To one side, Sherlock Holmes had his eyes pinned on Eden-Summers. That is the last thing that I remember, for at that moment there was the splinter of glass and the slight huff of tearing fabric, and I felt a searing white-hot blade pass into my right thigh.

I heard a cry of agony which must have been my own.

And then I was on the floor with Eden-Summers leaning over me. He was staring at my thigh.

‘The little minx!’ he exclaimed.

What was he talking about? The pain in my leg was excruciating. I groaned and tried to sit up to see what had happened.

Holmes elbowed the boy aside and peered down at me.

‘Watson, be still. You have been shot! Eden-Summers, go for a doctor!’

I craned my neck to see the boy at the window, staring down at the courtyard. ‘Better yet, I’ll get a cab and take you there! I know just the man,’ he cried, and ran from the room.

‘Have a care!’ cried Holmes.

‘She will not try again,’ said the young man, his voice disappearing down the hall.

Holmes leaned down to peer at me, a worried expression on his face. Pain made my eyes water and my head swim.

‘Holmes …’ I said. ‘What …?’

‘You were shot with an arrow. No, keep your hand away.’

‘What? Pull it out!’ I cried, trying to reach it.

‘No, Watson!’ he said, stopping my hand with his own. ‘Lie back. As a doctor, you know better. Pull it out and you could bleed to death!’

In retrospect, of course I did know this, but for the life of me I could not summon the reason at that moment.

I gritted my teeth. ‘Who on earth would shoot me?’

‘The target was more likely Mr Eden-Summers.’

‘How? Who—’

‘Come, Watson! Who is an archer with reason to wish harm to that young man? Think!’

I was spared coming up with a retort, for at that moment I passed out.

CHAPTER 34

Just a Bodkin

I came round blearily in what must have been a doctor’s surgery. A small, serious man of about forty with bright red cheeks was bent over me, busily tugging at something. I do recall that my right leg was numbed and felt like a gigantic loaf of bread and nothing to do with me, although somehow attached. The smell of carbolic acid filled the room. He brought up a pair of forceps and leaned in. I felt a dull pulling and could hear him snipping at sutures.

‘My … uh …’ In a haze, I located in my mind the spot on my leg which was receiving the attention. ‘The … the femoral artery?’ I mumbled.