She was, as the deacon had described, singularly beautiful, with mocking eyes and golden hair arranged in a knot high on her head, and curls escaping around her face in a look of disarray that was both casual and becoming. She was dressed in a striped cotton summer frock, and from the bottom of it peeked long matching bloomers. These ended in curiously large white tennis shoes of the kind I have worn on the court myself.

She was clearly one of the new, sporty breed of young ladies who bicycled and partook of racquet sports. I glanced around me, and there was indeed a tennis racquet leaning up against the wall under the window. I was certain she must own a two-wheeler parked nearby. I could well imagine Atalanta would be jealous of this glowing creature, who possessed not only beauty but, perhaps even more enviable, vibrant good health.

Holmes said nothing to her but took in the room in his comprehensive manner. I followed his gaze to an open closet door, from which hung a young man’s suit of dark blue summer linen, a boater hat, and a wrinkled white shirt and navy tie. I inferred a regular visitor.

He turned to the lady. ‘Miss Wyndham,’ said he severely, ‘since you know my name and were expecting me, you have been informed that I have been called in from London to find you. You have given your family and friends quite a fright. Was that your intention?’

She stared at him before answering, as if deciding whether or not he was worth her time.

‘I can have you arrested for breaking in on a young lady who is minding her own business,’ said she, pleasantly.

‘You will not, however,’ said Holmes, ‘as you do not want the police to know of this private sanctuary. Who sent word we were coming? It certainly was efficient.’

‘Polly. You’ve met her,’ said she. She smiled and stood up. ‘She preceded you here by minutes.’ She was clearly proud of the fact. ‘You are not familiar with Cambridge?’

‘Not as much as I intend to be,’ said he. ‘Miss Wyndham, I have reason to believe that you may be in danger. A doll designed to look like you was found in the Jesus Lock last night. Mutilated, I might add.’

She threw back her head and laughed. It was a tinkling, charming laugh. ‘That is creative!’ said she. ‘And so somebody called a London detective.’

Holmes and I exchanged a look.

She sized us up and came to some kind of decision. We were not prepared for what came next. Dillie Wyndham approached Holmes and stood before him, dangerously close and most improperly. She proceeded to inspect him minutely in a presumptuous and arrogant manner. A man doing such a thing would have received a sharp retort or worse. To his credit, Holmes did not move a muscle.