The station had long ago been converted from a warehouse with offices, and the prisoners’ cells were in random locations throughout the facility. Holmes’s current cell was off a main hall and through an anteroom. I entered to discover Holmes seated in a metal chair in the centre of this isolated cell. To my surprise, he was strangely encumbered in a straitjacket with a few chains round it, and his ankles were handcuffed to the legs of the chair. It brought to mind the provocative posters I had seen for the escapist thrills of the Great Borelli. In my exhaustion and surprise, a thoroughly inappropriate laugh escaped my lips.

Holmes looked up. He was white with fury, his jaws clenched, and he clearly did not share my humour at the situation.

Pickering stood over him, holding another chain and set of locks, apparently in the hope of figuring out where to add these to the pitiful mess before him. Constable Palmer entered with apparent reluctance, carrying a long white rag.

‘Gag him,’ said Pickering.

‘Sir?’ Palmer looked at the sergeant dubiously.

‘‘I think not,’ said Holmes sharply. ‘Do you think I’m going to undo these locks with my teeth, Pickering?’

‘Do it.’

Palmer hesitated.

‘Mr Holmes just nearly drowned.’ I said. ‘He is still recovering.’

‘I don’t care,’ said Pickering.

‘It is highly unusual, Sergeant,’ the younger fellow stammered, his decency getting the better of him.

Just then Hadley entered the anteroom. Pickering dropped an ounce or two of swagger at the sight of his superior.

Hadley took in the ridiculous sight and frowned. ‘Pickering, what’s the meaning of this?’

‘Well, we don’t want him escaping again, do we, sir? I assure you, he will not be picking any locks this time.’

‘Where did you get that straitjacket?’

‘From the sanatorium. When we delivered Miss Atalanta yesterday.’

Her family had had Atalanta committed to an institution! A sharp pain in my leg reminded me of the reason. Dr Macready must have reported the incident, and perhaps Eden-Summers as well. But a sanatorium! I thought I must look into this later.

Hadley, too, had the decency to be outraged. ‘You managed to ask for an extra straitjacket? Sergeant, what on earth were you thinking? This is a gaol, not an asylum.’

‘I was thinking ahead, of exactly this situation, sir. We have occasional unruly prisoners. Remember Willoughby last month – Palmer’s broken finger?’ He nodded fiercely at Palmer, who reluctantly held up his little finger, which bent sideways at an odd angle.

Pickering glanced down at Holmes and smiled. This was not lost on Hadley.

‘Outside, Pickering, now!’ he ordered. ‘Palmer, you too.’