Holmes opened his mouth to speak but Eden-Summers held out one finger, signalling us to wait. He turned back to the table, noticed the feet resting on it, peered over at the figure on the floor. ‘Laurence?’ he mumbled, then grinned at us. Scanning the table, he seized a nearby bottle, took two long swigs, emitted a sonorous belch, and turned again to face us.

‘All right, then. Gentlemen, to what do I owe this pleasure?’ he intoned with all the grace a half-clad, drunken man of twenty could manage. ‘You look, er … familiar?’

‘Mr, Eden-Summers, I am here on the matter of Miss Odelia Wyndham. Or Dillie, as you know her,’ said Holmes.

‘Have we met?’ the boy slurred. ‘Oh, yes. Wedding planner? I …’

‘This is Mr Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective. I am his friend, Dr John Watson,’ said I. ‘We are here—’

‘A detective? What? Oh, Dillie, my God, what has she done now?’

‘You are engaged to the young lady, are you not?’ asked Holmes, sternly.

‘Why, yes. She has the ring. It was in the newspaper … erm …’ The youth peered at Holmes with bloodshot eyes. ‘Tell me, old man, why is a consulting detective and his … whoever you are … barging into my room at this hour of the morning?’

‘It is after three p.m.’ I said.

‘I’ll need you to account for the last eighteen hours,’ said Holmes.

Just then the young man on the floor stirred. His feet fell with a thump onto the threadbare oriental carpet, where he lay sprawled.

‘Where are my manners?’ said Eden-Summers. ‘Let me introduce Laurence Manon Le Cru – my friend and fellow Dallier. That’s our club. He was with me.’ Eden-Summers waved grandly at this figure, then peered over the table at him. ‘Larry, where are the others?’

‘Gone,’ moaned Le Cru from the floor. ‘You cleaned them out.’

‘I say!’ Eden-Summers turned to us with an unsteady smile. ‘After I lost my shirt, or rather my trousers, I suppose I had something of a comeback. Yes, I remember it now.’

‘To the point, young man!’ said Holmes sternly.

‘All right. What was the question?’ The fellow blinked, swayed, then closed his eyes in an effort at cogitation. ‘But wait, just a moment! How did you get in here?’

‘Down through the chimney, Mr Eden-Summers. Put on your clothes, send your friend away, and call up for coffee at once, if you know what is good for you,’ barked Holmes.

‘Oh, I seldom know what is good for me,’ slurred Eden-Summers.

‘And when he does …’ came an even blurrier voice from the floor.

‘It matters not a whit!’ said both in unison, then laughed.

‘Mr Eden-Summers, pull yourself together. You may talk to me or to the police.’

‘My word!’