I have never known Holmes to curse but he came close to it that day, surveying the empty room. All of Dillie’s clothes had been removed from the closet, all the personal belongings packed up and taken away, with drawers left open, two clothes hangers on the floor, and a bedside table upended.

Holmes made a careful inspection, even as his fury was evident. I knew well enough to leave him to his work and not to interrupt him with questions. It was afterwards, in a carriage en route to the Wyndhams’ that he opened up to me.

‘Watson,’ said he, ‘I am not, as you know, a great believer in hunches. I prefer data – real, tangible data. That room provided very little. And yet I have a very bad feeling.’

‘Holmes, I know you. Surely there was something – a tiny clue, perhaps not even registered consciously that has given rise to this “feeling”?’

‘You may be right, but it is presently abstruse, Watson. And yet … I cannot shake my fear for Miss Wyndham at this moment.’

We pulled up to the front of the Wyndhams’ house. At eleven in the morning, the heat was already oppressive. I could feel the sweat running down my back.

‘Now,’ said Holmes as we dismounted the cab, ‘if only we would find Dillie here, healthy, spirited—’

‘—and slightly pugilistic,’ I inserted.

‘Ha! Yes, even that. But I fear we will not.’

Five minutes later we were seated in the parlour of the Wyndham family home awaiting the appearance of the professor and his wife. Into the room swept the ethereal Atalanta, looking even paler than before, but with a strangely triumphant smirk on her elfin face. A bright rose dress accentuated her pallor, giving her skin an almost greenish cast.

‘Well, the gentlemen from London,’ she drawled, posing in the doorway like a Greek statue. ‘You are days late for the engagement celebration. There might be the dregs of some champagne in the kitchen. It will have gone flat by now, but shall I ring for some anyway? You look parched.’

‘Miss Atalanta,’ said Holmes, ‘I take it Miss Odelia is not here. Have you seen her?’

Atalanta smiled and shook her head.

‘Is your maid Polly about?’

‘No. She went to see her mother. Or so she said.’ There was mockery in her tone. A nasty smile darkened her features.

‘When is she due back?’

‘Who knows?’

Holmes and I exchanged a glance. He did not like that news and neither did I.

‘Where does Polly’s mother live?’

‘Ask in the kitchen. I neither know nor care.’

‘Do you know where your sister is?’

‘Now, that is the question of the hour, isn’t it?’ said the irritating young woman. ‘I neither know—’

‘—nor care. Yes, indeed, Miss Atalanta you have made yourself abundantly clear on that point,’ said Holmes. ‘But the young lady seems to have disappeared.’