

I was about to say more, when a man dressed no more smartly than us entered the room. He looked stunned for a moment and muttered, "Thought you was a bunch of toffs, but you're just the same as all of us!"

"May I help you?" asked Holmes.

"If you're Sherlock Holmes," he assented.

"This is Doctor Watson," Holmes indicated myself opposite.

The man nodded in greeting and introduced himself has Harry Towb. I made room for him on the chair where I sat and, once sure he was comfortable, retreated to a hard backed chair from where I could take in all that he was about to tell us.

"Well, I've been to the police," Harry explained, "and they say there's nothing they can do about a missing person. She could have gone of her own accord, you see. Then there's the fact that she's not a bigwig, and I can't get much more out of the local station than forms to fill in and duty desks to report to if I should hear of any more."

"You were close to the person in question? Were you in a relationship with her?" asked Holmes.

"You are what they say!" Harry stammered, "Yes, I loved her and she loved me. I would have done anything for her. We were engaged. She had her secrets, but then, who hasn't? She had some past that she would never speak of, but since I cared so much about her none of that mattered. I knew her to be a good and kind girl. Strong willed, independent, full of life and a joy to look at. She disappeared without a word."

I bowed my head. I imagined the most horrible terrors that lurked in the most innocent looking places, along with the fact that a woman merely needed to be in the right place at the wrong time to fall foul of those of the most evil persuasion that hide amongst us.

"So it was all fairly normal until the end?" prompted Holmes.

"There was nothing unusual about her, ever," Harry spoke with a shaky voice now, "There was no hint. Nothing. I left her after calling round to see her in the morning on the way to work that day, arranging a time and place to meet. You could trust her to the ends of the earth. She was always where she said she would be. But that night, she never showed up. I haven't seen her since. That was two weeks ago."

"Your occupation?" asked Holmes.

"Coal man," Harry replied, "she sold matches at the local market."

"Where did you socialize?"

"Tottenham Court Road," Harry coughed slightly, "There was a pub there we always went to. The Ship and Mitre. We kept ourselves to ourselves, with very few other friends. We were very private, you see. We didn't like the fuss."

Holmes stroked his chin and gazed thoughtfully into space for a moment. In an instant he was back with us and asked, "Did your small circle of friends also drink at the Ship and Mitre?"

"That's right, Mr. Holmes. Just ourselves, Billy Bagg and Joe Piper." Then Harry looked puzzled, saying, "Then again, I can't seem to find Joe Piper, either. He was more of a mystery than my dear Helen. Helen Watkin my girl was called, Mr. Holmes. But this Joe I never knew anything about at all. He'd only known us for the past six months."

At this, Holmes froze as he was about to light his pipe and fixed Harry with a steady gaze.

"If it's the fees you're worried about, I'd gladly sell my home to get Helen back, sir," Harry trembled emotionally.

"Can we manage it, Holmes?" I asked.

"Call on me in a week if you have still heard nothing more," Holmes reported coolly.

Harry's face fell. "You too, Mr. Holmes? Not a care in the world, what with us not being respectable people and that?"

"On the contrary, I will start immediately," Holmes suddenly smiled. "I take it I am the best man for the job?"

"I've heard of no other man in London who could help me like you could, Mr. Holmes," Harry choked back the relief, "I've heard talk of your powers from those in the know, here and there."

"And you feel sure that I can bring her back?" Holmes asked again.

"I'm told that if Holmes can't solve the case, then the case can't be solved."

Holmes indicated the door and I politely showed him out. As I returned to our sitting room, Holmes was already waiting to leave.

"But you heard the man," I cautioned, "He barely has the loose change to ride the omnibus, let alone meet your fees."

Holmes adjusted his collar into a slightly skew-whiff manner and, in a perfect cockney accent said, "Money ain't the only reward, Doc!"

We arrived at the Ship and Mitre at just after as the doors opened and the first customers assumed their usual places. We sauntered in making light conversation in hushed cockney tones about dog races and the like. We were awarded a few quizzical glances, but they soon faded away once people realized that we didn't pose any threat. Holmes struck up a conversation with the barman about the heat wave that had just passed, whilst I took a look at the patrons. They all seemed keen to mind their own business, and none of them looked desperate or dangerous in any way. In fact, it seemed like a nice, safe environment, unlike the other sordid places I had heard of that were situated within only half a mile or so from where we were.

"Reckon you're looking for Joe Piper, then?" asked a thin, reedy voice from behind us. I turned to see a small, rat faced little man in dowdy dress looking at us like someone who would also be sharp enough to know how events were to progress long before they were due to happen. He was a small, friendly and open incarnation of Holmes himself, in fact.

"Too right," Holmes turned to him immediately, "he owes me a few quid, see, and I need it sharpish, like."

"Well, he ain't here," said the little man, who then introduced himself as Billy Bagg, "Can't say I'm surprised. There's something about a man who keeps too many secrets and as knows more than he says."

"Do you know where he is?" asked Holmes.

"Maybe," Billy leaned forward conspiratorially, "I overheard him one night, see. Talking to some geezer I never saw before or since. Tall bloke, square jaw and scar. What I did hear was talk about the Blue Angel."

Holmes' eyes widened. "You want to steer clear of that!"

"Too right!" Billy nodded, "A lot of bad goings on there. I put word about, but often as is I'm not listened to, see. Some people get so used to hearing their own voices, that they miss an alarm bell. I kept him at arms length. But I worry that those as weren't so sharp that way were taken in by him."

Holmes nodded at me in mock solidarity, "Reckon I knew it!" he exclaimed, "Me money is as good as lost if he goes to the Blue Angel!"

"I would have said more to others," Billy winked, "but as I'm a small chap and between jobs, getting inventive to keep me feet on the ground, I reckon people dismiss my words as so much blah-de-blah. Shocking!"

"Don't you worry," Holmes clasped him by the shoulder, "You've been a true friend to me, and I'll give you me full attention."

"Right as may, old man!" I chimed, "We're all in this together!"

"He's not all he seems, this Joe Piper," Billy continued, "I seen a knife in his coat and a kosh, as well. Now, being sharp, you can bull around as you have such things to avoid any unnecessary trouble. But to carry a couple of tools on trips to the pub with your best mates, in a good area, with plenty of Bobbies about at all hours, well, it ain't right."

Holmes nodded. "We've met their sort. Usually, after dark down a dark alley."

"Well, anyhow, reckon I've said enough now," Billy murmured under his breath whilst turning to leave. "Just take what I've said as friendly advice from a good mate. Don't go taking old Billy Bagg for a liar or a sneak. I do right by the world as far as it goes; a man's got to live. But not the way old Joe Piper lived his life, that's for certain. Well, God bless you gents, and nice meeting you."

We made our farewells and headed for the street. Once we were at a safe distance, Holmes dropped his act and hailed a cab.

"I was right, Watson, that woman is in grave danger!"

"Where to now?" I asked.

"The Blue Angel," Holmes's eyes widened with urgency, "There isn't a moment to lose. A human life may be at stake. Cabby!"

We arrived at the Blue Angel club, which turned out to be the basement of a closed down music hall situated along one of the seedier streets of the district. We were grudgingly allowed admittance, only to be confronted by one thug after the next who would bar our way or try to start an incident. To say that it was a rough place was an understatement. Everybody seemed keen for a fight and the morality of the young ladies who attended were shocking to a gentleman who made sure that he only ever kept the best company.

After a few minutes, Holmes, acting the part of a rough manual worker looking for an escape from the eyes of the law, managed to start a conversation with one of the doormen standing by the bar. At first, the conversation was extremely difficult and the doorman gave no hint. Then, he turned on Holmes directly.

"You'll be looking for someone, then?" he growled.

"I reckon it'll be someone who owes me money!" Holmes squared up to him fearlessly.

"I wish you all the luck," came the reply, "You'll need it in here."

"I don't chuck me money away for nothing!" Holmes pressed his point to the hilt remorselessly, "I want paying and then I'll be out your way! I want Joe Piper. Is he here? Joe Piper."

"Never heard of him."

"Don't give me that!"

"Clear off."

"I want me money back, of that I'm certain."

"There's no Joe Piper here," the doorman raised his voice conspicuously, "No Joe Piper!"

I took the opportunity to look around whilst Holmes' attention was fixed on his conversation, whereupon I noticed a thin, devious looking man staring at us incredulously from one of the far tables. As Holmes continued with his campaign of persistent demands, the man in question stood up and headed for us. As he came closer, he took from his pocket what looked like a kosh, then changed his mind and brought out a knife.

"Look out!" I cried, grabbing my good friend by the shoulder, "There's Joe Piper! That's him!"

Realizing that there were two of us, Piper made a break for it but Holmes and I were in pursuit. We chased him out of the main door of the basement club and up the steps to the street outside. Almost immediately, he turned down a side alley. Totally unafraid and unarmed, Holmes followed him in.

"You're surrounded!" bluffed Holmes, "There are police stationed at the other end of that alleyway!"

I pulled out my cab whistle and blew it to summon police help. Falling for the ruse, Piper headed for a fire escape ladder and began to climb. All the doors on each floor were secured so the only place left for him was the roof. We belted after him with all the energy we could muster, finally trapping him on one corner of the roof.

"Joe Piper, eh?" he yelled, brandishing his knife, "Well, I owe no-one nothing!"

"We'll see about that!" Holmes challenged him by blocking his escape route yet further. "I need Joe Piper to answer some questions for me."

"You're no working man!" Piper fumed.

"No, I'm Sherlock Holmes and this is my good friend Doctor Watson!"

"Holmes!" Piper suddenly became violently angry.

"What have you got to say for yourself Piper?" Holmes yelled, "And where is Helen Watkin?"

"Sherlock Holmes!" screamed Piper in a rage of madness, "You've got to die! Got to, got to, you damned threat!" He then lunged at Holmes with the full force of his body.

"You've got no chance, Piper!" I yelled, unsuccessfully trying to get a grip on his knife arm, "The police will be after you now. Just talk! Talk!"

At this precise moment, Holmes' knowledge of the martial art baritsu saved his life as he dodged the fatal blow and sent his assailant careering out of control and off balance. In the heat of the moment, Piper stumbled on the parapet, but his balance could no longer be regained. Clawing at the brickwork for one last chance at salvation, he let out a death scream as he plunged downwards into the alleyway below. It must have been a drop of forty feet, at least. I will always remember the sickening crunch and the sudden cessation of his cry of terror as he hit the ground. Quickly, we dashed down to the bottom of the fire escape, only to find a uniformed officer waiting for us there with the body. Holmes and I explained what had happened, and on producing our identification the officer was satisfied that we had told him the truth.

A half hour passed, and an Inspector arrived. He confirmed that Piper was dead. Holmes held his head in his hands.

"Inspector Peters," Holmes intoned urgently, "You must help me find out all that I can about Joe Piper immediately. A young woman's life is in danger."

"This man is not Joe Piper," Peters corrected Holmes levelly, "his name is Eric Halton, and he has been on our wanted lists for months now. He is involved in the crimes of a particularly vicious and dangerous bunch of racketeers and hoodlums. Money is their aim, and money alone, Mr. Holmes. And they will stop at nothing to get it."

"Which gang?" asked Holmes.

"The Brown Armbands," Peters replied.

"Holmes!" I cried, "the most dangerous criminal gang in operation in London at the present time! They would have killed you without a second glance had they known who you were before you knew who they were!"

Holmes gave a wry smile. "It will be a pleasure to cross swords with these devils if that is their intention towards me."

"You're taking your life in your hands!" I protested.

"A gang that kills without just cause or reason? A gang that wages war on the innocent and which destroys the lives of all that it comes into contact with?" Holmes shook his head. "Never has my calling been so clearly pronounced!"

Peters rummaged in the pockets of the dead man, withdrawing a solitary piece of paper. On it were written the following words:

MASTER OF OPS.
34 GREEN GARDENS
NEWBURY
BERKSHIRE

"I think you should prepare your best men for a train journey, Inspector Peters," Holmes waved the piece of paper in front of himself with a grave look on his face of absolute urgency, "The game is afoot!"

The train journey was the last one for the evening, leaving the station at Paddington at 10:30pm. It rattled and jolted its way down the tracks with just myself, Holmes and Peters from the crime scene for a good forty five minutes until we reached the other end where a consortium of police carriages was waiting for us. Officers, men and ourselves filled them to capacity, and we traveled in silence until we finally drew up at our final destination. On seeing the property in question, Inspector Jones was startled and looked askance of Holmes.

"The first mistake of your career, perhaps, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.

We were parked outside what can only be described as the home of a very wealthy and approved member of society. The obvious social distinction and relative importance of the occupant was apparent in every nook and cranny of the building's design. There was no mistaking this as the home of a very prominent person.

"Who lives here?" asked Peters of a local officer.

"Sir James Quinlan, owner of the largest livestock dealership in the county," the officer replied.

"It is of no matter, we have a warrant," Holmes insisted, "We must go in!"

"Holmes, they'll hang you from the highest yard arm!" Peters protested.

"There can be no delay!" Holmes cried as he jumped from the carriage and into the gravel driveway.

We were met with protests, insults and threats. Such was the violence of the words, and the viciousness of the descriptions of what would happen to us given by Sir James that Peters started to look less suspiciously at Holmes and more so at Sir James.

"In my experience," Peters confided to me under his breath, "the guilty are more likely to behave this way when caught red handed. An innocent man would merely laugh at us and give us the run of the building."

A cry came from an officer after an upstairs door had been forced. We all raced to the scene without delay, despite Sir James' best efforts to stop us, and there, in a meager and barely furnished room, chained to an old sink was the disheveled and hopeless figure of the creature that had once called herself Helen Watkin. She, herself, was more concerned that we were more of the same, come to terrorize and abuse her, until the uniformed officers came in behind us. At the sight of them her reserve finally gave way, she broke down and wept openly.

Helen looked askance of Holmes, who knelt down next to her and said softly, "Helen Watkin, I presume? Or should I say, Lady Jane Willoughby Jones?"

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"I recognize your features from the social pages some five years ago," Holmes explained, "Horse trials, wasn't it? You were quite a star until you suddenly refused to do any more."

"How could you have remembered me from that long ago? And from dotty old photographs?" she breathed.

"The countenance of the human face doesn't change that much over the years," Holmes explained, "and until I set eyes on you, right here and now, I had no idea that you were nothing more than a match seller with an enigmatic past."

Sir James Quinlan was then detained in his own sitting room. Handcuffed by the uniformed officers, and starting to realize the hopelessness of his situation of being caught in the act of abduction and illegal imprisonment in his own home by state appointed law enforcement men, Sir James began to look hunted and then finally defeated.

"You knew she was Lady Jane Willoughby Jones all along, didn't you?" asked Holmes. "Your expression tells me so. This whole operation was planned by yourself as the head of the Brown Armbands, a criminal organization which you control."

"Your best hope is to come clean," Peters instructed, "Otherwise matters may be much worse."

A broken man, Quinlan began his story.

"For many years," Sir James began, head bowed, "I built my empire. I started with a modest income from a minor sum I made from a lucky investment I made as a lowly bank clerk, with many a devious method, perhaps some methods too devious for law men like yourselves to be overly impressed with. I had grown up in a gangland environment, but I had moved onwards and upwards in the world away from it all. I thought I could forget my past, and for a time it seemed that I had.

"My livestock business did more than flourish. I destroyed all competition by every method I could lay to hand. No form of low cunning was too low. I knew all the ways I had learned from my illicit past, and the authorities turned a blind eye to what I did since I brought wealth and made the local towns prosperous and highly esteemed. After a while, as I grew more secure, I merely stamped out minor threats here and there, before they could seriously cause my business any real harm. I was rewarded for my efforts, since I kept order, in my own way, and in general the local community came to recognize me as a tough, brutal but effective leader in my chosen field. People paid me respect and I always got results. Always.

"Then, one day, my business began to flounder. Even though I once mixed with the highest in the land, and had been the darling of high society, suddenly I had to economize to get by, to the point that the frugality of my living drove me out and away from those who had once revered me. It seemed the only passport to that life was money, and once down on my luck, I was soon to be become a forgotten man. Then, one day, an old acquaintance came to see me. He told me the old gang wanted me back, and that I was welcome back into the fold. I needed the money and I took the chance. By my usual methods, I worked my way to the top of that organization, and took control of the underworld of a part of London. My life as a peer absolved me of all suspicion, I could do as I pleased with impunity. Money laundering rebuilt my empire, and once again I was mixing with the high and mighty, with the respectable people being totally unaware of the sources of my newfound unexplained wealth. Most of the money I had came from my illicit operations, only a fraction from my now nearly defunct official business.

"Then, through the grapevine I heard of an adventuress in London. An aristocrat, with a fine legacy due to her in a few years when her father died, had turned rebel, looking for excitement. Posing as an urchin, she had sought out the university of life and was discovering the world first-hand, so that when she became the rightful heir of her estate she would be more worldly wise and effective as a community leader. I heard of her eccentric behavior through my higher circles, and then sent my Brown Armbands to look for her. We found her, Mr. Holmes, as undefended and as vulnerable as a baby lamb.

"I had a her brought before me, and offered her the hand of my son in marriage. Her legacy would solve all my financial difficulties, and I could remain in high circles living off her wealth. It seemed the best way to maintain my lifestyle. She refused my offer. She tried to leave this house, but I stopped her. I was going to keep her here until she had signed a legal document turning her estate and all its properties over to myself as part of the marriage agreement. Had I been able to keep her for a few more days, she may have given up. I had threatened to make her disappear permanently if she refused again. No one would find her body buried under the floorboards of a house as illustrious as this with such a name at its head. It was faultless plan."

At this, Sir James finished his revelations and looked down at the ground. Holmes turned to Peters, who, shocked by what he had heard, just shook his head in wonder. Peters warned his men to mention this to no one until the matter was secure with the local lawmakers and magistrates, as well as those in charge at Scotland Yard. Two empires, one moral and the other corrupt, were going to be dismantled after this night's work.

"Holmes," I spoke numbly, "What does all this mean? For our society? For England? Is this the beginning of the end of the Empire? Were all my efforts in Afghanistan for nothing?"

"Everything will be put back as it should," Holmes said, "As long as scandal is avoided. The actions of a few criminals, powerful as they may be, will not destroy an empire. They will hurt it, disturb it, maybe change it visibly behind the scenes, but they will not end it. Not as long as there are people willing to risk all in order to preserve all of value and of true worth. People like ourselves, Watson and Peters, built this fine empire with our bare hands, whilst we have always been at odds with those like Sir James who would destroy it. It was for instances such as this that the flame of justice and truth was ignited in the first place and it has never burned more brightly than at this moment."

Several days later, we sat in front of the hearth at 221b Baker Street, with Mrs. Hudson fussing over us with fine food and drink as usual. Holmes was looking quietly serene, and I asked him what he had to look quite so secure about.

"Lord Charles Willoughby Jones paid a visit today whilst you were at your practice," Holmes smiled, "He had thought his daughter lost when her messages ceased to arrive. He had put out his own search party, but there were no leads of any kind. The police had drawn a blank. I also learned that Lady Jane and Lord Charles were estranged, and he was glad that she was now back so that he may make amends and find better ways of teaching her the important life lessons she feels she needs to learn in order to run her estate. It seems, Watson, that we may have helped to heal a wound in London with the removal of a vile criminal gang, as well as heal a wound in a family in the restoration of a valued family member."

"Very poetic justice, Holmes," I said, "and you did all this with no fee!"

"Harry Towb came to see me today, and I told him that his Helen was safe, and to meet her at the Dorchester for tomorrow night for a delightful meal," Holmes waved the piece of paper in Lady Jane's handwriting proudly.

"Is this a romance?" I asked astounded, "A commoner becoming an aristocrat?"

"Who can say?" Holmes chuckled. "As I said earlier, there are rewards other than money."

I sensed that something was being held back.

"You can tell me, Holmes," I drummed my fingers on the table as if indignant, "How long have we known each other?"

"My fees were paid by Lord Charles," Holmes finally admitted, "A King's Ransom, you might say."

"Enough to cover the costs of the investigation?" I laughed knowingly.

"Enough to pay for me to get more books on detection and better apparatus for my home experiments. Also," he said, handing me a brand new stethoscope, "the top of the range equipment you desperately need to impress your patients, and a little extra in cash for you to invest as you will."

"All work and no play?" I asked, "Well, I suppose it was mostly your work."

"You would prefer something else?" asked Holmes.

"A little holiday?" I looked askance with no small element of caution.

"I thought the Sussex Downs, Watson," Holmes raised his glass in salute to us both, "I've always favoured that part of the world!"