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Chapter 2

Reconnaissance, music and the night party

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  1. Saxe-Coburg Square seen from high above: a small, sooty, forgotten pocket of quiet sunk in the smoke of the City, with the roaring main road just behind it.

    1 Saxe-Coburg Square seen from high above: a small, sooty, forgotten pocket of quiet sunk in the smoke of the City, with the roaring main road just behind it.

    In the text →
  2. A tight, eye-level insert on the knees of the pawnbroker's assistant's dark trousers, creased and stained with clay.

    3 A tight, eye-level insert on the knees of the pawnbroker's assistant's dark trousers, creased and stained with clay.

    In the text →
  3. A quiet, soot-stained plan of the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, towering over the little newspaper shop, with its dark side passage beside it.

    4 A quiet, soot-stained plan of the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, towering over the little newspaper shop, with its dark side passage beside it.

    In the text →
  4. Lost in the music at St. James's Hall, Holmes sits in profile with a gentle smile and half-lowered eyes while his fingertips drift in time to the melody.

    5 Lost in the music at St. James's Hall, Holmes sits in profile with a gentle smile and half-lowered eyes while his fingertips drift in time to the melody.

    In the text →
  5. By the mantelpiece in the gaslit Baker Street sitting room, Holmes holds his hunting crop and tells the banker and the detective, with a dry smile, that tonight's play is for £30,000 and for the man Jones has hunted for years.

    6 By the mantelpiece in the gaslit Baker Street sitting room, Holmes holds his hunting crop and tells the banker and the detective, with a dry smile, that tonight's play is for £30,000 and for the man Jones has hunted for years.

    In the text →
  6. In Holmes's lamplit sitting room, Peter Jones names John Clay with a stabbing forefinger while the once-sceptical Mr. Merryweather bends to listen.

    7 In Holmes's lamplit sitting room, Peter Jones names John Clay with a stabbing forefinger while the once-sceptical Mr. Merryweather bends to listen.

    In the text →