It was one early April morning that I awoke to the sound of an old lady's voice. "Mr Holmes, there is a young lady waiting for you in the sitting room. She seems in a considerable state of excitement, and insists upon seeing you." I, still half asleep and not hearing through what she said, replied groggily, "I'm coming." I staggered out of bed and to my closet. That's when I sprang fully awake.

These weren't my clothes! I spun around and looked at the room. This wasn't even my house! Then I realized what the old lady had said. It couldn't be.

I was standing over my best friend's bed when she sprang awake. I did a quick recall. "Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said I, "but it's the common lot this morning. Mrs Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted it on me, and I on you."

"What Mrs Hudson? We've got a Mrs Hudson now? Sherlock, you– what is this?! Where are we?!"

"Woah, woah there. Calm down."

"What is this house and why is it only a quarter past seven?" A sudden realization swept across her face. "We're not... "

I took a deep breath. "We are."

I, fully dressed, carefully walked down the stairs, followed by my companion. A lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, rose as we entered.

"Good morning, madam," I greeted. "My name is.. Sherlock Holmes," I recited after a short pause noticeable to no one, save perhaps Watson. "This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr Watson.., before whom you may speak as freely as before myself. Oh, I am glad to see that Mrs Hudson had had the good sense to light a fire. Pray.. draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup.. of hot coffee, for I observe you are shivering," I said, even though I knew what was next. And what was made me half shiver.

The woman changed her seat as requested, but said in a low voice, "It is not cold that makes me shiver."

"What is it, then?"

"It is fear, Mr Holmes. It is terror." She raised her veil as she spoke, and we could see indeed that her face was full of agitation, with restless, frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features and figure were like that of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot with premature grey.

I must speak more confidently, I told myself. I reached out and patted her forearm. "You must not fear," I told her soothingly. "We shall soon set matters right, I have no doubt. You have come by train this morning, I see," I said, more out of myself then out of recitation. I was beginning to enjoy this.

"You know me, then?" The lady was surprised.

"No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of your left glove," I replied, truthfully. "You must have started early, and yet you had a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached the station."

The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at me.

"There is no mystery, my dear madam," said I, smiling. "The left arm of your jacket is splattered with mud in no less than seven places. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save the dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only if you sit at the left-hand side of the driver." That's when I realized I hadn't even been outside yet. This was going to be one tough – yet exciting – day.