But I filled my stomach while Holmes and Hammett debated how best to go about the next step, namely, suggesting to the police with their superior resources that they might help us find Greenfield and his half-sister. I piled my things onto the serving tray and went to fetch some boots from the wardrobe, and was sitting at the table lacing them up when the telephone beside me rang.

It took me a moment to understand the voice, as there seemed to be a minor riot going on in the background. “Mr Auberon? Is that you?” I said loudly. “Can you repeat what you said?”

“I'm very sorry to disturb you, madam, but there are some children here who are insisting that they—”

“We'll be down in an instant, Mr Auberon. Tell them that we'll be right down.”

I grabbed my coat and headed towards the door, which Holmes already had open, driven there by the urgency of my tone. “It's your Irregulars,” I told him.

His face lighted with joy, and as he galloped down the corridor towards the lift he cried, “Come, Russell—the game's afoot!”

Hammett, catching up his coat and walking beside me with more decorum, looked at me askance. “He actually says that?”

“Only to annoy me,” I told him, and all but shoved him towards the opening lift door.

The dignified St Francis doorman was attempting with ill success to keep at bay an affront of urchins, denizens of the streets wearing an interesting assortment of extreme and ill-fitting raiment. Upon seeing Holmes, they dodged around the poor man's outstretched arms like so many football forwards and came up short before Holmes, bouncing up and down on their toes and squeaking in excitement.

One long, commanding adult hand went up, and they settled instantly back onto their feet, quivering like retrievers ordered to sit.

“Mr Garcia, you have something to report?”

The lad whipped off his cloth cap and all but saluted. “Hey, mister, sir, they came to the house, and we followed them!” His response set off the others, who chimed in with great enthusiasm but little intelligible detail. He shushed at his fellows with no result, then started slapping at them with his cap. This had the desired effect; rebellion quelled, he turned back to Holmes. “They headed down Market Street. I've got some of my gang on them, but you need to hurry.”

Holmes laid a hand on the boy's shoulder and turned him towards the entrance, calling over his head to the doorman, “Taxi, please! Now, Mr Garcia, tell me who came and what they did.”