“Russell here has very clearly indulged in a pleasantly exotic meal, but I for one have not taken sustenance since a cup of tepid American tea provided by our watch-dogs some hours ago, and a supply of soap and water would not go amiss. Mr Long, would you care to join us in dinner and further conversation?”

“At your hotel?” the bookseller asked, sounding dubious.

“Certainly, unless you have to be back to your shop.”

“My assistant will have closed up, but I don't know that I . . .” His voice drifted off.

“We can find you another coat,” Holmes said.

“Holmes, I don't think that's the problem,” I said. “The St Francis may have certain . . . exclusionary policies.”

“Ah. Well, if they do, we'll take him to our rooms and have our supper brought up. Come, we can do nothing more here at the moment.”

Three sets of eyes and ears scanned the streets for gun-wielding lurkers, but we walked two streets down and caught a cab on Van Ness without mishap. At the hotel, we avoided the question of the dining room's policies by simply whisking our guest past the desk and onto the lift; the operator did glance sideways at Mr Long, but his interest seemed to be more upon the small man's bloody sleeve than on the shade of his skin.

“Russell, would you like to order up a dinner while I remove a quantity of grime from my finger-nails? I won't be a moment,” Holmes said, and stepped into the suite's bath-room. I consulted with Mr Long and then picked up the telephone and placed an order. When Holmes emerged, scrubbed and damp, he made for the collection of bottles which, in a shallow bow to the Volstead Act, the hotel had placed behind the doors of a side-board.

“What flavour of analgesic may I offer you, Mr Long? Despite the strictures of your Eighteenth Amendment, we appear to have brandy, gin, whiskey, the inimitable American bourbon—”

“The brandy would be fine,” our guest said, settling back a fraction into his chair. He took a healthy swallow, then took off his spectacles and cleaned them with a pristine white handkerchief. When they were back on his face, he seemed to relax, as if the cleaning exercise had clarified a decision as well.

“I hope you understand,” he said to me, “why I hesitated to respond to your questions this afternoon in the shop.”

“You wanted to think about it first.”

“Indeed. And also to see you, as it were, in situ rather than in my place of business. However, when I saw a man with a gun aimed at you, it decided me that you were on the side of the angels. May I ask, though: When I ran at you—for which I apologise; I hope it is understood that I did not intend to injure you?”

“You need not apologise for saving my life, Mr Long.”