Author's Note: many thanks to Ennui Enigma for the editing, as usual.

Eastbourne, September 14, 1943

Today it is sixty years since my father died. But it still feels like it had just happened. I still remember every instant of that morning when I found him lifeless in his bed.

Sometimes I think about him and wonder what he would say of today's world.

There have been some changes in the last days. Italy surrendered and dropped out of the war. Different parts of the country are occupied by us and by the Nazis. On the contrary there is nothing new in France.

OOO

"What?" I asked expectantly.

"I suspect that they want to place a bomb somewhere" he answered gravely.

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, completely bewildered.

"Look!" he exclaimed walking to the small table in our living room. His gestures radiated energy and his eyes sparkled, he was in his typical working mood. One I knew all so well.

He picked up a file and handed me a newspaper clipping.

"This article appeared yesterday on the New Orleans Daily" he explained.

I took the clipping and read it.

"PROFLIGACY TAKES ITS TOLL by Alfred Spenlow

New Orleans, October 6, 1891

The lifeless body found yesterday on the Mississippi banks in Bywater has a name. It belonged to Horace Mason, 54 years old, owner of an inn of questionable reputation in St. Claude. Mason had been released from prison on the very same day and had spent the evening in full debauchery. According to the police's report, he fell into the river while intoxicated. The body was recognized today by some of his drinking friends. Once again, we must regretfully behold the consequences of profligacy and depravation. Besides, Mason had a murky past and had already been sentenced to prison for subversive activity in April 1867, only to be released by an amnesty in 1875. At the moment of his death, he was awaiting trial again. May this serve as an example for those people who inexplicably advocate for tolerance towards criminals..." a tirade of another few lines followed the article.

"Sentenced to prison for subversive activities in 1867" I repeated. "Are you telling me that Sydney Auger gave the judgment back then?"

"That's precisely what I ascertained today in the library. But there are two additional elements" Sherlock said bending to me, his eyes gleaming "First of all, Mason was not the only defendant during that trial. There were four others and one of them was Thomas Penrose. He was acquitted for lack of evidence. Second of all, Mason was condemned because he had sold a large amount of explosive to a group of rebels, using his inn as a cover"

"Can you really be released by an amnesty for something like that?" I asked.

"Well, Mason always insisted that he thought they were robbers and that he had no idea about their subversive activities. It was impossible to prove the contrary, so he was condemned for selling explosives but not for sedition"

"So you believe that Sydney Auger's and Mason's death are linked?"

"Well. On September 23, Sydney Auger was murdered with the typical Penrose style. Less than two weeks later, Mason is released from prison and dies accidentally on the very same evening. I highly suspect that Sydney Auger had originally been assigned to Mason's trial"

"So Penrose killed two people to keep the trial from taking place?"

"I am making something dangerously similar to an assumption here" he said with a smile. "Remember, Sydney Auger had a large archive and was very thorough. He had certainly some material about the old 1867 trial. He knew what Mason had done, he knew that Penrose had been acquitted. Maybe he wanted to see this through, maybe Mason wanted to make a confession"

"Are you certain that this is the only possible explanation? Maybe Mason didn't put Penrose in the middle in 1867 and Penrose murdered the judge in exchange. Maybe Mason did fall into the river while intoxicated and wasn't killed at all"

"That is a possibility. But killing the judge was not going to cancel the trial forever, it was going to take place sooner or later"

"Yes, this makes sense. And you think that he wants to put a bomb somewhere?"

"Well, bomb attacks belonged to the list of professor M.'s performances and Mason was condemned for selling explosives. It is very likely to say the least"

Despite the dramatic situation, Sherlock was almost cheerful. This had been his only case since he had left London, I could only imagine how much he was missing his regular work. And now he was making progress.

"What are you going to do now?" I asked worriedly.

"I cannot find out more unless I go to St. Claude" he answered.

I was expecting this. I knew that he often worked undercover, he had done the same when I consulted him in 1885. Still, the thought of him among those people sent a shiver down my spine.

"When?" I questioned, my voice trembling.

"Probably in a couple of days. Tonight it would be too dangerous, Penrose might be expecting the police to visit the inn"

OOO

Two days later, Sherlock informed me that he was going outside after dinner.

"Don't wait up, it could take some time"

"Of course, I will sleep like a baby while you visit a bunch of criminals" I said rolling my eyes.

"Before we both left London, you certainly spent many nights sleeping like a baby while I worked" he answered with a light smile.

"Don't give me the 'reason' speech! This has nothing to do with reason"

"I am aware that it doesn't. You are a lady" I glared at him and he smiled impishly.

"I will try not to wait up but it will be useless" I said after a moment, trying to keep my voice quiet. The last thing he needed was to be distracted from his task.

During dinner, his mood was excellent. He was looking forward to being on the battlefield again after months of studying. After dinner he went to our bedroom and when he came back I could barely recognize him. He was wearing an old jacket and trousers whose originally brown color had turned into an ugly shade of grey. His shirt looked as if it had been worn a thousand times. The tie looked like a red rope and the brown hat was stained.

"I hope our neighbors won't see you" I commented "well, they would probably not recognize you anyway"

He bent to kiss me and I held him tight even if his clothing was not daisy fresh.

"Gwenn, should I not come back tonight... please never ever come to look for me. I know how to get myself out of such situations and if I don't get myself out it means..."

"Alright" I replied before he finished the sentence.

His hand was already on the doorknob when I remembered something.

"Sherlock, wait. I have brought my father's revolver if you wish. It is more than thirty years old but..."

He replied by lifting his jacket and showing a revolver underneath "I bought it as soon as I arrived in New Orleans. I don't usually carry a gun while working but this is a peculiar situation"

I shivered and kissed him again, lightly.

"Pay attention"

OOO

I honestly tried to sleep but, just as I had foreseen, it didn't work. After an hour of rolling in my bed, I stood up and went to the living room.

I was feeling helpless. I wanted to help Sherlock with his task but I didn't know how. Given the kind of people who were involved, I could not go undercover like I had done in the past. Yes, I had witnessed some dangerous moments during my childhood and I wasn't easily frightened. But this didn't mean that I knew how to handle criminals.

I wanted to while away the time with a book but I didn't have much choice. Since books were heavy and occupied too much space in the luggage, we had very few of them. Thankfully I had discovered a small public library hosted in the Mechanic's Institute. I didn't want to draw attention by borrowing controversial books, so I stuck to English and American classics.

I had already reached page 50 of Fielding's Tom Jones when I heard a key in the door.

Sherlock came in and made a reassuring gesture, smiling lightly.

"Are you well?" I asked standing "I could not sleep"

"I am well and I have made progress" he answered, trying his best to keep his excited voice low "but now I cannot tell you about it. Tomorrow I am working, after all, and I need to sleep"

"First of all you need a soap" I replied pointing at his clothing.

"Yes, the lad who sold me these clothes in Memphis did not use to wash and press them, I'm afraid"

I went to bed and, finally relieved, I fell asleep before he joined me in our bedroom.

OOO

"Tell me at least something, would you?" I asked on the following morning during breakfast.

"Very well. I went to St. Claude and easily found Mason's inn, The Shining Lily. He had an associate, so the inn is still working. As you can imagine, the clients were not exactly handpicked. Eventually I noticed a drunkard by the name of Jim Cay. Based on his accent, it was clear that he came from New Orleans and was of Creole descent, I thought that he had probably been hanging out at the Shining Lily for a long time. So I befriended him by paying him a couple of glasses. At first I told him about my sad story"

"Which sad story?" I asked, puzzled.

"Well, that I used to live in Baton Rouge, I met a woman and now the woman's brother is hunting me down. I spare you the details" he said waving his hand "In turn, Jim told me about his wife, who left him because of the drinking and went to California with another man. After some other pleasantries, he told me that I was a good guy and that he liked me"

I wondered what the definition of 'good guy' could be in Jim Cay's mind but stayed silent. I had seen my share of drunkards during my childhood years and I knew what their wives and families had to endure.

"Eventually I told him that I had been to the Shining Lily years before but I remembered another man behind the counter, who wasn't there anymore. 'That was Horace, he's dead now' he replied. 'He had too much wine, just like me. But he was next to the river and fell and... no more Horace' he shook his head sadly. 'But y'know what the worst thing is? He was in jail, right, and we collected money for the bail. And then he got out of jail and died on the very same day!'"

Sherlock paused and looked at me.

"So you think that someone paid the bail in order to have him out of jail and kill him?" I asked.

"Exactly. Listen to what Jim said next: 'I didn't lose much money because I could give very little. But Tommy Penrose paid one fourth of the bail out of his own pocket. Poor Tommy. He gave a lot of money for the bail and didn't want Horace to know. They had been friends since childhood, you know, born in the same street. He didn't want Horace to feel in debt"

"Or he didn't want Horace to become suspicious.

"Precisely. I asked why Mason was in jail and Jim rubbed his chin and said that he didn't know. 'One evening the police arrived and dragged him away. Maybe because his wine is bogus. It would explain the awful taste!' he concluded pointing at his half-empty glass"

"And then?" I prompted.

"I didn't want to ask too many questions. Jim is probably not going to remember this conversation tomorrow but I preferred to be cautious. You get noticed when you ask too many questions in places like that, somebody might think you are a policeman under cover. So I invented some stories about friends of mine who had been in jail and didn't ask anything more"

"That means that you will have to go there again" I said.

"Well, of course. I cannot solve a problem like that with one single visit. But now I have some more elements: Penrose paid a good share of Mason's bail and didn't want to be mentioned and Mason died as soon as he was out of jail"

"What is you next step now?" I asked.

"I need to find out why exactly Mason was in jail. Jim said he didn't know but maybe he simply doesn't trust me enough. I need to know whether Mason purchased explosives or sold them to Mason, how much and for what"

The following days went on quite smoothly. A couple of days later, Sherlock told me that he was going in St. Claude again.

"Let's see if Jim remembers me and if he wants to open up more" he said.

I was expecting another sleepless night and I was very surprised when he came back less than two hours later. He looked quite annoyed.

"The police went to St. Claude, although not at the Shining Lily as far as I know. I preferred to leave" he said, in answer to my questioning glance.

"I am not in London. The police doesn't know me and I cannot tell them who I am anyway. Nor I can say that I am Alexander Cooper the British chemist and that I spend my evenings in St. Claude for fun"

"The police might be a problem for your investigation more than the criminals are" I commented.

"That is often the case in London as well!" he replied ironically.

Well, at least his humor was there.