When they returned to the house, Sherlock left Mr Trevor in the kitchen while he went in search of Victor. He wasn't in the back with the dogs, or in his room or Sherlock's. Sherlock was just about to go back to the kitchen to ask Mr Trevor when he noticed a door open at the end of the hall. He peered inside and found Victor sitting with his back against the headboard of a large bed topped with a dusty rose-colored coverlet.

Sherlock walked slowly inside and looked around the room. There was a mirrored dresser topped with a hair brush and an ivory colored jewelry box, white sheer curtains below rose-colored draperies, and a wooden rocking chair. Sherlock didn't need anyone to tell him that this had been Emily Trevor's bedroom.

Victor's stocking feet were flat against the bed, his arms wrapped around his knees. He looked up at Sherlock.

"Hello," he said. "Did you and Dad have a nice trip?"

"It was certainly interesting," Sherlock said walking forward to stand next to him. He considered sitting on the bed, but decided against it.

"I'm sorry," Victor said. "I was acting a bit juvenile. I shouldn't have gone off in a huff. I just ... I suppose that my parents are a sensitive spot for me. I think that I must have felt that you were insulting my mother's intelligence by questioning what she said about the Roman...about the rocks. I can see that you might be right. No one with any real knowledge of the period has ever come to verify their age. It is entirely possible that my mother was wrong. I should be open to the possibility that she and I were mistaken."

"You should be open to it...but you're not."

Victor laughed once, "I suppose you're right. For me, they will always be the Roman Rocks. The place where the ancients poured out libations for the goddess of Victory. It's part of my worldview. Part of what made me. We all need a way to deal with the ugliness of this world. I do it with my music, and my studies, and by imagining my mother dancing in the same places that the Ancient Romans danced before."

"Your mother surely danced there. No matter the origin of the structure, that almost certainly was true."

"I know. It's just that I want it all to be true, and even if you prove that the Roman's didn't build it, in my heart it will always be so, because that's the world my mother believed in. The world that she taught me to believe in, and that is what made me who I am."

"Then I hope that it is Roman because I wouldn't want you to be any different than you are now."

Victor looked at Sherlock then, his eyes bright. "Thank you. Now let's go see what Dad is cooking for dinner."

Victor climbed off of the bed and put on his shoes. They went to the kitchen to find a salad laid out and chicken breasts cooking on the stove. Mr Trevor turned back to face them.

"There you are, boys. I wanted to give you fish, but none of it looked good, so today it's chicken. You know what? Let's go fishing tomorrow morning, then we can have fish for lunch before you boys go back to University. What do you say?"

"Sounds great Dad! I'll go find the fishing gear."

Sherlock followed Victor out and they rummaged around the old shed until they found the rod and tackle. They ate dinner in the kitchen and Victor's laughter filled the room. Sherlock thought that he may have never been more happy.

That night, after dinner, they lay out on the lawn and looked up at the stars. They were beautiful, and it was even more beautiful because Victor was there.

Victor went to check on the dogs, and Sherlock was about to go to his bed when Mr Trevor called him into his study.

"Sherlock," he said, "I know that you're not certain about detective work, but I want you to talk to a friend of mine. His name is Detective Charles Marinen and he works at the local Constabulary. He's often talked with me about the difficulty in finding good detectives. I know this is a bit forward of me, but I've already written you a letter of introduction."

"A letter of introduction?"

"I know. It's an old tradition, a bit before your time. But, I want you to talk to someone who knows more about it than I do."

"I'm a student. I'm in the sciences. I'm not interested in detective work."

"Never say never, my lad. Never say never."

Right then there was a heavy knock at the door. "I'll get it!" Victor called. He returned a few moments later with a curious expression on his face. "Dad, there's some man to see you. He calls himself Mr Hudson. Should I tell him to come back tomorrow?"

"No, probably something about work. Send him in."

The man who entered was tan and narrow-faced. His clothes and boots were worn, but his gold watch was expensive. His weathered skin and hands suggested that he had fallen on hard times in the past, but the diamond ring on his finger suggested that lately he had come into some money. He looked around the room covetously and then turned toward Mr Trevor. His voice was reedy and thin.

"So, are you Jack Trevor?"

"Yes. How may I help you?"

"I have some business to discuss, in private if you please."

Sherlock and Victor walked out of the room. Victor looked back as his father closed the door. "I don't like the look of that man," he said.

They waited in the kitchen until they heard the man leave, then Victor jumped up and walked to the front door to make sure that he had gone. He locked it. When they went into the study, Mr Trevor's face was white. He had his pill bottle in his hand.

"Are you alright, Dad?" Victor asked concerned.

"I'll be fine in a minute." He said pouring pills into his palm. Sherlock could see that his hand shook. He walked over and poured himself a whiskey from a crystal decanter and chased the pill with it.

"What did he want? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Mr Trevor said. "Just some business, urgent business that I need to think about. I'm sorry, but we'll have to go fishing another time."

"What did he say?"

"This is private business, personal business, It's nothing for you to worry about. You go on to bed. I'm going to stay up a bit longer."

Victor nodded, then he walked over and hugged his father goodnight before walking out of the room. Mr Trevor closed the door behind them. Victor glanced at Sherlock, concern and a bit of hurt in his eyes. Then they went to their separate rooms.

Sherlock sat down on his bed and tried to figure out who this Mr Hudson was. He ran over the clues in his mind, but could come to no conclusion. He was about Mr Trevor's age. He was former military, and something about him screamed disreputable. Perhaps it was the difference in his fortunes. His mixture of poor garments and rich accessories made him look like a grave robber. He wasn't, not literally, but it disturbed him nonetheless, because whatever he had done had affected Mr Trevor strongly. He had seen it clearly when the man had sent them off to bed. Mr Trevor was afraid.