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Early summer in England has always been an uncertain season, and although the day had dawned grey with wind and drizzle, noon apologetically offered sunshine and only the faintest tang of brine from the sea. Watson was glad to shed his outer coat before he entered the rented cottage where Holmes and he were still recovering from the after-effects of an experimental, but wholly justified—in Holmes’s opinion—poisoning.

“Holmes? I’m back from the village.”

“You have a great knack for stating the obvious, my boy.”

Watson followed the voice to the cottage’s kitchen where Holmes, shoulders swathed with a blanket, was making tea. He sighed.

“You have three telegrams, old man. Three! That is not what I had in mind when I insisted you needed a break from your work.”

He flapped the telegraph envelopes at Holmes, who plucked them from Watson’s hand, opened each one, crumpled it and threw it at the fireplace.

Watson sat to read the one letter addressed to him. He looked approvingly at Holmes over the top of the page. ”Nothing of interest? Good. Perhaps you will come for a walk with me later. It’s pleasantly warm now.”

Holmes huffed and sat opposite Watson, setting the teapot on the kitchen table between them. After a few seconds, he waved lazily at the letter in Watson’s hand. ”And how fares Sir Henry?”

“He seems rather concerned about archaeology. And…” Watson visibly shuddered. “Ghosts.”

Holmes looked up at Watson and raised an eyebrow. Watson offered the letter to Holmes. “You will scoff, but there is definitely something unsettling about Baskerville Hall.”

“I will try not to scoff.” Holmes smiled. “But I will remind you that there are no such things as demon hounds, spectres or ghosts.” He glanced down the first page. “I see he is as over-familiar with you as we have come to expect from his Canadian manners.”

Watson tutted. Holmes read on quietly, frowning and shaking his head.

“Well, my dear. I can understand why Sir Henry is perturbed,” he said after a minute. “But I assure you there will be a perfectly natural explanation.”

”And you will help uncover whatever perfectly natural explanation is behind Sir Henry’s experiences?”

Holmes chuckled and passed the letter back to Watson.

“You may wire Sir Henry that we will abandon Cornwall for Devon directly, and I will complete my convalescence by breathing the invigorating air of the Dartmoor tors.” He poured tea for both of them. “I have had enough of this place. Could you be ready in time for the four-fifteen?”

After a flurry of packing, Holmes and Watson made it to the railway station in time for Watson to send a telegraph to Sir Henry informing him of their imminent arrival, and for Holmes to make himself so disagreeable a travelling companion—by distributing their luggage freely on the seats and floor then affecting loud and violent coughing and sneezing fits—that he secured a first class compartment for their exclusive use.

Watson joined Holmes with a minute to spare before the train jolted and shuddered into motion. As the carriage swayed, he almost fell onto the seat beside Holmes. Holmes wriggled and shrugged himself into a more comfortable position. Watson accommodated his companion’s movements, accepting a quick pat of his knee as thanks for his consideration.

“What do you think Sir Henry’s ghost might turn out to be?” Watson asked as their train chuffed through the countryside.

”Oh, my dear boy,” Holmes replied with a slight air of disappointment. “You know better than to demand conclusions before any of the facts have been laid before me.”

With that, Holmes closed his eyes and fell silent. Ten minutes later, his head rolled to the side and found a comfortable resting place on Watson’s shoulder.

Sir Henry Baskerville waited until his butler had closed the dining room door and left the three of them to their port and cigars. He leaned forwards, towards Holmes.

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you accepted my invitation. It took a real weight off my mind to see you both arrive this afternoon. It’s just like I wrote in my letter to Dr Watson. I have been storing some important archaeological finds from a dig on one of the ancient settlements on Baskerville land, and I fear I’ve stirred up a restless spirit.” Sir Henry puffed on his cigar, then looked warily at Holmes across the dinner table and wagged a finger at him. “Now, I know you’ll laugh, but I challenge you to come up with a better explanation for all these goings on.”

“Nocturnal knocking noises from the walls and the occasional knick-knack shifting on its shelf do not require a supernatural explanation.” Holmes had the courtesy not to laugh, but Watson could see how his lips twitched with the effort of keeping his mirth at bay. “I should like to view these artefacts, if I may?”

“Of course!” Sir Henry leaned back again. “Now?”

”By all means!”

Sir Henry rose and pulled the bell rope. “We’ll need Williams to bring us candles or lamps. I’m afraid the electric lighting is off in that part of the cellar. It failed the day before yesterday and the engineer hasn’t been to fix it yet.”

The butler soon furnished the group with two lanterns and a candle in a holder. Sir Henry told the servant he would not be needed again and led the way downstairs through the servants’ domain, unlocking a small but sturdy door off the butler’s pantry.

”The wine cellar is down here. I have a key and Williams has a key. No one else.”

All three had to duck to enter the cellars. As Sir Henry had warned, flicking the switch for the electric lights had no effect. Holmes held up his lantern and examined the wiring that snaked up the wall and along to the first light bulb. He twisted the bulb free, studied it and shook it beside his ear, then replaced it. He followed the brown, twisted cable to the next bulb and repeated his examination.

”There is no fault that I could find,” Sir Henry said once he realised what Holmes was doing. “I think the problem is somewhere along here but I’d rather leave it to the experts to fix.”

“Well, I am no electrical engineer,” Holmes said after examining a third bulb. “When these lights were installed, did they all work as one? I mean, all on or all off?”

“Yes. I didn’t think we would need to go to the expense of each alcove having an individual light.”

Watson laughed softly, making his candle flicker. “I think I would prefer to have all the lights on. There is a certain atmosphere about cellars.”

Holmes held his lantern lower, lighting his face dramatically from below. “That chill you feel is damp, Watson. Not ghosts. In here?”

Holmes pointed at another small, sturdy door—the last of the cellar rooms. This one had new locks top and bottom and a padlocked bar across it.

”Yes.”

Sir Henry set his lamp on the floor and took out a different set of keys. He lowered his voice. ”Only I have the keys for this room and I keep them in the safe in my office. Once the archaeologist told me how valuable the finds were, he advised on security and I thought it prudent to follow his advice. However much I trust my staff, it’s not fair to put temptation their way.”

”A wise decision,” Holmes said as Sir Henry unfastened the bar and unlocked the door. “How much did the archaeologist say the artefacts might be worth to a private collector?”

Sir Henry picked up his lamp and shrugged. “Can’t be certain. A lot. Priceless.”

He ducked his head and entered the room. Holmes and Watson followed. Inside, two narrow tables held what looked like stone and wooden relics of a bygone age. Incongruously, there was a modern safe situated close to the wall behind the door.

“Each find you see here would be worth more to a museum than a private collector, I expect. The safe contains… Better to show you.” Sir Henry set his lantern on top of the safe and ducked down to open it. Holmes and Watson crouched to see better. Sir Henry brought out a ribbon-tied velvet bag which, given the effort Sir Henry put into the endeavour, was clearly of some weight.

“This is what I think has stirred up an unquiet spirit.”

Sir Henry unfastened the ribbon and folded back the velvet to reveal first the unmistakable glint of gold and then the sparkle of gemstones.

Watson sucked in an awed breath. ”It’s a ceremonial mask of some sort!” He leaned in for a closer look. As he did so, his candle guttered and went out, a cold thrill ran across his wrist, and he let out an undignified squawk. A warm hand grasped his: it was Sir Henry’s.

“John?”

Watson laughed at himself. ”Sorry. I was startled, that’s all.”

Holmes scoffed. “Well, if we are quite done with the theatricals? Sir Henry you would be prudent to lock up your valuables again and we can reconvene in the dining room.”

Sir Henry wrapped the bejewelled, golden mask and replaced it in the safe, which he locked and patted. “What do you think of the safe? This one is reputed to be uncrackable. The lock can’t be picked, according to the manufacturer, and the special steel would wear down a normal drill bit before any significant damage was done.”

Holmes regarded the metal box with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “It would certainly pose a challenge that would make any common burglar think it not worth their while.”

“That’s what the fellow from the museum said.” Sir Henry stood and ushered them out of the room, locking then barring the door behind them. “It doesn’t have to be impossible to crack, just very inconvenient.”

They had almost reached the low door that led into the butler’s pantry when a soft but distinct vibration seemed to seep up through the stone floor and rumble through the air. Watson froze. Sir Henry, who was right behind Watson, laid his hand on the back of Watson’s waist and leaned forward to speak quietly in his ear.

”See what I mean? I am almost convinced that the evil spirit of whatever dead king wore that mask is here to reclaim it and won’t give me peace until it is gone from my property.”

Holmes, who had been just ahead of Watson, shushed them before Watson could turn and reassure their host despite his own excitement, born of a heightened sense of fear. Instead, Watson reached behind himself and gripped Sir Henry’s hand.

Holmes, meanwhile, had lost no time in placing his hands on the cold stone walls and then dropping to the floor and pressing his ear against the flagstone under their feet.

“I think you are right,” he said with a quirk of his lips. “I am certain that your trouble will cease as soon as you have been relieved of that mask.”

“You think it really might be a ghost?” Sir Henry’s voice was a low whisper. “The spirit of whoever originally owned the mask?”

Holmes tutted. “I think, in time, I will present you with a more earthly explanation. Has the secure location of the mask been kept secret?”

Sir Henry laughed. “Quite the opposite. I had to prove to the satisfaction of the local police that the mask is safe here.”

“If I know the police, the news will have travelled from pub to pub across the entire county within a day or two.” Holmes sighed. “You have taken extraordinary measures to prevent a casual theft.”

They retraced the dark path from the cellars to the butler’s pantry in silence, and left the lanterns and candle for Williams to tidy away.

At the foot of the main staircase, Holmes yawned. ”I will retire early, if you would not think it uncommonly rude of me.”

“Of course.” Sir Henry smiled and offered a parting handshake. “Goodnight, Mr Holmes.” He turned his smile on Watson. “Perhaps you will humour me with a game of billiards?”

”I would be delighted.”

Watson turned to say goodnight to Holmes, but Holmes was already turning away. He called, “Goodnight, Holmes,” anyway, and received a slight flutter of Holmes’s hand in return.

Sir Henry led the way to the billiards room and poured each of them a generous measure of brandy.

“I’m trying very hard to fit in with English ways, John, but I am not sure I am making the right impression yet.” He smiled a little sadly at Watson. “I would be honoured if you would drop the sir and just call me Henry when we’re not in company. We’d’ve been on first name terms long ago on the other side of the ocean, and I would feel more like I have a friend.” He glanced away and back again. “You’re not offended are you? We’ve been corresponding for years, haven’t we?”

”Of course.” Watson took the offered glass. “You must forgive me if I forget from time to time, Henry, until I grow accustomed to it.”

Sir Henry grinned. “Do you think Mr Holmes might…? No, probably not. He seems like a stickler for formality.”

Watson laughed, not unkindly. He gestured at the billiards table. “Shall we?”

Sir Henry played well, but Watson played better. Their conversation remained light with a level of jocularity that would have been frowned upon in Watson’s club. After winning one game but losing two, Sir Henry returned his cue to the rack.

“I’m glad we didn’t put money on this. Or forfeits.” He laughed. “Since I lost, I wonder what would you would’ve had me do?”

”I have no idea.” Watson placed his cue beside Sir Henry’s.

Sir Henry’s hand was warm on his arm—as it had been a few times during the evening—but Watson only that instant made the observation and linked the occurrences together as one piece of data. He stared straight ahead, adjusting the position of his cue, not moving the arm claimed by Sir Henry.

His mouth dried. Was it the brandy, or was it Henry’s presence that made his head reel? Sir Henry was still young, but a half dozen years had made him more handsome than he had been when they’d met over that dreadful business with the hound. And Holmes… despite their close friendship, Holmes had demonstrated no such desire for him.

Perhaps this was a way to put those pointless emotions aside.

If Sir Henry meant what Watson thought he meant. He swallowed and cleared his throat quietly. ”What kind of forfeit would you consider appropriate for me to demand?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Sir Henry’s fingers tightened and released once, slowly, then slid down to brush across the back of Watson’s hand. “Perhaps something we might both want.”

Watson turned slowly to face Sir Henry. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be blunt.”

Sir Henry stared at Watson with an intensity that made Watson’s skin tingle. Holding his gaze, he slowly raised Watson’s hand to his lips, kissed the knuckles then the palm.

“Henry…”

Whatever Watson had been going to say vanished as their lips met. Watson’s eyes fluttered closed. Henry’s hands cradled his head. He relaxed, slipping his arms around Henry’s waist and pulling him close. Henry walked forward, slowly but relentlessly walking Watson backward until he encountered the hard, solid edge of the billiard table. One of Sir Henry’s hands released Watson’s jaw and eased between them. Watson gasped at the electric jolt of being touched intimately through his clothes.

“Come to bed with me, John.”

“Wait.” Watson put a hand on Sir Henry’s shoulder and pushed genty.

”Too fast? Come to bed and I’ll go as slow as you like.”

Sir Henry caught sight of Watson’s stricken expression, released him and raised both hands slightly to break contact between them.

“Your letters gave me hope that one day you would come back here for me and… Your kiss…” He sighed deeply and stepped back. “Guess I was mistaken.”

Watson ran a hand through his hair and straightened his collar. “I’m sorry.”

”So am I.”

Watson caught Sir Henry’s gaze but held it only for a second. “It’s not that I don’t…If circumstances were other than—”

”You’re still in love with Holmes. Aren’t you tired of giving him everything and getting nothing back?” He gave a wry laugh. “When you decide to drop that torch you’re carrying for him, let me know.”

Watson shook his head and smiled. “I do get something back.” A desperate face looking up at him, full of shock at still being alive, and a joyful cry of ‘John!’ “I wouldn’t lose his friendship for anything.”

“I’ll say goodnight.” Sir Henry made for the door. “I’ve taken a risk and gotten my heart broken. You’ll pardon me if I don’t wait around to have it ground into the dust too.”

Watson stood for a few more minutes alone before slowly making his way up to his room, all the while listening out in case he should come face to face with Sir Henry again. He made it to his room without encountering anyone at all. On the pretext of checking that Holmes had gone to bed before he switched off the electric lights in the passageway, Watson knocked gently on the door of the room opposite his.

”Holmes?”

He tried to adopt a voice that would attract Holmes’s attention if he was awake but not rouse him if he had retired. There was no response, so he knocked and called again once more before satisfying himself that Holmes was asleep. He switched off the lights and returned to his own room, pulling back the curtains to look out over the dark and silent moor. With a heavy heart, he went to bed convinced that sleep would be a stranger.

Watson woke with a start as a dark shape moved across the windows, blocking the early morning light. He sat up abruptly, thinking panicked thoughts about how to reach the revolver that was still in his bag.

”It’s only me.”

”Holmes!”

Holmes stood by the side of the bed, in his dressing gown. Watson could just discern Holmes’s slight smile in the dawn light.

“Sorry I woke you. I needed to look in your valise.”

Watson swung his legs out of bed and sat up properly. “Have I packed something of yours by mistake?”

Holmes angled his head slightly. “You have not. Don’t bother getting up.” He perched on the edge of the bed. “How was your game of billiards?”

Watson scoffed and rubbed his face. “I confess that I was not at my best, but I won’t bore you with the details.”

Holmes made an odd noise, partway between a groan and a laugh. He stood. “I would rather not know. Will I see you at breakfast?”

“Yes.” Watson laughed. “But not for an hour or two at least. It’s barely light outside!”

Holmes hovered by the door. “My boy, if you and Sir Henry want to spend the day doing whatever country people do in the countryside, I will be content to spend my time collecting local gossip in the village. I’ll commandeer one of Sir Henry’s horses if you think I ought not to strain myself with too much walking.”

Watson got back into bed. “Sir Henry has no plans that I am aware of. Actually, I don’t—”

I don’t think Henry will want to see me today at all, and I’d rather avoid him.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Holmes scoffed and left the room.

Three hours later, Watson was relieved to find the dining room empty apart from Williams. The butler responded politely to Watson’s murmured good morning and poured coffee for him while Watson helped himself to bacon, eggs and toast. One place setting had been used and cleared away.

“Has Mr Holmes been down already?”

Williams poured another cup of coffee. “Mr Holmes asked me to bring him coffee and newspapers in the library. Sir Henry breakfasted early and has gone out to see how the dig is progressing, then he has some business in Tavistock. He will be back in time for tonight’s dinner party.”

”Dinner party?”

”Yes, sir.” Williams lifted the coffee cup onto a silver tray. “Sir Henry has invited some of his neighbours to dine this evening.”

“Thank you.”

Williams gave a curt nod in acknowledgment and left with Holmes’s coffee. Watson relaxed at the knowledge that he would not have an awkward encounter with their host for several hours at least. He finished his breakfast then went to find Holmes.

He was, as expected, in the library. The room felt far different from when he had first seen it, just after Sir Henry had taken possession of Baskerville Hall. Electric lights graced the walls, adding a warm glow to the sunlight that didn’t quite reach the farthest recesses of the room. A stepladder of polished mahogany sat in front of a wall entirely composed of tall shelves crammed with old volumes. Watson noticed that the dust on a shelf bearing a set of cloth-bound and faded old encyclopedias had been disturbed.

”You’ve been reading?” He pointed to the shelf.

“Ha! I can hide nothing from your sharp eyes, my boy. Indeed, the perusal of a rather singular tome on the ancient history of the area was most edifying.” Holmes tapped a newspaper article with one elegant forefinger. “What do you make of this, Watson?”

Watson took the offered newspaper and read aloud.

Burglar Strikes Again!
Last night, a most audacious theft occurred in Tavistock. Burglars broke into the house of one Mr. Maclelland Barbour whilst he, his wife and their four children and all their servants enjoyed peaceful repose, quite in ignorance of the actions of a gang of miscreants who made off with a number of valuable items. Police say that…

Watson scanned the rest of the article quickly. “It says here that this is the third such theft. Hang on a minute, Holmes, this newspaper is a week old.”

”I am glad that Sir Henry has not had need of a fire in here for some time, for I have found earlier reports. In each case, local police have recovered some of the valuables. Bulky or heavy silverware was abandoned at the bottom of a garden in Hatherleigh, in a ditch in Okehampton and behind a disused building on the way south out of Tavistock.” Holmes took the newspaper back and lined it up with two others, tapping each relevant column inch. “But in each burglary, an item of significance to the region’s archaeology was not recovered.”

Watson’s eyes widened. “The noises at night… You think Sir Henry’s unquiet spirit is a burglar?”

Holmes clapped once. “Ha! I really must bring to your attention that your own insistence on publicising my successes may have contributed to the plot that is unfolding beneath our feet.”

Watson frowned. Holmes waited.

Watson’s face cleared. “Jabez Wilson. French gold.” He laughed. “That odd, scraping sound. A tunnel!”

Holmes grinned. “It was your candle that gave it away, my boy. Why would a candle gutter and go out in the still and stagnant air of a cellar? No, there must have been a draught. I felt the ground around the safe and found that whoever is tunnelling is almost directly underneath the resting place of that most secure cabinet. I suspect that they accidentally severed the electrical cables leading into the cellar. The would-be burglars probably got wind of the fact that the safe is not an easy one to open quickly and decided to remove it to a location where they can crack it at their leisure.”

Watson grew an excited smile. ”We should survey the land around Baskerville Hall to find the tunnel entrance. If we block it off, perhaps that will put the burglars off. Or, even better, we could lie in wait and catch them in the act!”

Holmes shook his head. “No, my dear. Such heroics are unwarranted.”

”Then what do you plan to do?”

”Nothing.”

Watson looked aghast. “Nothing!”

“You must not think me lazy.” Holmes smiled and gathered up the newspapers to return them to the basket beside the fireplace. “I intend to do nothing until after the safe has been stolen.”

“You intend to catch them red-handed in their own lair?”

Holmes looked a little shifty. “Perhaps.”

“Well, I hope they don’t decide to strike tonight. Apparently Sir Henry is hosting a dinner party.”

“With a number of familiar faces, according to Williams.” Holmes regarded Watson for a few seconds. “Since our host has abandoned us today, perhaps you will humour me with an outing to see the dig, and then a visit to Mr Frankland of Lafter Hall?”

Watson glanced at Holmes but could not hold his intense gaze. “I would rather not bump into Sir Henry unexpectedly. I do not think he would welcome it.”

Holmes looked away too, a finger gently tapping his lips.

“Ah.” It was more of an exhalation than a deliberate utterance. “Your game of billiards really did go badly.”

”Holmes—”

”No matter! Get ready to go out, my dear. I’ll ask Williams if we may be supplied with a horse apiece and we can go wherever we wish.”

Forty minutes later, Holmes and Watson mounted the two horses that had been saddled for them and set off. Holmes led and Watson was content to follow, the wind in his face an effective antidote to his low mood right up to the moment he realised Holmes had led them to the dig. They dismounted and one of the archaeologist’s assistants took their horses.

“Sir Henry!” Holmes called and waved. They picked their way carefully around the perimeter of the excavation to stand by Sir Henry’s side. “I wanted to satisfy my curiosity.”

Sir Henry cocked an eyebrow. ”About the dig?”

“Of course. And about the archaeologist.”

”Dr Harold Radcliff. You’ll meet him tonight.”

Holmes pointed at where two young men’s heads almost bumped as they were carefully scraping around an object. ”Do you mind if I take a closer look?”

“Please yourself. Mind where you tread.”

Holmes set off, leaving Watson and Sir Henry alone. Henry half turned to Watson.

“I take it you have not told him.”

Watson sighed. “Not a word. I apologise for the intrusion if you were avoiding me. I couldn’t think of a way to dissuade Holmes from this outing without revealing what transpired between us.”

Sir Henry raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight and watched Holmes hunker down beside the archaeologist’s assistants. He took a side-step closer to Watson.

“Funny how the wind on the moor clears the head. John, if I may still call you that, I want to apologise for my behaviour.”

“I was flattered.” Watson waved back as Holmes waved to him. “I owe you an apology too, Henry. If I led you on, it was not intentional.”

They shook hands, then watched as Holmes straightened up and began his precarious journey back to them. Holmes and Sir Henry exchanged brief comments about the dig, then Holmes and Watson took their leave. Holmes did not speak again until they walked their mounts up to Lafter Hall, the home of Sir Henry’s neighbour, Mr Frankland.

Frankland was keen to receive a visit and Holmes was a willing audience for Mr Frankland’s monologue on the legal transgressions of his neighbours.

”It’s theft, plain and simple,” Frankland said as he wound up his well-researched opinion of the archaeological dig. “Those artefacts belong to the descendants of the people who made them, and if they cannot be traced then they belong to the Duke of Devonshire. Sir Henry has no business allowing that charlatan of an archaeologist to remove the belongings of other people. Grave robber, I say!”

Watson suppressed a chuckle. “Those finds must be a thousand years old at least. Two or three thousand, even. Tracing the descendants is an impossible task. And the land is Baskerville’s, so surely anything found belongs to Sir Henry?”

”Not so!” Frankland puffed up his chest ready for another bout of detailed explanation of English property law. “In fact—”

“You can actually see the dig from here?” Holmes cut Frankland off. He sat forward and pretended to sip sweet sherry from the glass the old man had generously pressed into his hand. “I would very much like to observe, if it is not too much trouble.”

Frankland scoffed. ”The dig… and more!”

Frankland got to his feet and Holmes surreptitiously winked at Watson.

“Come and see what you will see, then.” Frankland shuffled to the door. “Dr Watson, you may remember that you availed yourself of my telescope to find that man I saw roaming the moor last time you dropped by.”

Watson smiled. “Indeed I do, and a vital piece of equipment it was, too.”

“Perhaps you will catch a glimpse of another pair of trespassers, then! It’s about time they went out for their afternoon constitutional, paying no heed at all to property boundaries.”

“Really!” Holmes’s curiosity was genuine. “You have new neighbours?”

”A succession of new neighbours. Since that appalling business with the Stapletons, Merripit House has been in a state of flux. Nobody wants to live there for long. It’s let by the month.” Frankland looked at Holmes with a conspiratorial twinkle. “I wonder what you will make of the current pair.”

Frankland adjusted his telescope and bade Holmes look through it. Holmes spent a few seconds watching the ant-like movements of those digging for ancient treasures, then stood up and pointed.

”Are those your neighbours from Merripit House?”

Frankland reclaimed possession of the telescope and peered through it in the direction Holmes pointed.

”That’s them. And what a pair they make.”

Holmes watched the two figures for a moment then offered Watson a look. “Tell me what you make of them, Watson.”

Watson peered, refocused and followed the movement of the pony trap and its two occupants as it bumped along the Roman road between the tors.

“Two men. The older man with white hair is a passenger, the younger one is driving. A manservant?”

“His nurse or paid companion.” Frankland said the words with disapproval. “It’s just the two of them. The nurse, Manders, carries the old man, Mr Maturin, into the trap, loads a picnic basket and they set off in whichever direction takes their fancy. They come back hours later, and he carries the old man into the house. Sometimes I see him wheel the old man about in a bath-chair.”

”Manders, you say?” Holmes took Watson’s place at the telescope. He watched for a full minute, then straightened up with a grin on his face. “Thank you for indulging my whim of surveying the surroundings from your most marvellous instrument.”

Frankland expressed a wish to remain on the roof and record evidence of a burglary in progress, by which he meant watch the dig. Holmes and Watson took their leave of him and rode slowly to Grimpen post office, where Holmes sent a telegraph message. They ate a very late lunch in the inn whilst waiting for a reply.

“I was pleased to see that you and Sir Henry settled your differences,” Holmes said quietly as they waited for their meal. “I would hate to think you had fallen out over something as trivial as billiards.”

“It wasn’t—” Watson barely stopped himself from confessing all. “It doesn’t matter now. It was a misunderstanding. That’s all.”

Holmes raised an eyebrow but did not press for further elucidation. They finished their meals slowly, in a silence that was not quite comfortable.

“I would like to be able to tell you the source of our disagreement,” Watson said after they had left the inn and just before Holmes went to see if there had been a reply to his telegraph message. “but I could not do so without betraying a confidence.”

Holmes’s expression softened. “My dear boy, you must not feel obliged to say another word. But if upon reflection later you believe it may ease your conscience to share the burden, I promise to be the heart and soul of discretion.” Holmes took Watson’s arm and set off across the cobbled street to the post office, which was on the very point of closing. He looked sideways once, to smile and murmur, “I know my Watson is a man of honour.”

Watson warmed at the compliment and silently wondered just how much Holmes already knew, and how he might have found out. He thought he might reveal all to Holmes during the relative privacy of the open air on their lonely journey back to Baskerville Hall, but Holmes’s cry of Hah! This confirms it! upon opening his reply chased Sir Henry from his mind.

Once clear of Grimpen village, Holmes and Watson rode side by side, their horses at a walk so they could converse.

“Did the name Manders ring any bells, Watson?”

“Not at all. What have you found out?”

Holmes smiled. “I expect you will recall newspaper reports of the so-called gentleman thief.”

“Of course!” Watson frowned. “A. J. Raffles. The cricketer. I was devastated! That a sporting gentleman like that should turn out to be crooked broke my heart. Didn’t he drown off the coast of Italy after stealing some famous jewel?”

“That is what the newspapers reported. His assistant and accomplice was a gentlemanly ne’er-do-well called Henry or Harry Manders. He did eighteen months for his part in a string of thefts attributed to this Raffles fellow. He was released from Pentonville a couple of months ago.”

Watson turned to stare at Holmes. “Do you think this nurse Manders is the same fellow? Surely it is a coincidence.”

“I should very much like to find out.”

Holmes urged his horse ahead and the rest of the journey passed with only the sounds of hoofbeats, wind and bird calls. By the time they had seen their borrowed horses safely stabled and entered Baskerville Hall, Williams was waiting to take their coats and hats.

“The dressing gong will be sounded in twenty minutes, sirs. I took the liberty of laying out your evening clothes. Sir Henry is in the library. The other guests are expected shortly.” Williams glanced from Watson to Holmes and back again. “Will you require the services of a valet?”

Both murmured no, thank you. Holmes led Watson to the library, where Sir Henry stood by the desk, with a plan of the dig spread before him.

“Frankland will have plenty to say about this,” Sir Henry said, sweeping his hand across the plan. “He is a good man at heart, but I wish he would take up a different hobby.”

Holmes laughed. Watson shook his head in sympathy.

Holmes surveyed the plan for a moment. ”If you will heed my advice, Sir Henry, there are a few things I would like you to do this evening during the dinner party.”

Sir Henry nodded. “I will follow any advice you care to give.”

Holmes held up one elegant finger. “First, on no account must you show the gold mask. No one, not even yourself, may go down into the cellars before morning.”

Sir Henry frowned. “But Dr Radcliff, the archaeologist, will want to show it off!”

”You must put him off. Tell him you have an electrical fault and it is unsafe until the engineer has been in the morning. Secondly,” Homes held up two fingers. “When conversation lags, entice all who are willing to remain for billiards after dinner.”

“Well, that is simple enough I suppose. Anything else?”

”Yes.” Holmes smiled. “Casually drop it into conversation that you expect the museum to take possession of the mask tomorrow, accompanied by armed guards supplied by the insurance company. Don’t announce it as if it was anything other than a trifle.”

Sir Henry’s eyebrows rose. “Is all that necessary? I’m going to have to spend the next half hour rehearsing all my lines!”

Holmes nodded. “I assure you that it is essential. Now, if you wish to practice what you will say, I am sure my dear doctor will be glad to assist in any way he can.”

Watson could not be quite sure, but there seemed to be a humorous glint in Holmes’s eye when Sir Henry politely but firmly declined.

Upstairs, in the passage that separated their rooms, Holmes clasped Watson’s arm and pulled him closer.

“Say nothing of our suspicions about Mr Manders, my boy, whatever I might say to him this evening. But keep your eyes open. We saw evidence from a distance that Mr Maturin is an old man, and an infirm one. I want you to observe closely and discreetly reach your own diagnosis.”

Holmes rubbed Watson’s arm where he had grasped it, then went into his room, closing the door behind him.

Separately, Holmes and Watson dressed for dinner. When they ventured downstairs, Dr Mortimer and Mr Frankland were already conversing about local affairs with Sir Henry and a man who was introduced as Dr Radcliff the archaeologist, an affable Cambridge don residing in Tavistock for the duration of the excavation. Radcliff was good natured enough to treat all of Mr Frankland’s legal complaints with perfect seriousness and the two spent half an hour in a discussion of the laws pertaining to property and inheritance. Nothing Frankland said could rile Dr Radcliff, and that seemed to cause Frankland more distress than than a shouting match would have.

Williams announced the arrival of Mr Maturin and Mr Manders. The white-headed gentleman, impeccably dressed, was wheeled in by his nurse, who was also attired appropriately as a gentleman.

“We are all here,” Sir Henry announced with a friendly smile. “So let’s go through.”

Dr Radcliff, as the guest of honour, was on Sir Henry’s right. Holmes sat opposite on Sir Henry’s left. Watson separated Dr Radcliff from Mr Frankland, and Dr Mortimer took his place beside Holmes. Mr Manders wheeled Mr Maturin up to the table beside Mortimer and assisted him into a dining chair, since the table was at an uncomfortable height for him to remain in his wheelchair, then sat on his far side, ready to assist in any way the old man might demand.

“I say,” Dr Radcliff said quietly to Sir Henry as Manders took his place. “Isn’t it a bit unusual to have a manservant sit at table?”

“At least he is a man with manners,” Maturin said acidly. “Unlike some of his so-called betters.”

”No offence intended,” Dr Radcliff said with a slight sneer. “This is, after all, a rather unconventional household.”

Inwardly, Watson reflected that there was nothing wrong with old Maturin’s hearing. Nor was the man unable to support his own weight. Manders had made a show of guiding the old man’s arms around his neck when he lifted him from his wheelchair and pivoted him onto the dining chair, but Maturin had been able to stand with little aid as Manders arranged his cushion.

Frankland came to Manders’ defence. “In my humble opinion, there is nothing wrong with a man earning an honest wage for an honest job.” He glared up and down the table. “I hope that when I am in need of a nurse, whoever I employ will be welcome at the dinner table.”

“Of course he will!” Sir Henry smiled over his soup. “Mr Manders, you are very welcome here. What do you think of our little dig? Have you been out for a look at the excavation site?”

Manders proved to be polite and well-spoken. He revealed when quizzed relentlessly that he had received a gentleman’s schooling but had fallen on hard times, necessitating that he seek employment. He sang the praises of the grumpy old Mr Maturin who had been kind enough to forgive him the follies of his youth and offer him a position.

“Yes, that was rather generous of your employer,” Holmes said over the fish course. “Considering those eighteen months…” He smiled. “No, it must be a coincidence.”

Maturin looked thunderstruck. “What? Do you also believe my Manders to be unworthy of a seat amongst gentlemen?”

”Not at all!” Holmes gave a mollifying and, Watson recognised, entirely false smile. “It’s just that there was a Manders who was rather famous. Or infamous, I ought to say. But you could not possibly be the same man. I beg that you will forgive and forget that I spoke.”

Manders took a deep breath, put his cutlery down and opened his mouth as if to defend his honour with a speech. Maturin shifted in his seat a little sharply. Manders abruptly glared at Maturin then quietly asserted that he had been neither famous nor infamous, and resumed eating.

Watson was not unconvinced that Manders had not just suffered a swift kick under the table from Maturin’s foot.

As expected, Dr Radcliff asked if the prize find could be brought for everyone to admire. As rehearsed, Sir Henry convincingly explained that it was unsafe to enter that part of the cellar due to bare electrical wiring that would be repaired the next day, just in time for the museum curator and insurer’s armed guards to collect it and transfer it securely to London.

“I’ll be glad to see the back of it,” Sir Henry admitted. “Having such a precious artefact in my care sure is a worry. The sooner it’s in the museum, safely under guard, the better. You must have heard about the spate of burglaries of the past couple of weeks.”

Frankland looked up the table at Sir Henry. “None of us would even consider theft, although since it has already been stolen from its rightful owner I don’t know why we ought to give it any consideration. But strangers abound, as my telescope lets me see.” He winked at Mr Maturin. “I was heartily suspicious of our new neighbours at Merripit House at first.” He leaned forwards across the table towards Mr Maturin. “All those comings and goings at odd times, eh? Care to explain?”

“Odd times indeed!” Maturin glared back. “Manders escorts me for my daily exercise. If the times are occasionally odd then look to my health for a reason! Have you nothing better to do than spy on your neighbours?”

”He really doesn’t,” Dr Mortimer chipped in. “We rely on Mr Frankland for all our gossip. He’ll accuse you of the thefts in Tavistock and Okehampton next.”

Watson saw the look on Frankland’s face and almost sensed the man tremble with fury at this traitorous barb from his friend. He spoke up to deflect an argument.

“And a useful tool it is too, Dr Mortimer. Do you remember that affair six years ago, with the hound? I made great use of Mr Frankland’s expert observations of the comings and goings over the moor.” Watson turned to Frankland, avoiding Holmes’s expression lest he let out a wholly inappropriate giggle. “I would never have discovered the hiding place of that strange man I encountered without your keen eye for detail.”

”Yes, well.” Mr Frankland deflated a little. “If only others were as able as you to see the usefulness of my little hobby.” He pointed his fork at Maturin. “It can’t have been you two cracking those cribs anyway. I can say with all certainty exactly when you left, where you went, and when you returned on those days. You can’t have been coming home to Merripit House at seven in the evening then breaking into a house in Hatherleigh at midnight without having set so much as a foot—or a wheel—on the road.”

Maturin laughed heartily. “Well thank goodness for that. I’d hate to think I might be accused of being a burglar! Manders, what do you think? Are we in the clear?”

To Watson, Manders’ laugh sounded a little forced. “I should think we are!”

Over port and cigars, Holmes steered the conversation skilfully around to the topic of whether a convicted criminal who had been released from prison had truy paid his debt to society and could be expected to lead a virtuous life. Watson, who had divined that Holmes was deliberately goading the invalid and his nurse, wrestled with the simultaneous thoughts that Holmes was being an ass and that Holmes almost always knew what he was doing. He attempted to keep the debate going by arguing the opposite of whatever Frankland said, until Holmes caught his eye across the table and gave his head an almost imperceptible shake.

Mr Maturin surprised most of the small company by being vociferously in favour of the idea that a man released from prison should be given the same chances in employment as any other man. Frankland, to Watson’s surprise, agreed wholeheartedly with Maturin. Watson sought to catch Manders’ gaze but the young man looked away.

As soon as the port had made one full circuit of the table, skipping Maturin on account of his health and skipping Manders on account of Maturin’s grumbled instructions, the old man flopped back in his chair and leaned over sideways towards his nurse.

“I should take you home, Mr Maturin,” Manders said with a jolly tone that made Watson wince when he recognised it as one he occasionally employed with difficult patients. Manders helped his employer to sit upright and called for Williams to bring the wheelchair over.

Sir Henry stood as Manders helped Mr Maturin from the dining chair to the wheelchair. ”You’ll stay for billiards, won’t you? One game, maybe?”

Maturin gave a strained smile. “I think not. Manders, take me home.”

”But everyone else will stay for billiards, yes? We could have a tournament. Watson plays well but I’d put money on Dr Mortimer being more than a match for him.” Sir Henry studiously avoided looking at Holmes. “Dr Radcliff, you are welcome to stay tonight and study the artefact at leisure in the morning.”

Holmes looked up at their host with approval. If Mortimer stayed, Frankland would stay because they had travelled together. And Dr Radcliff had twice expressed his regret that he would not be allowed to examine the mask properly before it was whisked off to London.

Frankland almost spoiled Holmes’s plan—whatever it was—with an entreaty to Mr Maturin.

”I say, you could make room for me in your trap since you drive past Lafter Hall on your way home to Merripit House.”

Mr Maturin bristled at the suggestion. “And what do you expect me to leave behind so that you can be a passenger? My wheelchair? My nurse?”

Maturin’s voice trailed off into an incoherent, disagreeable mumble. Manders sighed and shrugged. “Sorry. He gets this way when his medication is overdue. I had better get him home before the pain gets worse.”

Watson perked up. “Oh? What medication is required?” He caught Holmes’s eye briefly and inwardly smiled at Holmes’s amused expression. “I could examine Mr Maturin and perhaps I will have something suitable in my medical bag. Or Dr Mortimer—”

Mr Maturin banged his hand on the arm of his chair. “Manders, you sinner! Take. Me. Home. This. Instant!”

Manders settled a blanket around Mr Maturin’s slumped shoulders and grabbed the chair handles. “Another time, perhaps. Thank you for your hospitality, and goodnight.”

“Well, now.” Holmes stood up. “Billiards you say?” He winked. “I’ll put a half-sovereign on my Watson.”

Quietly, Holmes instructed Sir Henry to order Williams to have the dining room cleared, send the rest of the servants to their attic-room beds, then wait on them in the billiards room. The small group played until almost midnight, when Frankland implored Mortimer to have mercy and take him home and Dr Radcliff politely excused himself rather than face a defeat by Holmes. Sir Henry dismissed Williams with thanks for his long evening’s service, then smiled at Holmes and Watson.

”Has everything gone to plan?”

Holmes set his cue in the rack. “I believe so,” he said as he turned to regard Sir Henry. “But there is just the one matter I wished to discuss with you.”

At Sir Henry’s side, Watson stifled a yawn. Holmes looked at him with concern. “Off to bed with you, I think!”

Watson laughed and allowed his yawn to surface. “Usually it’s me telling you to get some rest. Well. I’ll say goodnight.”

The door had not quite closed behind Watson when Sir Henry blurted out, “You don’t have to worry about me. I don’t know how much John has told you, but I made a fool of myself the other night and it won’t happen again.”

Holmes’s eyebrows shot up for a second, but he merely sighed.

“I know some of what occurred and deduced the rest. Watson is the very best of men. I should not be shocked that others find him attractive.”

”Well, he let me down more gently than I deserved.” Sir Henry set his empty glass on the tray Williams had left for the purpose, then held Holmes’s gaze for an uncomfortable moment. “Did he tell you why he rebuffed my advances?”

Holmes frowned, looked away and shook his head. “Watson has chosen not to speak of the matter.”

“I respectfully suggest that you ask him.” Sir Henry closed his eyes for a moment. “Excuse me. I think the brandy has gone to my head. I’ll say goodnight too.”

“Goodnight,” Holmes said over a brief handshake. “Don’t be too alarmed when you find your safe already missing.”

Sir Henry was alert in a heartbeat. ”WHAT?”

“That uncrackable safe in the cellar. I am confident that it will have been stolen this evening while we all played billiards.”

The door creaked.

“What’s going on?” Watson strode into the room. “I heard a shout and came at once.”

Holmes gave Watson a searching look, but made no comment.

“John! Holmes says my safe has already been stolen!” Sir Henry made for the door. “I’m going to look.”

Watson followed Sir Henry and Holmes followed Watson. They hurried down the stairs to the butler’s pantry, paused to light candles, then went into the damp darkness of the cellars.

“It’s still locked,” Sir Henry said with relief. “Should I have the cellar door guarded?”

”I think not.” Holmes spoke softly. “Consider, if you will, what you might do if your ambition was to steal a priceless item residing snugly in a safe that could not be opened in a matter of minutes.”

Realisation flooded Sir Henry’s face. He thrust his candle at Watson, who caught it, and fumbled with his keys. He removed the bar and then unlocked the sturdy wooden door, top and bottom, and threw it open.

That something had changed in the room was obvious from the nature of the air. Where the cellar had once had an atmosphere that was cool and still, air currents now played around their ankles as a steady draught pulled air back through the door behind them and up from a rectangular hole in the floor where the safe had stood on its flagstone.

“Oh no. No.”

Sir Henry reached out a hand. Watson grasped it lest his friend might fall to the floor in despair or try to follow the safe’s exit through the hole.

”That mask was probably worth as much as Baskerville Hall. It was entrusted to me and… and…”

He turned abruptly and faced Holmes.

“You know about this, Holmes! Get it back!”

Watson pulled gently on Sir Henry’s arm and guided him out of the cellar. Holmes hung back but called for Watson to see Sir Henry settled then return with a lantern.

“Look after our host,” Holmes said when Watson arrived with two lanterns and his revolver. “Reassure him that I know exactly where the mask is and he will have it back in his possession before any representative of the museum asks to examine it.”

Watson returned to the library where he had left Sir Henry pacing the hearthrug and wringing his hands.

”Henry, I’ll take you up to bed and give you a mild sedative. Holmes has this in hand. He says you will have the mask back soon enough.”

Sir Henry resisted the pull of Watson’s hand on his arm only for a moment. Upstairs, Watson brought his medical bag and prepared a sleeping draught while Sir Henry undressed.

”All of it.”

Watson’s voice was commanding. Sir Henry drained the glass then got into bed.

”Now, you will sleep soundly tonight. You might feel a little woolly first thing, but it will wear off.” Watson patted Sir Henry’s arm. “I will wait here until you are asleep.”

Sir Henry laughed groggily. “Will you stay? When I asked you to come to bed with me, I didn't… didn’t ‘xpect…”

Sir Henry slipped into a peaceful slumber. Watson gave him a careworn smile, stroked a strand of hair back from Henry’s forehead, then left the room.

“I’ve locked the cellar again,” Holmes said when Watson encountered him halfway down the stairs. “There is nothing new to learn there. It is as I predicted.”

”Perhaps you might enlighten me as to what is going on?” Watson turned to accompany Holmes back up to the bedrooms.

“In good time, my dear.” Holmes yawned. “Sir Henry is safely in the arms of Morpheus, I take it?”

”Went out like these fine Swan and Edison lights.” Watson tutted at himself. “I ought to have factored in the brandy before dispensing his dose.”

Holmes paused outside his bedroom door. He gave Watson an uncertain frown.

Watson frowned back. ”Holmes?”

”I have a rather delicate matter to discuss, my boy. I confess I have been putting it off for some time, and I fear that if I put it off again on account of fatigue I may not find another suitable opportunity.”

Watson stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Are you unwell, old man? You took a greater lungful of that terrible poison than I did. It is reasonable to expect you to be more severely affected.”

”It is not that.”

”Whatever it is,” Watson said quietly but firmly, “as your doctor I ought to know about it, and as your friend you may confide in me.”

Holmes set his lips into a tight line and searched Watson’s face. Watson laid a hand gently on Holmes’s arm.

“It’s all right, Holmes. If this is about…billiards, it’s all right.”

Holmes let out a great sigh. He pointed at Watson’s door. Watson opened it, and motioned at Holmes to follow him inside.

With the door firmly closed, Holmes relaxed enough to sit on the bed while Watson removed his jacket and shoes, tie, collar and cuffs. With a deft twist of his fingers, Holmes unfastened his collar and loosened his tie.

”A delicate matter, you said?” Watson sank onto the bed beside Holmes. “About billiards?”

Holmes scoffed.

”About Henry? About me kissing Henry?” Watson gave a wry smile. “I know you know about that.”

Holmes nodded. ”I was passing the door of the billiards room at the time. You did not seem to be unwilling, so I did not intrude. Objectively, he is a good catch as they say, so there is no reason why you should not allow yourself to be wooed by him.”

“You’re not offended by my behaviour?” Watson laughed softly. “I will admit that temptation got the better of me for a moment. It has been a long time since I have felt desired. Until last night, I hadn’t kissed anyone since…” Watson’s face bore a wistful smile. “Well. Never mind that. Thankfully, I recovered my head and put him off before I made a mistake that my heart might regret. I do not wish to be wooed by Sir Henry. He is a good friend.”

Holmes sat quietly for a full minute before he spoke.

“When I entered your bedroom in the early hours of this morning, I admit that I did not expect to discover you in your own bed. I am confident that Sir Henry would have been quite welcoming had you only offered him a friendly dalliance.”

Watson balked at the thought. He scowled at Holmes. “Is that what you think of me? Did you come to me to discuss a delicate matter of your own, or to insult my moral fibre?”

Holmes stood. “I apologise unreservedly, Watson. I know you better than that.”

Watson sighed and patted the space beside him. ”Holmes, don’t fly away. Sit down again and tell me what ails you.”

Holmes sat and stared at the dark oblong of the window, and at the soft reflection of Watson beside him.

“Would you admit that kissing Sir Henry was in some way… satisfying?”

Watson laughed with embarrassment. “My dear Holmes, how can I possibly answer?”

Holmes shrugged. “I beg that you will indulge me.”

“Do you absolutely insist?”

Holmes nodded. Watson smiled softly at the memory of the warm feel of Henry’s lips on his.

“Yes, because I have not kissed anyone in several years. No, because Henry, although objectively a good catch as you put it, is not the man I—”

He stopped, his smile dropping into exasperation.

“I’m exhausted. Holmes, please get to the point before sunrise.”

Holmes shrugged and stood up once more. He went to the door and paused with his hand on the brass doorknob.

“I merely wondered whether it was Henry or the act of the kiss that you took pleasure in. If the former, I can be of little use. If the latter, should the urge overwhelm you in future, John, I am willing to be of more immediate practical assistance. If that would satisfy.”

Heart in his mouth, Watson got up and stood beside Holmes. “My dear.” He swallowed, suddenly nervous of the dear friend he had been on intimate terms with for sixteen years. “My dear Sherlock. I find I may be in need of whatever assistance you might offer.”

Holmes released the doorknob and turned to face Watson. He lifted one hand slowly, as if testing the limits of the nerve of a skittish, unfamiliar creature, and lightly ran the back of his fingers across Watson’s cheek. Watson clasped Holmes’s hand and pressed his face against the palm, closing his eyes, turning after a moment to press a kiss to Holmes’s wrist.

”John.”

The barely audible syllable ghosted over Watson’s ear. Watson turned towards its source, nose gently colliding with Holmes’s, smiling into a soft press of their lips. With one hand, Watson cupped Holmes’s jaw, still smooth from having shaved before dinner, and guided him into another kiss. Holmes’s lips parted. Watson nipped gently at Holmes’s lower lip and was rewarded with a hitch in his breath followed by a low rumble of a laugh. Holmes wrapped his arms around Watson’s back and kissed him, copying, learning from every move Watson made.

Watson pulled away slightly and peered into Holmes’s eyes mere inches away.

“Sherlock, I need sleep and so do you. You have a gold mask to find and a mystery to explain tomorrow.”

Holmes released him, smiling. “Oh, a mere trifle. Go to bed, John. I’ll join you soon, if I am permitted, and if you are still awake I will relate a little of the data to see if you can deduce the solution to the burglary of Baskerville Hall.”

Watson kissed Holmes once more and reluctantly allowed him to leave. He undressed and slipped between cool sheets, waiting for Holmes, sure that sleep would not find him tonight.

He woke up with sunlight filtering through the curtains and Holmes curled against his side. Afraid to move in case Holmes might flutter away like a bird suddenly understanding that it perched on his finger to take seed from his palm, Watson lay as still as he could.

Holmes shifted and stretched anyway, his toes emerging from the bottom of the blanket.

”Good morning, John, my dear.”

“Good morning, Sherlock.” Watson stroked Holmes’s untidy hair. “Have we slept late?”

”I think it’s early.” Holmes reached across Watson to look at Watson’s travel clock on the cabinet. Watson took advantage of the manoeuvre to put his arms around Holmes. Holmes chuckled. “It’s barely seven. We have an hour or two before breakfast, and I have heard no movement other than Williams checking on Sir Henry ten minutes ago and determining that our host slumbers on.”

“So we don’t have to make an appearance for two hours. Good.” Watson pulled Holmes on top of him. “Have you any inkling of how many times we shared a bed in some godforsaken country inn, and I had to resist this?”

”If the thought that you had wanted more had crossed my mind, I assure you that I would have acted upon it.” Holmes smiled down at Watson then kissed him once. To Watson’s dismay, Holmes got out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown.

“Would it be terribly indiscreet if I opened the window?”

“I don’t think anyone would even notice if you were looking out of my window, never mind question the fact.” Watson rolled onto his side and studied Holmes’s profile. He chuckled. “The roof of Lafter Hall is not in line of sight, is it?”

Holmes let out a sharp bark of laughter. He opened the curtains and threw the window wide, then lit one of Watson’s cigarettes and perched on the sill to smoke. The morning was calm and birdsong wafted in with the breeze. Holmes finished his cigarette but remained dreamily observing the desolate vista of the moor.

Watson reclined on the pillows with his arms behind his head and the blankets pooled around his hips. He drank in the sight of the pale vee of Holmes’s chest where his dressing gown slipped open and the elegant curve of his calf below its hem.

“I wish you would tell me where the mask is, and how you know it is safe.”

Holmes made a hm-hmm-hmm of suppressed mirth. He took a long, lingering look at Watson, admiring his broad shoulders and the generous sprinkling of soft curls that adorned his chest.

“All in good time, my boy. You wouldn’t deny me a little theatrical flourish, would you?”

“Of course not.” Watson stifled a yawn. “If you are so very sure that the mask is recoverable, then I think it a little cruel of you not to reveal your conclusion regarding its whereabouts to Henry. He was absolutely distraught by the loss.”

“You believe I am punishing him for his impudence in attempting to seduce you?” Holmes smiled out at the green and grey landscape for a few seconds. “No. I am thinking only of having sufficient time to tell a coherent story, and to tell it once only.”

Watson got out of bed and stood beside Holmes. “Sherlock, tell me you are not planning to slip the mask into Henry’s breakfast.”

Holmes snorted, then erupted into laughter. “My dear boy,” he said a minute later, when he had recovered. “Using the same trick twice would be cheating.” He got up from his perch on the sill and closed the window. “No!” He raised one finger. “I will tell you nothing in advance. I wish more than anything to surprise and impress you.”

“If I am to be kept in suspense for hours, then I want to go back to bed.” Watson took Holmes’s hand and gently led him to bed. They lay facing one another. “Will you permit a kiss?”

Holmes smiled, rose up on his elbow and leaned to meet Watson halfway. Watson continued moving forwards, gently but relentlessly pushing Holmes onto his back.

“Will you permit more than a kiss?”

Holmes stroked Watson’s hair and smiled up at him.

“I am in your hands, my dearest.”

Sir Henry was already in the dining room when Watson entered, Holmes a discreet interval behind him. Dr Radcliff was also present, tucking into bacon and eggs while Sir Henry ignored his toast and pulled a face at his coffee.

”Good morning.” Watson nodded a greeting at Dr Radcliff and smiled at Sir Henry. “How is your head today?”

Sir Henry winced and peered at Watson. “Are you sure that was a sleeping powder you gave me, and not three rounds with a slugger?”

Watson chuckled. “The after effects should wear off soon. Some fresh air will help.”

Sir Henry pushed an envelope across the table to Watson. “Tell Holmes he’s clairvoyant. This is a wire from the museum. Their man is coming to collect the mask this morning. I’m to expect him as soon as he can get here from the ten o’clock train.”

Watson checked his pocket watch. “It’s almost ten o’clock now!”

“I predict that you will have it for him in good time,” Holmes said as he entered the room and helped himself to coffee. “If the burglars have cracked the safe already, I expect they were disappointed with the contents.”

Dr Radcliff spluttered his coffee. “Burglars! Do you mean to tell me that the priceless mask has been stolen? Right from under our noses?”

Holmes chuckled softly. “It would appear so, but appearances may deceive.” He raised an eyebrow at Dr Radcliff. “Isn’t that often the case?”

Radcliffe patted his chin with his napkin. “I would appreciate it if you would treat this matter with the seriousness it deserves. I will have to contact London and Bristol Insurance to inform them of the loss. Sir Henry, you must summon the police without delay.” Radcliff dropped his act of affable old don. “I demand to see the scene of the crime. Your insistence that I may not view the mask last night meant that I could not verify it as still being in your possession. This puts you in a very bad light. Very bad indeed!”

Sir Henry could not have looked more wretched. His head sank into his hands, and when he spoke his words betrayed that he was close to despair.

“Do as you please. John, will you show Dr Radcliff where the cellar is?” He looked up at Radcliff, red-eyed and miserable. “I took every reasonable precaution!”

”And a few unreasonable precautions too,” Holmes added. “But you were apparently outwitted by a team of experienced burglars who have been behind several important thefts, I think. An expensive safe and inaccessible hiding place were little impediment to their ingenuity, I’m afraid.”

”I’m going for a walk to clear my head.” Sir Henry got up and made for the door. Watson stood, ready to shepherd Radcliff down to the cellar. Williams came in bearing a visiting card on a small silver tray, and announced that the agents from the museum had arrived early.

Holmes sat back in his chair and laughed. “By all means call the police! Send them to Merripit House. But they will likely find that the chooks have flown the coop. Williams, if you will be so kind, perhaps you will show the men into the library and ask them to wait?”

Williams bobbed an efficient little bow and retreated. Holmes smiled at Watson.

“Would you take Sir Henry for a steadying breath of fresh air? We will meet in the library in ten minutes.”

Watson nodded. He took Sir Henry’s arm and guided him out of the room, along the hall and out of the door. They walked slowly down the yew tree path to the back gate.

“Henry, if Holmes says he will produce the mask, then I have no doubt at all that he will do so. I have never known him to mislead about the solution of a case.”

“If he knows where it is, he should tell me plainly.” Sir Henry clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. “He is either deceiving me or punishing me, and I don’t know which is worse.”

Watson smiled. “He does have a rather strange sense of humour at times. In due course, once it is no longer of national embarrassment, I will send my publisher a tale in which he hid crucial stolen papers in a client’s covered breakfast dish and bade the man serve himself.”

Sir Henry groaned quietly. “If the mask does not reappear, I will be held liable for its value. I will be ruined.”

Watson squeezed Sir Henry’s arm and spoke in a calm, reassuring manner. “That will not happen. I have no more idea than you of what is in his mind, but I trust him entirely. Now, let us walk once around Baskerville Hall and then go to the library, where all will, no doubt, be revealed to an enthralled audience.”

By the time Watson had walked his friend around the perimeter of the hall, Sir Henry wore an air of calm resignation to his impending doom. They went inside to find Holmes, Dr Radcliff and three other men waiting with serious expressions. Williams stood silently at the side of the room beside a tray bearing a coffee pot and several cups.

”Ah!” Holmes’s face lit up as Watson and Sir Henry entered. “You are right on time. I have just finished explaining to these gentlemen that the solution to the problem of the mask’s location is contained within one of these dusty and neglected volumes on the local history of Dartmoor.”

Holmes pointed at a shelf which had been swept clean of dust. “Sir Henry, would you please reach for me the volume entitled Artefacts from the Far Reaches of the Roman Empire? Have a care, it is a rather heavy tome.”

Sir Henry frowned at Watson, who smiled encouragingly in return. Holmes waved his arm to indicate that Sir Henry should use the stepladder that was already placed correctly. Sir Henry tentatively mounted the ladder and examined the titles.

”I have given these old books absolutely no heed all the time I have lived here.” He pulled the correct book out an inch or two with his fingertips, then grasped the spine firmly to slide it free of its neighbours. He took it from the shelf with both hands, and looked around at Holmes. “A little help, if you please?”

Holmes strode over and raised his hands to receive the book so that Sir Henry could descend the stepladder safely. Holmes placed the volume on the desk.

“This book looks old, does it not?”

One of the three agents from the museum rattled his coffee cup back onto its saucer and stepped forward. “We did not come here to receive an old book! Sir Henry, with all due respect, you must cease this charade. If the mask has been stolen, there is a legal procedure you are required to follow.” He waved his arm around the room. “Where are the police?”

Holmes shushed the man with a glare. “Sir Henry, if you would open the book. You will find the relevant passage on page thirty.”

Sir Henry opened the cover. Watson noticed that the volume did not slide open the way his old medical books did, their battered and broken spines lying flat across his desk when he consulted them. Instead, the book remained stiffly in shape. In the instant before Sir Henry attempted to turn the pages, Watson understood and let out a loud guffaw.

”Oh my God, it’s here!” Sir Henry almost tore back the pages to reveal that the heart of the book was a hollowed-out void. Inside the space nestled the treasure, in all its golden glory. Holmes threw back his head and laughed. Sir Henry carefully lifted out the mask and laid it on the desk.

Dr Radcliff leapt forward to examine the mask. He brought out a small wooden chest from his Gladstone bag, then a small brown glass vial. He secured a lens against his right eye then demanded that everyone get out of his light. Watson watched as Radcliff carefully placed a drop of colourless liquid on the back of the mask. It made no reaction with the gold, but dribbled off and made a brown stain on the blotter pad on Sir Henry’s desk. He repeated the test with three similar reagent bottles.

“It is certainly gold, as your aqua fortis test has adequately demonstrated.” Holmes said. “It is the genuine mask.”

Dr Radcliff firmly stoppered the bottles and replaced them in their box. “It is indeed gold of a purity consistent with its supposed origin,” he said. “I have no doubt that further tests will show it is genuine.” He wiped over the areas he had tested with a clean cloth that became stained brown like the blotter. Then he nodded at the museum agent, who beckoned his fellows over to pack the mask away securely while he wrote a receipt for Sir Henry.

The museum agents and Dr Radcliff took their leave of Sir Henry with somewhat curt thanks for the safekeeping of the mask. Once their carriage had its back to the hall, Sir Henry rounded on Holmes.

”You. I insist that you tell me exactly what has been going on here.”

“Then let us return to the dining room and impose upon Williams for fresh coffee.” Holmes smiled. “There, I will reveal all and beg your forgiveness.”

“First,” Holmes said once Williams had brought their coffee, “you will confirm some facts for me. Mr Maturin or his nurse had visited the house before, I think?”

Sir Henry frowned. “Of course. They were neighbours, so I invited them for luncheon a few days after they arrived.”

“And did either of them leave your sight?”

”No!” Sir Henry’s forehead crinkled. “The nurse, Manders, asked for a tour of Baskerville Hall. He wanted to know about that old tale of the hound. Mr Maturin said he was content to wait behind since he could not manage stairs. Manders was with me the whole time.”

Holmes looked at the butler. “Williams, do you have any recollection of that visit?”

”Yes, sir.” Williams nodded once. “I served a cold collation as it was the cook’s afternoon off, made sure anything the gentlemen might require was within view, then left the gentlemen to their conversation as I had offered to help the housemaid with the new curtains in the guest rooms.”

“So there was nobody below stairs?”

“There should not have been, no sir. Baskerville Hall does not require a large indoor staff.”

”Then here is what I deduce transpired.” Holmes lit a cigarette from his silver case. “When Sir Henry escorted Manders on a tour of the hall—and I’ll wager he had many questions—Mr Maturin leapt up from his bath chair and went on a tour of his own. He determined that he could not gain access to the cellar where the gold mask resided, and so a different plan was needed.”

“Maturin is a fraud?” Sir Henry looked flabbergasted.

”A complete fraud.” Holmes looked to Watson. “You remember that I asked you to pay particular attention to him last night and form your own diagnosis?”

“I do.” Watson tapped his fingers on the tablecloth. “While it is true that many people who require the use of a wheelchair are able to walk short distances, I had the distinct impression that he was exaggerating the extent of his condition.” He scoffed. “I noticed that Maturin had enough use of his lower limbs that he could deliver a sharp kick to Manders’ shins under the table when it seemed the man was getting a little too talkative. And he was suspiciously unwilling to have Dr Mortimer or myself examine him to determine if we could relieve his pain.”

“You saw that kick.” Holmes smiled. “I believe that the wheelchair, a very sturdy model, had a rather different purpose.” He looked at Sir Henry. “You recall that Maturin and Manders were the first to leave?”

Sir Henry nodded.

Holmes sat back and blew smoke towards the ceiling. “I was careful to make sure that they knew the rest of us would be occupied and that the servants would not be hanging around below stairs. I wanted to test my theory about the identity of the supposed old man.”

”You wanted them to steal the mask?” Sir Henry sat forward. “You knew all along?”

”I suspected. I would not cast accusations at a pair who merely might have been a master cracksman—apparently back from the dead—and his old partner in crime, when they may really have been the old invalid and his nurse they appeared to be.”

Watson sat up straight. “That really was the Manders fellow who did eighteen months for…” He gaped at Holmes. “Then the old man was… No. He drowned!”

“Clearly Mr Raffles did not drown. I could not tell you where he has been hiding, but the appearance of Manders and someone who might be a renowned burglar looks less and less like a coincidence.”

“But the mask!” Sir Henry threw up his hands. “If it was stolen by this Maturin, or Manders, or Raffles or whoever the devil he is… how did you get it back?”

“Simple.” Holmes grinned. “Watson will tell you how much I adore a challenge.” He winked at Watson, who nodded and laughed. “When you confidently stated that the mask could not be stolen, I stole it. I picked the lock of your safe, took the keys, let myself into the cellar room and picked the unpickable lock of the new safe. It was rather a challenge, but I managed with an hour or two of careful effort, aided by my dear Watson’s stethoscope.”

Holmes paused to bask in the glow of admiration from Watson and amazement from Sir Henry.

“I replaced the mask with an item of similar size and shape from your kitchens, then I hid the mask.” He looked at Watson, a little contrition colouring his cheeks. “I apologise for waking you by creeping around in your room in the small hours. I was replacing your stethoscope in your medical bag.”

Watson finished his coffee and offered Sir Henry one of his cigarettes. Sir Henry, who had been staring at Holmes in utter disbelief, started then waved a refusal, so Watson lit his own then motioned at Holmes to continue.

“The shelf of neglected books had given me an idea. And it is here, my dear friends, that I must apologise to Mr Williams, your exemplary manservant. Not only did he fail to complain when I knocked him up at four in the morning, he grasped my intent quickly and supplied both tools and assistance in fabricating that hiding place.”

Sir Henry slowly turned to glare at Williams. “You knew? Have you no loyalty?”

Williams shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Holmes took on a sterner tone. “Come down off your high horse, Sir Henry. I impressed upon Mr Williams that he must not reveal anything. There are to be no repercussions for him, do you hear? He is as loyal a man as you will find, and he had no inkling of the real reason why I wanted an old book hollowed out.”

Sir Henry sighed his capitulation. Holmes smiled. “The appropriateness of the title of your largest and most neglected tome was coincidental. I suspect the dig may reveal more riches from their empire brought to this damp isle by Roman conquerors.”

“All right.” Sir Henry sat back and puffed out a long breath. “The mask never left Baskerville Hall. It is safely out of my hands. I can stop worrying about it.” He met Holmes’s eyes. Holmes nodded. “But what about this fellow Maturin, and Manders? Shouldn’t we alert the police?”

”If you would feel justified, by all means do so.” Holmes lifted a forefinger. “However, the evidence against them is insubstantial and they might be charged only with damage to property and theft of an expensive safe since they did not steal the priceless mask.”

Watson leaned forwards. “How do you explain Frankland’s assurance that he could provide Maturin and Manders with an alibi?”

“I think what Mr Frankland saw when he turned his telescope in their direction was Mr Manders going out and about very visibly with a lifelike mannequin in the pony trap, while Mr Maturin travelled incognito wherever he liked. He could, in that way, have established an alibi of comings and goings to and from Merripit House whilst he himself was in some other location entirely.”

”Such as Okehampton, Hatherleigh or Tavistock.” Sir Henry scowled. “Committing other burglaries.”

”Or tunnelling under your feet when he thought he would be unobserved. But I have merely a strong suspicion. It does not do to jump to conclusions without adequate grounding in facts.” Holmes paused to light another cigarette. “When I looked into the tunnel under the cellar, the purpose of the strengthened wheelchair became obvious. There was one set of wheel marks that formed barely an impression in the dirt, but another quite deep and distinct cutting over the lighter set of marks, along with footprints that may turn out to match either Mr Manders’ or Mr Maturin’s shoes as they dragged the wheelchair and its heavy load out of the tunnel. They probably lashed the handles of the wheelchair to the back of the pony trap and pulled it away.”

“I’m going into Grimpen immediately.” Sir Henry stood. “Even if all the local police find is footprints and wheelmarks leading from here to Merripit House, they might have enough evidence to order a search and who knows what they might find.”

”As you wish,” Holmes said, smiling. “You might also consider sending a telegraph to Inspector Mackenzie of Scotland Yard. I think your neighbours have become experts at outsmarting the local boys, but Mackenzie caught them once before and may have the wit to do so again.”

Having made his decision, Sir Henry wasted no time in calling for his horse to be made ready. Holmes waited for their host to depart, then suggested to Watson that they go upstairs and pack for their journey home.

”Do you think the thief has opened the safe yet?” Watson called through from his room to Holmes’s.

“If not, they may still be unaware that they have been discovered,” Holmes replied with a laugh. His voice grew more serious and he stood in Watson’s doorway. “But if they opened the safe, unwrapped the velvet and found a copper colander, then I expect they are already well on their way to melting back into the crowds of London with different names.”

Watson scrutinised Holmes’s face. “You hope they get away with it!”

Holmes smiled. “You must admit that it was a pretty little puzzle, and I feel all the better for solving it. The knowledge that there might be a criminal in London who requires that I think is the best outcome from this holiday you forced upon me.”

”Oh?” Watson walked slowly up to Holmes. “The best thing that happened to you over the past day or two is that a criminal went free.” He stood toe to toe with Holmes. “Really? Are you sure there wasn’t something else, Sherlock?”

Holmes gave Watson a slow smile. “There was something else this morning, my boy. Early. I was rather tired and that may have affected my recollection. Once we are safely back in our rooms in Baker Street, with the door locked, perhaps you might be kind enough to remind me?”

Watson matched Holmes’s smile. “I‘d be delighted.”