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The man nodded and frisked Holmes deftly. But he found nothing.

“He’s clean,” he said in a high-pitched voice, strangely at odds with the massive physique.

“So where are they?” the lady cried impatiently. “They must be here somewhere!”

“Do you think?” said the detective.

Alice faltered. But not for long.

“Of course, I almost forgot your faithful henchman Watson. He must have them. He cannot have gotten far!”

The effete muscleman searched the room while she impatiently kept Holmes at bay with the pistol. The longer the search lasted and the longer the secret documents remained out of her control, the more nervous she became. Without them her plan was doomed.

When the servant got to the wardrobe I thought I was certain to be discovered. There was no hope. I instinctively pressed myself into the furthest corner, wrapped myself in the coats and stuck my legs into a pair of wellingtons.

But fortune was on my side.

The muscleman quickly frisked the coats, his hand missing my face by an inch. But he did not see me. Thinking that the wardrobe was empty he again closed the doors.

I returned to my vantage place.

Alice was biting her lower lip and looking at my companion with irritation.

“The doctor and all of the documents are already gone,” he lied. “Soon the authorities will be here to do their work. Give yourself up while there is still time.”

Moriarty’s daughter lipped her lips, on which a drop of blood had appeared, and shook her head.

“Perhaps, but something does not sit right,” she said quietly. “Why would you stay behind? The doctor does nothing without you.”

The detective again fell silent.

“Very well, we will play your game,” she said. “William, take the horse and search around the castle for footprints. Follow them, and when you find the good doctor, kill him. Do not return without my documents! And hurry. I meet Tankosić in the afternoon.”

The servant left while I lamented at the ease with which the beautiful Alice condemned me to death. I promised myself that if we ever got out of there alive I would never again succumb to the temptations of the flesh.

“I still do not believe you, Holmes,” she continued. “I think that in the end you will talk and tell me where our little doctor is hiding.”

“You are a fool.”

“We shall see,” she said. With the pistol pointed at him she led him to the door.

They left the study and disappeared from my sight.

I wondered what to do. I was safe enough in the wardrobe, but to what end? I could die here of hunger without helping Holmes or saving the royal documents.

But leaving the hiding place could mean certain death.

No, I could not just stay there waiting. I had to do something!

I lingered for a few minutes until I was sure that Alice and Holmes were already far enough away. Then I carefully opened the door. The room was empty and the doors to the corridor were wide open.

I checked to make sure I had all the documents and left the room.

There were voices coming from the ground floor.

Creeping on tiptoe I silently made my way to the staircase.

From behind the stone portico I peered through the corridor and into the dining room. At a long table Rupert Darringford was being served breakfast by the woman we had seen in Pascuale’s office, the murderess of the factory owner Minutti and the Italian secret service agent Paolo.

Although I was hardly in a position to take advantage of the situation, we finally had the whole little family together.

Lord Rupert had already “welcomed” the detective. Holmes sat at Rupert’s right and the whole side of his face was red. Alice sat at the other end of the table. Her brother’s interrogation methods evidently greatly amused her.

But no one had ever succeeded in extracting anything from Holmes by force.

“Where is Dr Watson?! Where are my papers?!” Darringford yelled at the motionless detective, wiping his forehead with a napkin, the vein on his temple swollen thick as a finger. Judging by his behaviour our recent diagnosis of him was correct. He clearly suffered from manic psychosis, and his parents had done well not to have another child. Their choice of ward was more disputable.

Lord Rupert soon lost what little patience he had and realised that, try as he might, beating my companion would not get him anywhere.

“We shall do it another way, then” he snorted, tossing aside the napkin. “Let us play a game you and I.”

Saying thus he hurried off somewhere.

The detective took advantage of his momentary absence for a last attempt at some sort of negotiation.

“Alice, it is still not too late,” he said. “Your father was my great rival and I dare say that he died as such. Our fight was dignified and worthy of its name.”

“Save your words, Holmes.”

“You will unleash a war in which millions will die.”

“Yes, millions! The more the better!” she cried. “After all it will be the men who die. Then women will rule!”

“You mean you shall rule. Even the suffragettes know this and have disowned you!”

“They still do not understand!” she fumed. “I offered them the world and they dithered and trembled. All I wanted was their tacit support. At least the wheat has been separated from the chaff. My faithful core has remained!”

“Faithful? Do you mean Pastor Barlow?”

“Barlow? Please!” she laughed. “He served his purpose and then he had to go. He is now stuffing his face somewhere else, whether with ambrosia in heaven or with cockroaches in hell. No, by the faithful I mean the true warriors, not those fools.”

Her lady servant, whose shoulders I could see from my vantage point at the top of the stairs, nodded eagerly.

“Those fools probably have other plans,” said the detective. “Ones in which blood will not flow.”

“Weaklings!”

I was still crouching above the staircase and had no plan but to run into the dining room, cause a panic, grab Holmes and run away. Of course, the chances of its succeeding were practically nil.

Darringford returned to the dining room, brandishing a large revolver.

“Do you know what this is?” he said, sticking it under the detective’s nose.

“It is the gun manufactured according to Vito Minutti’s patent. The revolver with the shrapnel projectile that killed him.”

“Oh, you are not mistaken, my friend,” said Rupert, mocking the detective’s dignified and even-tempered voice. “But there’s one small difference. The one that Veronica used to kill Minutti was just a prototype. This little fellow will turn you into mincemeat!”

“I see. What game shall we play with it?”

“I would also like to know,” Alice interjected.

Rupert emptied the cylinder, and the bullets rattled onto the table. He left only one bullet inside. Then he spun the cylinder and the lock clicked.

“It was taught to me by a prince in Moscow,” he said laughing. “It is called Russian roulette.”

“Rupert, it’s too dangerous!” Alice cried.

“Depends for whom,” said the Lord. He spat and pointed the barrel at the detective’s head.

“You may begin,” said Holmes.

“With pleasure!”

Rupert snorted, pointed the gun at the detective, switched off the safety and pulled the trigger. The hammer struck empty. Holmes looked straight ahead without blinking.

Darringford straightened and pursed his lips. His big bushy moustache quivered with excitement.

Holmes looked at him defiantly and raised his eyebrows. Darringford had no choice but to play the game he had foolishly suggested. He pointed the gun to his head, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger firmly.

Once again the chamber was empty.