I wouldn't describe myself as lacking in confidence, but I would just say that ... the ghosts you chase you never catch.

- John Malkovich (b. 1953)

Watson

"I was surprised when you did not ask me this before, Herr Holmes…In fact, I am becoming increasingly concerned with your ability to handle the situation."

The count laid the file containing his will down on the polished surface of his study desk, his rather critical eyes and poised brows fixed on Holmes's face, which was as unreadable as stone.

"Lehmann tells me that you are having nightmares."

Holmes shifted a little, but took this development in stride, reaching out for the will.

"Every man has nightmares, Count." Holmes said quietly. "Especially with an occupation such as mine. I guarantee you that it is doing nothing to affect my work." That was a downright lie. "And nothing will turn me from the purpose of discovering what is behind these spectres." That was true.

Despite the reassurance, the Count gave my friend a somewhat skeptical look as he took the folder.

"I have another question also, Count, about the other buildings upon your estate. Such as the lodge that you and the other gentlemen resided in last night?"

"You wish to see them?"

"Yes."

The count nodded, apparently pleased by this return to action. "Very well, Herr Holmes, I will show them to you myself. I am engaged for the morning but will have some time this afternoon to assist you."

Holmes bowed slightly as the Count turned back to his paperwork, and we left the office. I knew better than to speak to the detective when he wore that particular exasperated expression.

Holmes

We spent the better part of that day in rather boring footwork – Lachlan took on the job of keeping an eye on Alfie as he was still not overly mobile, and we left the two of them with Haight in a sitting room with the ladies, regaling them with stories of our friends' adventures in Bombay.

Watson and I went out with the Count that afternoon (and that insufferable Strauss chap insisted upon coming along) to ride and see several of the outbuildings on the massive estate. I was quite surprised to find just indeed how large the place was – one could easily become lost in the hundred-odd acres of snowy woods surrounding the castle.

None of the buildings had been touched other than by the Count, apparently, which ruled out the possibility of our ghostly visitor living there; he must be in the castle, in all probability living somewhere in a passage we had not discovered as of yet.

Strauss made some snide remark about 'wasting time on pretty theories', and had Watson's hands not been full of a very frisky horse's reins I believe he might had throttled the fellow, to my great amusement.

The Lady Cecilia's brother carried that vein into the dinner conversation, and by the time the dessert had been served I was thoroughly tired of his rudeness, and both Watson and Haight were shooting him dangerous glares that he appeared to be thoroughly oblivious to.

I gave both of them a warning look, for now was not the time to make an enemy out of anyone – but Sir August Konig beat both of them to the punch by saying "Strauss. You do have a rather one-track mind, do you not? For heaven's sake come off it!" in a boredly irritated spiel of snobbish German…thereby netting him instant friends in the person of my biographer – and me, for that matter.

After dinner, I stopped Lady Cecilia on her way out of the door. Watson came up behind me as I spoke.

"Lady Cecilia. With your and the Count's permissions, I should like to ask a favour."

"Certainly, Herr Holmes, if it will aid your investigation," she said, glancing between Watson and me.

"I should like to spend the night in your room, in hopes that this 'ghost' will make its appearance there. I am most weary of waiting passively for it to show; it is time to take some more aggressive action. Is there another room in which you could make do for one night?"

The lady's eyes brightened. "Certainly, Herr Holmes. I am at your disposal, if it will assist you in any way."

"Good. Then please retire at your usual hour but to a different room, with anything you may require. One or both of us will then spend the night in your chamber, and we shall see if this ghost appears again. If it does not, we shall continue to stand vigil until it does."

"Danke, Herr Holmes," the lady said softly, "you will be careful?"

"Quite. Vielen Dank, Lady Claudia," I said with a small bow, and the woman moved on to join the Count in the conservatory.

"Another 'Speckled Band' vigil, eh?" Watson's voice sounded behind me as I watched the other members of the party leave the dining hall.

I turned to face him. "Watson, I need you to do something for me."

He blinked but smiled at me. "You have but to name it, you know that."

"I want you to stand guard near that tower that seems to be a focal point in this mystery, in that hall with the bookcases. I shall take the lady's chamber with Haight or Lachlan."

"Lachlan needs to remain in bed, Holmes," he said firmly, "he cannot be ghost-chasing in that condition. You could have him be a lookout but nothing active."

"Then I shall have him remain on guard in our corridor in case the woman shows there," I said thoughtfully, "and give him a police whistle. Then he will be able to signal us without doing anything strenuous."

Watson nodded. "That will do. I don't like you being in that chamber though, with that ghostly woman on the loose."

I clapped his shoulder as we moved to join the others. "Haight has a revolver as you do, Watson, and though he may not be my companion of choice, I really do need a man I trust at the other end of this affair."

He smiled at that, the worry leaving his eyes, and we entered the conservatory to find Haight and Lachlan to tell them of our plans.

"I want you to keep Alfie with you, though," I said as an afterthought, "send him for me if anything happens, I do not want you tackling that ghost alone."

"I rather believe I am a match for any woman, ghostly or otherwise," he said with a smirk.

I glanced at my watch impatiently. Well after one – always before the ghosts had appeared before midnight; it seemed that we were destined to not see one after all this evening. I stifled a yawn and shifted into a more comfortable position on the bed, glancing at the young reporter who was dozing in the chair across the room.

Suddenly there was a clattering of small feet in the corridor and we both bolted upright as the door swung open and a small figure stumbled in, bellowing for me in a Cockney so rapid I could not understand him.

"Alfie! Calm down, speak slowly!" I snapped, my brow creasing – for if the boy were alone…

"We seen 'er, Mr. 'Olmes, the ghost," the lad panted breathlessly, his green eyes staring wildly from me to Haight, "th' doctor sent me ta fetch yew while 'e took off after 'er. 'Urry!"

Blast it! While I had no doubt Watson could take care of himself, I still did not relish the idea of his stumbling about the castle in the dark after an apparition that probably was responsible for trying to push him under a train.

Alfie darted from the room and I dashed after him with Haight on my heels. As I thought – the lad was heading through the corridors towards our rooms. We passed by that wing, however, and on into the hall where I had lost the apparition the first time we had seen it.

"She came roight outa th' wall there, Mr. 'Olmes, and when she saw the Doctor she run off tha' way," Alfie panted, "an' 'e took off after 'er like a bat out o' 'ell, roight off tha' way!"

I dashed out of the other end of the hall, to be faced with three possible ways to go in separate corridors…which one…

Behind me, Haight shone the lantern into each, and within a few feet of the third I espied Watson's small black notebook he always kept in his inside pocket. Good man.

I scooped it up on my way as we made our way through a dark, tapestried corridor that apparently led to an unused bedroom wing, if I remembered correctly. The passage wound on and on until finally it ended into a cross-hallway at the other end of the wing.

Only this time, there was nothing to indicate which direction the woman and my friend had gone, and no sign of them anywhere.

"Watson?" I bellowed as loudly as I could into the darkness, but I could hear no answer.

"If he didn't leave a clue, then perhaps he did not get this far, Holmes," Haight spoke up behind me quietly.

"Search the rooms along the corridor," I snapped, whirling about and trying the nearest doorknob. Locked.

Within moments I had the door picked open and threw it wide, to reveal a small sitting room with a bedroom beyond. No signs of either Watson or the woman ghost.

Haight took one side of the hall with Alfie and I the other, and we methodically searched every room, which only took a few minutes as there were not that many. We ended where we started and none the wiser – they had simply disappeared completely.

I shouted again for my friend, trying to tamp down on that unease that threatened to cloud my judgment…there was no cause for alarm just yet…

Alfie was clutching at my trouser leg, shaking, and I absently patted his head as Haight's tenor joined my voice in another shout.

"Where the devil did he go?" the reporter asked after there had been no answer to our cries.

I closed my eyes for a moment. "If he's not in any of these rooms, and he left no indication at the other corridor, then the only possibility is that he's…trapped in some passage somewhere along here that I don't know about – there was not one on the map the Count gave us."

Haight turned a ghastly white and for a moment I thought he should be ill. "My God, Holmes…"

"He's not claustrophobic, Haight," I hastened to add, "and besides we have no idea if that's even what happened. At any rate, somewhere between this corridor and the other he disappeared. Alfie, can you do something for me?"

"Yes, sir," the boy whispered shakily.

"Run back to my room and get my walking stick – the heavy one, the one with lead in the top. And tell Mr. Lachlan to go to the Lady Cecilia's room and keep watch, the ghost may still be loose in this place and might be heading back that direction."

The boy nodded and scampered off through the halls, and I turned to Haight. "These walls are a foot thick – our only hope is to find that passage and perhaps by getting close we can hear him or vice versa."

I swallowed hard, a chill running over me that was not from the frigid air of the corridor. Pray heaven I was wrong, and he was merely following the woman through the castle still…but all my instincts told me otherwise.

I was very grateful when the lad returned in a moment with my heaviest stick. I hoped it would hold together until I found a passage.

I started with the hall itself, striking my stick on the stones methodically, feeling perspiration beading on my forehead despite the chill of the air around me. Alfie tagged at my heels, and Haight followed with the lantern close beside me. We went all the way to the other corridor without hearing any difference in the stones. When I reached the end, Haight looked at me with despair.

"Other side," I growled, banging the stick soundly on the stones one after the other.

I had nearly given up in despair as well when suddenly…as I struck one of the large stones, it sounded more hollow than the others. Haight heard it as well, for he grabbed my arm in his excitement.

I slammed the stick's weighted head one more into the stone, and indeed it was hollow.

"Watson?" I bellowed, my mouth only a few inches from the stone.

I jumped and dropped the stick with a clang when there was an answering voice – faint through the stone barrier but it was there, and quite unmistakable. I pressed my ear to the cold stone to catch the words.

"Holmes!"

Alfie squealed and picking up my stick banged on the wall in his excitement.

"Holmes, I can't get this door open…closed on me…can't see a thing!" the faint cry came through the door.

"Is there another end to the passage?" I yelled back through the wall.

"She closed some other door…behind her…can't get out that way…"

"Feel around and find the latch, Watson!"

"Can't…been trying…she opened it from out there…I couldn't see how…" I could barely hear his voice now, blast this thick stone.

"Watson, I can't hear you, what?"

"Can't…can't find it…" was the faint reply.

"All right, old chap, hold on. Haight, help me, if that woman ghost opened it within the instant then it can't be all that hard to find," I said quickly, running my hands over the stones on each side of the one I was standing in front of.

For a tense few moments nothing happened, until suddenly Alfie tugged on my trousers with an excited squeal.

"Mr. 'Olmes!"

I glanced down, and sure enough, at the lad's shoulder level was a small indentation in the stonework. I pushed on it, and it gave and slid back to become an inset handle in the stone. Odd…I gave the thing a solid yank and almost tumbled backwards, for the door swung open easily; it would have to, if a woman could get it open so quickly. Why then could I not hear Watson very well…

But I did not stand there thinking about the matter – I swung the door (I could see now that it was thin stone backed with wood) wide open and was appalled at a sudden rush of very foul close air that set me gasping just at one breath of it.

"Watson!"

I caught him as he staggered out of the darkness into my arms, breathing shallowly and slumping against me as a coughing fit wracked his frame, shaking dizzily with the effort of choking the harsh crisp air into his straining lungs.

"Why didn't you tell me the atmosphere was going bad!?" I demanded harshly, my horror at what he had gone through the last half-hour causing my voice to shake almost as badly as he was.

"Wouldn't have…helped anything," he gasped, rubbing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath gratefully. "My word, Holmes – if you hadn't found me…another half-hour…"

"Don't say it, Doctor," Haight shivered, staring into the small dark chamber with a long shudder, which my shaken friend echoed.

After a few moments Watson took a ragged breath and finally glanced up at me with what was probably supposed to be a reassuring half-smile.

"Are you all right, my dear fellow?" I asked softly, seeing that he was only just starting to breathe normally again. After a moment I received a small nod, and he forestalled the questions he knew I was going to ask.

"I followed her…into the hall, she was several yards ahead of me – pretty fast for a woman, Holmes," he stopped to take a breath, mopping his forehead, "and – she stopped, put her hand down, and then the thing opened outward. I made it to the opening just as the door started to close and shouldered my way in, but the thing shut behind me and I – I heard it click."

He coughed for a moment, his hands on my arms clenching at the convulsive movement, and then went on.

"I tried to follow the woman, but about ten feet in there is another door, Holmes, and it too was locked. I couldn't go anywhere so I came back here, hoping you would start looking for me when Alfie reached you."

The child wrapped his arms round Watson's legs shakily, and my friend's haggard face softened and he patted the boy's ginger head gently. "Thank you, lad."

Alfie nodded, glancing up at both of us.

Despite Watson's calm attitude, I could tell from his silent quivering that he was a bit unnerved by the whole escapade.

"Can you wait here with Haight and Alfie, Watson, while I check and see if I can get that door open so we can find where this leads?"

"I can, but I'm not going to. Give me that lantern, Haight, and stay here in case the door closes on us again," he replied, though he swallowed hard and his voice tremoured slightly.

"But Doctor – "

"Alfie, stay here with Mr. Haight," he ordered, and taking the lantern, shone it into the small dark space, still horribly close and stuffy. "lead on, Holmes."

"Good man." I bent to inspect the corridor door first. "A spring lock. Shuts automatically to conceal the passage from the corridor."

"Certainly works well," he muttered, shining the lantern on the other door, some ten feet into the passage. I inspected it as well.

"This is not a spring lock – it has a keyhole. The woman must have locked it from the other side," I said, inserting my own lock-pick into the hole. It was an extremely old lock and not very complicated; within fifteen seconds we were climbing a steep and extremely narrow flight of stairs that seemed unending.

Haight would certainly have been ill had he been with us, for the passage was so narrow that even my thin shoulders were nearly touching the walls, and Watson's stronger build actually was.

"One thing, Holmes, that was very odd," his voice floated eerily out of the flickering light behind me as he shone it on my feet, the words dully hitting the stone around us and dropping like a lead weight in the muffled space.

"What's that, my dear fellow?"

"Well," he went on, and I could hear the puzzlement in his voice, "that woman ghost. You know the legend is supposed to date from the medieval days?"

"Yes, it is. What about it?"

"Well, if someone were truly reviving the legend, you would expect them to keep to the thing as close as possible, would you not?"

"Yes, what are you driving at, Watson? Be careful, this step is broken."

"Thank you. Well, just that I was expecting the woman's bridal gown and so on to be of a medieval style. The one this ghost was wearing was quite modern in both fit and cut, Holmes."

I stopped on the stairs. "A modern cut and style?"

"Very, I think this season's style. Not that I am an expert, Holmes," he hastened to add, and I grinned as I could almost feel the blush on his face warming up the chilly air.

"At least you are more knowledgeable than I in such matters, Watson," I replied dryly, hastening up the winding, twisting stairs once more, with my mind whirring.

A modern dress…that bespoke either of carelessness in not sticking to the legend, or else that the ghost had not bargained on anyone as fast and as perceptive as my dear friend getting close enough to her to see the fact. Odd, very odd…

"Hold up, Watson. There's another door at the top here."

I could hear his heavy breathing behind me, and though he had not complained I knew the climb had been rather rough on him. I fumbled for a doorknob and finally located it, turning it cautiously.

"Not locked."

"Here, I can't get round you in this tiny space." I felt the cold metal of his faithful revolver in my hand and pointed it forward, turning the knob and shoving the rather heavy door open…

And stopped with amazement.

"What in the world..."

"Well, we now know how to get in and out of that passage in this blasted tower room," Watson said wearily, sitting down on one of the crates with a long sigh.