As Mrs. Hudson came into the room, it was apparent that she had come to our rooms first to see how her two most difficult tenants faired. If we were still alive and well here with nothing destroyed, then it would be reasonably safe to assume that the rest of Baker Street was as well. Although it was equally apparent that she had not seen her kitchen yet as she was far too pleasant for that scenario. (Holmes has an acute aversion to dishwater.) The good landlady still had all of her travel garments on. Her eyes were weary looking but, under the circumstances, quite cheerful.

"Mrs. Hudson, I can't tell you how good it is to have you back again. I trust that you are quite alright now." Holmes said as he intercepted her and took her hand in his, turning his unusual charm on. He was either buttering her up for the kitchen fiasco or for the shock of Peter.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. I'm very well, thank you. My sisters and I weren't particularly close."

Thinking of our little charge I stole a glance over my shoulder to check on him. He was amusing himself with various items on the sofa. If Holmes was trying to keep him a secret for the moment, I was afraid that at any moment Peter would….do just that…he let out a cry.

Mrs. Hudson immediately took notice. She looked in my direction. I felt like a child again trying to hide a broken vase or other precious piece of furniture behind me from the discovery of my parents.

"Mr. Holmes," she began sharply, "was that…"

"That was my latest client, my dear Mrs. Hudson." My friend hastily explained as he gently, but firmly escorted Mrs. Hudson out of the room. "It is getting rather late and I'm sure you are tired after your journey. I suggest that you go settle yourself back in and rest for tonight and we can talk more at length in the morning." He continued smiling at her and patting her back. She made a face as she was ushered out of the room. "Goodnight, Mrs. Hudson." He quickly added as he closed the door before she could object.

"Holmes, how could you not tell her the truth when she could plainly figure out that there was a baby in the room?" I questioned.

"I was perfectly serious about getting some rest, Watson. It will be a long day tomorrow and we have a lot of explaining to do to Mrs. Hudson. I advise that you get to bed as well, old fellow."

I certainly wasn't going to argue him on that point. "And what about you, Holmes?"

"I'm going to have a pipe or two over this intriguing little problem that we've got on our hands." He gave a rueful smile. "I'd like to offer Mrs. Hudson an explanation containing a little more than what little we have."

So it was that I left Holmes seated in his armchair puffing away at his pipe staring at Peter with that same fixed and questioning gaze, his frustration plain on his features.

I had gone to bed turning our bizarre situation over and over in my mind. I tried to look at it from every possible angle and to apply any of my friend's methods to find some sort of clue. I considered the little things that he deemed so important in any investigation but I confess that I could find no possible theory to fit all of the facts that we knew. My only guess would be that the Carsdale couple had adopted this child only a short time ago and were not completely attached to it as yet. That would explain giving it up so easily. And for some reason they foresaw their own murder. Thus, not being heartless fiends they give the child the only chance they can imagine, by sending him away. But why had they sent him to a detective and not back to the original parents? Or to an adoption agency? Or to another relative? Were the circumstances of their murder possibly so shameful that they had to conceal it? Then it would be madness to thrust the matter before the most determined investigator that ever lived. This is as far as I had gotten when I finally drifted off to sleep just as bewildered as before. I could only hope that by morning Holmes would have struck upon that one detail to follow to a solution that was so lost on me.

I rose earlier than usual the next morning, anxious to get down to the sitting room. When I arrived just outside the door, a low chuckle met my ears. I knew in an instant that it was Holmes and that it was the sound of triumph. This sparked hope in me yet as I made my way further into the room.

Peter was on the settee having his breakfast (from an actual bottle that Holmes made me go purchase when we had run out of my medical gloves). Holmes was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace with his usual energy that was just bursting to be spent. But this energy sprung not from frustration. From his worn face and the amount of smoke in the room I could easily tell that he had been awake all night.

"Ah, Watson, you're early this morning." Holmes greeted me cheerily when he noticed me standing there.

He gestured for me to take a seat in the old armchair. As I did so I could stand the strain no longer and asked him,

"Holmes, have you come up with a clue?"

"More than that, my dear fellow, I've solved it." He said with a wave of grandeur. He couldn't help smiling at my no doubt astonished expression.

"But how in the world could you have solved it?"

"Now, now, Watson; that's not very flattering to my vanity you know." He sat down on the other side of the settee and watched Peter.

"Of course I don't doubt you or your powers, Holmes. But I don't understand how you could have solved such a tangled up affair just by sitting in here all night. I turned the case over in my own mind half the night and couldn't come up with anything that could possibly help."

"You were at a disadvantage, old chap. You were in your room."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

It was several minutes before Holmes pulled himself from his absorbing thoughts with a sigh and turned to me to explain. He stretched himself out and placed his fingertips slowly together.

"I'm afraid that if I explain myself fully, it will disillusion you, my dear friend, to whatever powers you think that I possess. And if you should ever be inclined to write an account of it, I should be in very grave danger of losing my practice."

"How do you mean, Holmes? I see nothing that you could have possibly done wrong. In fact, you've just admitted to solving the case. What harm is there in that?"

"Ah, my faithful Boswell. It is true that I've solved it. There are only one or two points that still need clearing up later on. However, if I had only observed what I should have in the beginning and put two and two together, this little problem of ours would never have caused us so much frustration."

"You've completely lost me, Holmes."

"The murdered couple did send the adopted child to a relative."

I sat up straight in my chair, almost choking my before breakfast pipe.

"Good heavens! You don't mean Mycroft had a child that was adopted?"

Holmes threw back his head and laughed heartily at my suggestion.

"No, no, doctor. What I mean is that the Carsdale's ingeniously killed two birds with one stone. They sent the child into the care of a relative and indirectly into the way of a detective that could clear the matter of their death. Last night as I sit here thinking over the matter and watching our young friend here, I chanced to notice that he made the same face that Mrs. Hudson did yesterday. In that instant I realized the family resemblance. You will remember in that case of the Baskervilles' that I mentioned the peculiarities of family strains and how it was so instrumental in securing the guilt of Stapleton."

"Yes, yes, of course. So you mean that Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Carsdale were sisters then?"

"Precisely. They were both married and therefore had changed their names, and that no doubt put us off track for a time." Holmes admitted somewhat bitterly. "Is there anything else that puzzles you?"

"You told me that Mrs. Hudson left for her sister's funeral the afternoon before Peter arrived."

"Obviously he was placed in the temporary care of a confederate who was under strict orders to bring him here. The couple was killed shortly thereafter because as you observe Mrs. Hudson had already received news of her sister's death. The next of kin is always the first notified."

"And what about the couple's murder?"

"I have formed a few opinions upon that point, but I haven't the facts yet to know if they are true. We had best be going down to the scene of the crime and take the hand of the good inspector Lestrade and help him clear up his little mystery. But all of that will have to wait until after breakfast and we break this startling news to Mrs. Hudson. Come in Mrs. Hudson."

The landlady had arrived at our door with our breakfast.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson." Holmes said.

"Good morning, gentlemen." She responded rather coldly. Holmes and I exchanged a glance. This wasn't going to be easy. I rather expected that Holmes would need all of his charm now.

Somehow he caught the drift of my thoughts and proceeded to act on them by becoming as charming as he possibly, and believably, could muster.

"My dear Mrs. Hudson, you must accept my most humble apologies for the unnecessary destruction of your kitchen and my apparent rudeness last evening. I would have presented you with some flowers or some other such trifle to make proper amends but I haven't had the opportunity of stepping out of doors yet this morning." His speech was slowly working its magic on the poor woman and a small smile was on her lips. "As you can see," he continued, "that I desperately need you and Watson around to keep me in my proper place."

"That you do, Mr. Holmes; and don't you ever forget that!" She said severely, wagging her forefinger at him playfully.

"I should wish that Moriarity took me rather than to have to stay angry with me, Mrs. Hudson."

"Harrumph! That is only because I fix your meals and it's too expensive, even for you, to be dining out all the time."

Holmes chuckled, and to my great amusement, he winked at her. "Quite true, my dear lady. Mrs. Hudson, may I ask you a few questions, please, before you go?"

"Of course, Mr. Holmes."

"They may be difficult for you to answer, but I would wish that you be perfectly frank with me." Mrs. Hudson nodded her understanding and Holmes continued. "Did your older sister have a child within the past year?"

Mrs. Hudson looked utterly baffled at the man she regarded as her son. "Why yes, Mr. Holmes, she did but it died before anyone else had the chance to see it."

"Mmm, I see. And the middle sister, a Mrs. Carsdale I understand, did she have a child?" Holmes took a step closer to the landlady in his eagerness and put his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown.

"Why, yes, but it wasn't her own flesh and blood, you see. She and her husband only adopted him. But she would never tell from whom or where or why."

"Yes, I thought as much." Holmes closed the distance between him and Mrs. Hudson and put his long arm around her shoulders and gently took her into the room to finally reveal our charge to her. His face was that of a showman. He was enjoying the dramatic moment.

"Now, if I may have the very great pleasure of introducing you to your nephew," said he.