And then the maharaja came off his horse. I was looking straight at him when he did it, or I shouldn’t have believed it: I saw him toss his spear to one side and kick free of the stirrups, dropping to the ground, completely defenceless and grinning like a schoolboy. The boar was facing Nesbit at that moment, but the animal heard the sound behind it and started to whirl about. Without thinking, I shouted some nonsense sounds and kicked my horse forward, waving the spear over my head. The horse quite sensibly refused to take more than a couple of steps, but that was sufficient to attract the boar’s attention and turn it back to face me. It lowered its head to charge, but before it could find traction, its hind legs were jerked up from the ground, both of them, by the maharaja.

Incredulously, I watched the boar twist and scrabble to free itself, snorting and screaming its outrage, but the small man’s strength somehow held it up, and then Nesbit’s spear took it in the side, and it dropped, dead before it hit the earth.

My spear-head slumped to the ground as I fought for breath, but Nesbit had dropped off his horse and was standing over the dead pig, panting and shaking his head at his friend, who had collapsed to the ground behind the pig, still grinning.

“Jimmy,” Nesbit managed to gasp out. “What the hell was that about?”

“I haven’t done that since I was a boy,” the maharaja said when he’d got his breath. “Didn’t know if I still could.”

“Christ! I wish you’d warned me.”

“Where would the fun in that be?”

Nesbit stared, then gave a bark of laughter and thrust out his hand. Our host took it, allowing himself to be pulled upright, and they stood shoulder to shoulder admiring the dead animal until the appalled servants had brought the horses back. Both men mounted, and the maharaja surveyed the scene.

“I can’t imagine we’ll improve on that kill. Shall we let the day stand?”

I tried not to show how abjectly grateful I was.

Nesbit and I lagged behind the others on the ride back, and I told him about Holmes’ note. To my surprise he nodded at the list of requests.

“Not a problem. How much rope does he mean?”

I started to tell him that I thought it would be for tying prisoners, but hesitated. In that case, wouldn’t Holmes have specified “twine”? The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed. He had, after all, had some time to consider the contents of the note. “I shouldn’t think all that much. He says he’s being held on the first floor.”

“But if we need to come off the roof?”

“You’re right. Where are we going to get that much strong rope?”