The hand-clasp ended, and the man turned to us, curiosity enlivening the pale face—I had altogether forgotten that Kipling’s lad was not a native, that both parents had been Irish. He was a clean-shaven, black-haired Irishman going grey at the temples; kept from sunlight for nearly three years, his skin had faded to a sickly shade of yellow. But the dark eyes danced as they sought out Holmes, and as he came up, he stopped to place both hands together and bow over them. Holmes returned the gesture, then grinned widely and grasped the smaller man’s shoulders.

“By God, Mr O’Hara, it’s good to lay eyes on you.”

“And you, my brother Holmes. The Compassionate One has smiled upon you, it appears.” And with that, the Irishman’s gaze slid to one side, and took me in, and if anything the grin widened. He moved over to look up into my face, and I studied with interest this phantom we had been following for all these long weeks.

He was dressed as a monk, in dark red robes that left his arms uncovered, and now that I was standing in front of him I could see that his facial hair was not shaved, but had been laboriously kept plucked. Aside from that tiny detail, his features could have been those of a fellow passenger on a London bus. The face before me was remarkably unlined, so that he appeared younger than his forty-seven years, the dark wells of his eyes calm, peculiarly open and unguarded. He did not look, I thought, like a man long held prisoner. His eyes reminded me of something or someone, although before I could hunt down what or whom that was, his light, amused voice addressed me.

“And you, appearances to the contrary, can only be Miss Russell.”

I suddenly remembered how I looked, and abruptly understood both his laughter and Holmes’ fingers exploring my scalp—in the extremity of the moment, I had forgotten that I was Martin Russell, not his sister. But this middle-aged Irishman saw what the maharaja had not, and accepted the disguise for what it was.

He continued, “I am grateful to God that I have lived to see this day. I call your husband brother now, but in days gone by he was my mother and my father, and I rejoice that my eyes can see the woman who pleases him.”

I was so confused, all I could do was look at him. And even more confused when he turned and walked back to the door of his cell. “But now you must be on your way, before Sanji returns with the supper.”