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I felt desperately ill used by circumstances as the pair of them left. Both young, strong determined, ready for anything. And all I was fit for was to doze beside the fireside like a rheumatic old blood hound. Curse this gout!

Yet there is one odd circumstance about that meeting I still have to recount. For as he was leaving Wiggins suddenly noticed my top hat on the stand and turned back to me.

"Doctor, could I ask a favor and beg for the loan of your stethoscope."

"Good Lord, what do you want that for?" I asked.

"It's for a purpose I can't explain now. But I'll see you get it back very soon."

"Very well, go ahead and take it."

Wiggins picked up my hat and removed the stethoscope from its usual carrying place inside the crown.

"Thank you, Doctor."

The door closed and I sat alone by the fireplace again, waiting to hear the sound of Wiggins' hail for a cab coming through the opened window. Oddly, though, after about five minutes I still hadn't heard his voice and I wondered if their departure had been delayed for some reason. I rose, hobbled to the door and opened it. And down below I heard some odd high pitched cries, almost human in tone.

'Not that confounded parrot?' I thought to myself. 'Wiggins is surely not wasting his time with Mrs Hudson's parrot when matters are so urgent?'

Yet there were certainly some strange noises coming from below, sounding almost like a woman in distress. I went down the staircase a few steps and leaned over to look down into the hall. And there I saw a most unexpected sight. Miss Oakes was standing by Mrs Hudson's door listening to the squawking sounds coming from the other side of the door -not only listening, but with the stethoscope horns in her ears and the other end of the tube pressed flat against the door. Clearly she could thus overhear in great detail what was occurring in the room and she seemed totally preoccupied in her eavesdropping. In fact her face was flushed scarlet, her lips were wide open and her eyes seemed to be on the verge of bulging out of her head.

I could make nothing of this. If Maude was so interested in whatever Wiggins was doing with Mrs Hudson's parrot, surely she could have entered the room with him? And what was Wiggins thinking of to leave his client waiting in the hall while he played the part of an amateur vet with a moody macaw? That was no way to run a business.

Above all, though, I could make no sense of Maude's behavior. What on earth could Wiggins be doing inside Mrs Hudson's room that could have such an affect on the young lady? And then my astonishment became complete as I saw Miss Oakes kneel down with the stethoscope still at her ears and then place her eye against the keyhole of the door.

Well, here was a mystery that Holmes himself might have trouble in solving. It would certainly be a very difficult situation if Mrs Hudson opened the door to find Maude seemingly intent on spying into her quarters. And all because of a parrot! Which had now started calling out in a way which sounded like some fragment of human speech screeched out over and over again: two words, in fact. I couldn't quite catch the first one but the second sounded like "Me". "Duck me" or "Buck me", or some similar piece of nonsense that the bird must have picked up somewhere.

Amazing creatures, parrots, to imitate a woman's voice so well, though not worthy of the attention that Maude was giving to this specimen. Her whole posture was of total fixation on the sounds coming through the stethoscope and on whatever she was glimpsing through the keyhole. Truth to tell, I thought rather badly of Wiggins for letting Maude have the use of instrument. It was, after all, a medical device and therefore meant to be used by doctors, not women.

I could only conclude that there must be some good reason for the girl's behavior, odd as it presently appeared. After all, how many times had I seen Sherlock Holmes behave in an entirely inexplicable manner, only to discover afterwards that he'd had excellent reasons for doing so? This must be another such mystery which I would ask Wiggins to explain to me when next we met.

I therefore returned quietly to my room and pondered over the strange twist of fate which had come my way that morning. Strange, indeed, and yet all I could do to was to brood the afternoon away in my armchair whilst the game was afoot. If only Holmes was here!

Yet perhaps he was, in spirit at least, because I presently found myself feeling like Holmes himself at the prospect of a new case unfolding. Ennui replaced by energy, weariness by well being, a racing of the blood akin to an old soldier's response to a regimental band marching past. Where the prospect of action had Holmes pacing the rooms like a caged tiger I was affected to a much lesser but altogether beneficial degree, to the extent that my attack of gout faded away as quickly as it had come. I can offer no medical reason for this transformation but I was certain it was the excitement of the case and the thrill of the chase which was the stimulus for my sudden recovery. At any event, by the early afternoon I was walking around the rooms of 221B with complete ease.

The question was, what use should I make of this newly granted freedom? I had implied to Wiggins that I would remain at Baker Street for the afternoon, but circumstances alter cases. My circumstances had changed, I was able to walk again and it seemed intolerable to remain cooped up whilst the case was unfolding. Neither did there seem much point in going around to Wiggins' office merely to wait there for news.

No, I would go to Euston Station, I would be on platform six at three o'clock and serve as another pair of eyes. Whoever Mr 'Ardent Admirer' was he could have no idea that Miss Oakes had come to Sherlock Holmes' consulting rooms and even if he did it was very unlikely that he or his servants would know me by sight. So I could be just another passenger on the platform. Wiggins' people would also be watching and they probably wouldn't know me either, nor I them, but it was no matter. If I saw anything that Wiggins should know about I could quickly get word to Coneysale Road. No, there was no reason why I no attend at the miscreant's planned rendezvous and watch matters unfold. No harm could come from that, provided I remained at a discreet distance.

Whether or not I should try to follow Maude and her companions if they were led away was a different matter. As eager as I was to do so I might get in the way of Wiggins' watchers and distract them from the job in hand. No matter how I turned the matter over in my mind I found that I could not change my decision on that score. The tracking must be left to the professionals, leaving me behind with my fingers crossed in hope of their success. The beginning and ending of my involvement in the hunt would be at Euston, and only there.

Well, so be it. No chance for Watson to play the role of a knight in shining armor rescuing the fair damsel in distress. Regrettable, though at least I would have something to tell Holmes about when he returned. Little enough, no doubt, compared to his exploits amongst the bandits of the Balkans, but each of us must live our lives as they are doled out to us, whether in full or sparse ration.

The clock at Euston station still lacked a few minutes to three o'clock as I made my way down platform six in an unusually warm and humid atmosphere. The strong sunlight remained undimmed by any passing clouds and the acres of glass panels overhead were acting something in the manner of a greenhouse. Those closest to this trapped heat were the pigeons sitting on the maze of sooty girders underneath the station roof, most of them preferring to doze rather than taking wing to forage for food scraps.

Far below their perches a great mass of mankind was behaving very differently, either bustling around in great energy or waiting impatiently for their scheduled conveyance. Indeed, any curious bird might have wondered what had made a normally busy concourse even busier. But it would taken a very perspicacious pigeon indeed to notice that so many family groups of Homo Sapiens had left their dwellings today, or that the reason for this might have been deduced from the small buckets and spades some of the younger members of the species were clutching.

On the other hand the railway company porters, perspicacious or not, knew very well that this was the height of the holiday season, and that every Briton and his family were making their annual pilgrimage to the seaside. Many tips were being offered and accepted for the prompt movement of bags and baggage as Londoners followed the rest of the nation on their march to the beaches. There the children would build their sand castles and the adults would paddle in the salt water, their yearly tribute to the element which provides our passage to that one quarter of the world's population fortunate enough to live under the civilizing influence of the British Empire.

And, of course, to reach the sea, a Londoner first has to catch a train. Which was why I was finding it easy to move along the platform without drawing attention to myself. Not only was it crowded, but it was crowded with Paters and Maters and their offspring clustered together in chattering groups, the parents struggling to keep their children and luggage from getting mixed up with the adjoining families. I therefore chose the tactic of slowly circling each group and thus remaining behind cover as I kept my eyes skinned for Miss Oakes. I did not wish her to see me if possible because such a change in arrangements might startle and confuse her. A tactic which I carried out with success, though not at all in the way I had anticipated.

A man walking past me briskly suddenly checked his steps like a wherry hitting a king wave, his head swinging over as sharply as a gybed stun'sl. And when I followed his gaze I was rather stunned myself. Three girls were standing in a small group on their own, no men, no porters, no baggage. All three of them were wearing pure white linen dresses embroidered with pink silk ribbons: on their heads were wide brimmed white hats, also beribboned and additionally decorated with pink flowers. In their hands the girls idly swung matching white and pink folded parasols. The whole effect would have been utterly charming even if the girls had not been what they were.

It was the one on the left I looked at first, and drew in my breath in appreciation, for she was tall and graceful with a figure that Reuben himself could have drawn inspiration from, full yet fine lined, and a joy to behold. Behind her proud head was a neat bun of blonde hair, her pleasant features carried a broad smile and even at my distance from the group I could sense her joy in the constant self awareness of her youth and beauty. Indeed, it was that unbounding essence of life in her which even an artist of genius could have only hinted at. My eyes moved across to her companion and my jaw, I'm sure, fell open in shock. For both of the girls was alike as two peas in a pod, alike in form and in face, even alike in the dab of freckles across both pert noses.

Twins! Twin sisters! And how odd that they should look so fashionable without being members of the upper classes. Which I was sure they were not, because such a matching pair of beauties would have certainly have featured in the pages of the society papers had their family any claim at all to public attention. I sought to see the features of the third white clad girl in the hope of gaining a clue as to their identity. For the moment, I freely admit, I had almost forgotten about Miss Oakes, as I tried to catch a glimpse of the face hidden behind the twins' hats.

Suddenly the tallest of the figures raised her head to look up at the platform clock, my view was unblocked and I was struck such a paralyzing blow of shock as must have befallen Lot's wife as she looked back at the destruction of Sodom. My search for Maude Oakes was over and I almost fell backwards onto a providentially empty bench seat, where I could both mop my brow and also hid my face behind the handkerchief as I tried to come to terms with the unexpected circumstances I had fallen into.

From Wiggins' descriptions of his girls I had imagined two gaunt, tangled hair drabs with shifty eyes wearing cast off clothing. Of course a moment's reflection would have led me to realize that the more attractive his agents, the better the chances of them being taken away with Maude. But even so, that the young detective could have produced twin sisters dressed in the height of fashion and looking like Duke's daughters was beyond my comprehension. And why the devil was Maude dressed in the same way as... hmm... yes, Angel and Chrissie? Why had the calico print brown dress she had worn at Baker Street been replaced with the same fashionable dresses as the sisters?

Well, one more quick glance was enough to answer that question. Because Angel and Chrissie were tall and good looking and blonde, and in those virginal white and pink dresses they could have charmed the Lord Chief Justice of England off his bench with the wink of a sparkling eye. But with Maude with them, in the same rig, it was as if all the golden Maidens of the Rhine had come to life together and to London for their spring outfits. As a trap to catch a libertine, a man who lusted after strapping young women like Maude, it was a trap with the best bait imaginable displayed inside its iron jaws. Perhaps the only thing which would appeal more to the depraved lusts of 'The Ardent Admirer' than Maude herself would be the opportunity to commit gross outrages on a pair of twin sisters held at his pleasure. If his messenger knew anything at all about his master's tastes he would know that much, and happily, thrice happily, take all the girls with him, as we hoped he would do.

'Wiggins... Wiggins!' I muttered under my breath and into my handkerchief.

I was expressing sentiments of both shock at the young detective’s brilliant insight into the criminal mind and his equally brilliant planning to capture the criminal himself. Even the great Holmes would need to take care in future, lest the Master find himself overtaken by the Pupil.

Therefore, it was with the highest degree of expectation that I continued to survey the scene, though keeping my face lowered against the small chance of Maude noticing me. Certainly she began looking around her with great intensity as the minute hand on the clock dragged itself around for the final circuit before marking three. But she never noticed me, and I saw no sign of anybody approaching except for three porters with a hand cart piled high with luggage.

So high in fact that as one of them pushed the cart along the other two walked on either side and held on to the top layer of wicker baskets to prevent them from toppling off the cart. This was a very bothersome interruption at such a moment, but there was further annoyance yet as a small shunting locomotive in the green and gold colors of the London and North Eastern Railway came steaming down the side of the platform. Behind it was a single passenger coach, and a guard's van behind that, nothing else. On the destination board were the words: 'FOR PRIVATE USE ONLY'.

I snarled under my breath as I saw that the train driver was clearly intending to come to a halt at the very spot where the three girls were standing. Perhaps, I thought, he was under the impression that they were something to do with whoever had hired the private train. What a foul piece of luck, for such an unexpected turn of events might well frighten off the messenger we were waiting for. And, unbelievably, at the same moment as the passenger car stopped by the girls, the porters halted the luggage cart in front of them, cutting them off from my sight. I wondered what had made the confounded idiots stop there, of all places, and cursed all three of them as they all walked around to the far side of the cart. Perhaps the wheel on that side was working loose.

Yes, I confess it, I was not as quick as Holmes would have been in understanding what was happening. But I appeal to your own sense of reason, dear reader. A hired train and a gang of desperadoes disguised as railway porters -who would have expected such resources from a mere filthy minded blackmailer? Certainly not I. Yet when I saw the tip of a parasol held aloft above the baskets on the cart and waved vigorously for a second or so it was enough to shake the scales from my eyes. For I was sure it was an alarm signal. Nor was it the only signal being given because the guard was already waving his green flag at the locomotive and blowing his whistle to grant it permission to depart within mere seconds of its arrival.

I jumped up from the bench and rushed forward as the train's wheels began to turn. One glance behind the cart was enough to confirm my suspicions. Nobody was there, nobody at all and the coach door already closing. I was dumbfounded at what had happened, at how Wiggins' close laid surveillance plans had gone all a'gley so quickly. There was nobody in his organization who was in place to take a hand, nobody but myself. As the guard's van rolled past me I stepped onto the rear platform, to be confronted by an indignant railway official in full dress blackcloth uniform, gold braided hat and white side whiskers.

"Now then, sir, what game do you think you're a'playing at? I can have you taken up by the police for setting foot on this on this here van without permission."

"Guard, my name is Watson, Doctor John Watson. I'm the friend and confidant of Mr Sherlock Holmes, the well known consulting detective."

He surveyed me from boots to hat. A stout man with red cheeks behind his white whiskers and careful eyes finally matched by an equally careful nodding of his head.

"Why so, I believe you might be, sir. You certainly look like the pictures of Doctor Watson I've seen in the papers. Would you happen to have a card on you?"

I opened my card case and gave him one of my cards. He read it slowly, then looked up at me: "What brings you aboard my train then, Doctor?"

I found it difficult to reply, bearing in mind the need for absolute discretion about the case. Then I realized there was no need to admit any specific interest in the girls.

"Because I fear something may be amiss here, Guard. Did you not see three porters get into the coach just now with the three ladies who were waiting on the platform? How can that be?"

The guard smiled and shook his head: "Very smart of you to spot it, Doctor Watson, but I was warned in advance about those porters. They're not real porters at all, of course, just some young bloods who wanted to play a joke on their girls. The station master himself warned me about it while we were writing up my running orders."

"Indeed?" I queried. "Has Euston Station now become a music hall for the staging of pantomime shows?"

The Guard's smile was unshaken: "Why, Doctor, when you're dealing with people who can afford to run their own trains it often happens that you get some odd requests. I had a terrible time once with the Marquis of Gransby. He saw some mushrooms in a meadow from his train and nothing would do for it but that I must stop the train while he sent his cook out to pick them for breakfast. Stopped on a main line, mark you, with the Hasting Flyer coming up behind us at sixty miles an hour. He would have had me sacked if I'd refused, so I had to spin him a yarn that all the mushrooms in the area around were known to be deadly poisonous. Compared to that caper, this little prank with the young ladies is just water off a duck's back to me."

"I see. And who was it who ordered this train?"

The Guard shook his head: "I'm sorry, Doctor, I don't know. I didn't ask and the Station Master didn't tell me, even assuming he knew himself. Now, what's to be done with you? We've passed the station limits by now and we're not due for another stop until we reach our destination. I'm sure it was very public spirited of you to inquire about the ladies' welfare but if I stop at any of the stations enroute to drop you off we'll cause a lot of disruption to the company's running schedules. Better perhaps that you make the round trip with us and I'll return you to Euston nice and quietly with nobody the wiser. We're not going far at all."

The van was rolling from side to side as it went over a whole series of points, high cliffs of bluegray brick were closely abutting on either side of the small train and rows of houses perched above the cutting walls looked like pigeon lofts.

"Come inside, Doctor, it'll get draughty out here as we pick up speed."

The Guard ushered me through the door which gave admittance to the interior of his van, then stepped inside himself up to a writing stand. He consulted his pocket watch, dipped a pen in the inkwell on the stand and carefully made an entry into an opened journal set on the stand. I was irresistibly reminded of a ship's captain writing up his logbook on the bridge of a large steamer.

"What is our destination, then?" I asked him.

"Halton Manor, Doctor. Not above fifteen miles away. It used to be a gunpowder factory but it was closed up some years ago. Now there's just the old buildings and the branch line into the siding where they used to load the powder onto the trains. I only hope the points haven't rusted up, for I'm sure this is the first time any mainline traffic has been in there since the factory was shut."

"So what possible reason could anybody have for wanting to travel to such a place?"

The Guard shrugged: "I don't know, Doctor, but if the company hires out a train, it's only real concern is that the fee is paid. Where the customer wants to go to is up to him. Why, do you wish me to make some sort of investigation? I'd need some real proof of wrong doing, or it could cost me my job if I upset some high ranking peer who has paid a pile of golden sovereigns to hire this train."

I reflected on his words and tried to decide what to do for the best. On one hand I was very unhappy about the way things were shaping. "Ardent Admirer' was proving an artful dodger indeed. Of course it had always been a possibility that Maude could have been taken away from a railway station on a train, but following her onto a normal train would have been easy. This unexpected use of a private train smacked all too much of cleverness and considerable resources for my taste. On the other hand unless the journey was completed without interference there would be no chance for Maude to retrieve her racket.

"What's your name, Guard?"

"Protheroe, Doctor, James Protheroe."

"Well, Mr Protheroe, would it be possible to drop me off discreetly at this place, this Halton Manor, without the occupants of the coach seeing me?"

"Certainly, I think that would be possible, Doctor." I noticed a sudden gleam of excitement appear in his eyes. "And would you be wanting me to pass any kind of a message onto Mr Holmes afterwards? I've always been a great admirer of his, you understand."

Once again I marvelled at the almost overwhelming amount of interest the British public always showed in the affairs of Sherlock Holmes. But who could blame them? Certainly, not I, having devoted so much of my life to recording the great man's achievements because of my own fascination at his manifold accomplishments.

"Unfortunately, Mister Holmes is abroad at the moment on a most confidential mission," I explained. "But you may certainly send a telegram to some associates of mine the moment you return to Euston. Tell me, which is the closest station to Halton Manor and how far away is it?"

Protheroe stepped up to a finely detailed map on the van's bulkhead highlighting a web of metropolitan rail lines and placed his thumb up against it. "The nearest station to Halton Manor, Doctor? That would be Hathaway station, two miles closer to London on the down line."

"The down line?" I stood next to him to see where his thumb rested.

"All the lines with trains driving away from London on them are called down lines, all lines into London are up lines," Protheroe explained. "So after we run through Hathaway station, Halton Manor is two miles further on."

I examined the map. "This road, the Gravesend Road, it runs past Halton Manor and Hathaway?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"And trains run regularly today Euston to Hathaway?"

"Every thirty minutes, regular as clockwork, Doctor."

"And a party who wished to could bring bicycles with them on the train to Hathaway? In the Guard's van?"

"Certainly. For threepence extra each, of course."

"So the quickest way to Halton Manor from Euston is to take a train to Hathaway Station and then cycle the two miles further along the Gravesend Road?"

"That would be right, Doctor. Unless you was to travel on one of Professor Herr Von Zeppelin's airships." Mr Protheroe smiled at his own joke.

"Thank you, I'll write out the telegram now then, with your leave."