"Easy, guv'nor, let's not be 'asty," came a familiar, ingratiating voice in my ear. "I could gut yew in my sleep, I could."

"Now, now, Jack, there's no need for that." I was forced to shield my eyes as the gas jet above the sitting room fireplace flared, revealing a tall, athletic figure, dressed in black, dark wavy hair and Bodeo revolver gleaming in the light. The man stepped away from the hearth, allowing me a better look at his face: olive skin proudly proclaimed Sylvius's Italian ancestry, a formidable moustache shading a cruel, thin-lipped mouth, surmounted by a long, curved nose and fierce blue eyes. "I would advise you to keep those arms raised a moment longer, Dr. Watson. Does he have the stone?" That last was directed at Jack the thief, whose hands had been darting around my person and clothing from behind with disconcerting speed.

"Not unless 'e swallowed it!" Jack snickered, sounding unnervingly like he was debating the best spot to start cutting. I clenched my fists instinctively, only realising then that Jack had also taken my Webley in the search.

"My apologies, Doctor." My lips tightened as Sylvius made himself comfortable in Holmes's fireside chair, gesturing invitingly at the settee. "Pray be seated. Your leg must plague you dreadfully on such cold, damp nights – or is it your shoulder?"

"Too kind, my dear sir," I managed to answer in equally amiable tones as I came forward, taking care to limp more heavily than usual. No sense in becoming irked over such a trifling provocation, my true business with this villain was of far greater import. "May I offer you a cigarette? Or perhaps... a pipe?"

A gleam of anger appeared in the blue depths for just a moment, although the Count's urbane expression never wavered, watching me awkwardly lower myself onto the settee. "A hit, Doctor, a very palpable hit! It really was unpardonably foolish to hide the Koh-i-Noor here – dear me, does a ready admission surprise you?"

"You must feel certain it would be of little use to me," I shrugged. "Forgive the vulgarity, Count, but might I ask you to speak even more plainly? What odds would you lay on my leaving this house alive, if I returned the stone to you?"

"I am not a betting man by nature, Doctor, but I should lay excellent odds," Sylvius returned with an odd little smile. "Especially since you have just confessed to me that it is still in the house." The Count laughed suddenly at my poorly-concealed look of dismay. "A hit to match yours, sir, admit it! And what would you have in return for the stone?"

"Edward Taylor... I mean, the diamond maker's freedom," I answered instantly. "I'm quite sure it was you who broke him out of Bethlem, and that he created a replica Koh-i-Noor so you could steal the original without immediate discovery. Release him to me, unharmed, and you can have it back." Sylvius could cut the diamond into a hundred pieces to play marbles for all I cared, if I could only buy back the life it had purchased.

Sylvius looked sincerely regretful, while his accomplice snorted behind me. "I believed my associates had made plain to you earlier, Doctor, that that is quite impossible. Taylor must remain where he is. However..." He nodded to Jack, and a tiny piece of crumpled paper flew over the back of the settee, landing near my hand. "He insisted you would see reason if given that."

I smoothed the paper carefully, and stared in bewilderment at the pencilled message: Cobalt Molybdenum Nitrogen Arsenic Cobalt Aluminium. What in the world...? "Is this a joke?" For one wild moment, I had wondered if this was a recipe for the flux formula, but it couldn't be, not with such odd elements! Molybdenum might be a practical alternative for steel with its higher melting point, but cobalt? And why write that word twice? Unless... of course, this wasn't about the elements' properties at all! A code that only a man of science could read – fiendishly clever!

"Well?"

Did I detect a note of real intrigue in Sylvius's voice? Although sorely tempted to deny all knowledge, I nodded briefly, flicking the ball of paper into the still-glowing embers of the fire. "It seems I owe you an apology, Count. The message is plain: Taylor has no desire for rescue, at least." A pyrrhic victory, perhaps, but just now I would take what little satisfaction I could at the enemy's expense.

"Indeed." Sylvius thoughtfully smoothed his moustache with a forefinger, then reached into his breast pocket. "In which case, perhaps you will allow me to propose a different bargain."

Having half expected the Count to produce a wallet or cheque book, I blinked at the small, glittering object he held up for a moment... then stared in horror, barely refraining from making any sudden movements. Unless I was sorely mistaken, that was one of Mary's gold earrings!

"I do hope we can still settle this matter to everyone's satisfaction, Doctor." Sylvius's purring voice had a distinct undertone of claws being unsheathed. "A pretty trinket, is it not? It would be a great shame if Sam failed to remove the other as neatly."

"You–" I started to choke out, then stopped as a nagging doubt surfaced amid the roiling fury. That earring... a plain, drop-shaped hoop... Hadn't Mary been wearing the amethyst pair earlier?! Yes, yes, I was sure of it now! Sylvius must be bluffing; he and his accomplices hadn't come near my wife tonight, only her jewel box! The only person in any sort of danger at this moment was myself, and I could very well live with that! And the others had hopefully reached Scotland Yard already, because it looked as if I couldn't delay the inevitable any longer.

I took a deep breath as if to steady myself, letting my shoulders slump and directing a murderous glare at the Count's satisfied smirk. "You bastard."

"Really, Doctor!" Sylvius's chuckle sounded almost sympathetic. "You must surely have realised by now that I never conduct business without securities. Your lovely young wife has taken no hurt as yet, nor will she if you cooperate – on my honour as a gentleman," he added, as I appeared to hesitate. "And now, sir, the diamond, if you please."

"All right, fine!" I snapped. "The damn thing is in with the coal, get it yourself – if you can stand to get your hands that dirty!"

Sylvius actually laughed aloud. "Well played, Doctor, the irony is perfectly delicious! But I rather think not." He took the full coal scuttle by its handle, swinging it over to land on the hearthrug. "One piece at a time into the fire, no need for theatrics – and the good Mrs. Hudson would hardly appreciate such a mess."

I knelt stiffly before the scuttle and began to pick out the coals, painfully aware of the two revolvers trained on me from left and right. A quarter of the bucket was quickly dispatched into the fire; one more coal, and Jack exclaimed excitedly, he and Sylvius unconsciously leaning in to get a better look at the first glitter of crystal shining up from the black depths. Quick as thought, I upended the scuttle and dumped the remaining contents onto the rug, which included a good two inches of ash at the bottom. It rose up in a great, choking cloud, and both men reared backwards, coughing madly.

I had barely remembered to hold my own breath and close my eyes in time, swinging the empty scuttle blindly towards Sylvius. A clang and a thud told me I had managed to knock the gun from the Count's hand, and I gathered myself to tackle him to the carpet... only to tread on a stray piece of coal. Sylvius sprang at me while I was still off balance and bore me to the floor, hands locked around my throat, streaming eyes full of murderous intent. By some miracle, my skull just grazed the edge of the hearth, but the pain and shock were enough to fill my vision with a thousand dancing lights.

I truly believe that would have been the end of me, if Jack had not gasped out in dismay, "Boss! He-he tricked us! It's not the stone!"

"What?!" Sylvius glared through the ash haze at the sparkling object Jack had just unearthed. "What the hell is that thing?"

"It's glass, boss! A decanter stopper!"

Sylvius snarled, tightening his grip on my throat. "Where's the bloody diamond?!"

I had neither desire nor breath to answer as I struggled weakly, vainly, to break free of those pitiless hands, the room seeming to turn darker by the second. True, I had shattered the Count's urbane and smiling façade... but the fatal error I'd hoped to elicit had just become mine... My poor Mary... I had failed her quite as badly... Holmes... forgive me... I would surely be with him soon... I could almost hear his violin... ah yes, there it was, such a sweet, haunting tune... but the mists were dispersing now, Sylvius's thunderstruck countenance swimming back into view, grip unconsciously slackened as he stared towards Holmes's bedroom – he could hear it, too?!

A fervent oath from an equally dumbfounded Jack seemed to break the spell, the Count springing to his feet and snatching up the fallen revolver. "Watch him!" he hissed over his shoulder, and sidled over to the bedroom door. Not daring to lift my head with Jack's knife at my throat, I heard the door burst inwards, a groan of surprise, then a shout of anger: "Show yourself, Holmes! I have your precious doctor, the game's up!"

"How true!" came a blessedly familiar voice from the sitting room door. "Stay right where you are, gentlemen!" Lestrade, Gregson and a team of constables quickly fanned out into the room, pistols at the ready.

"Drop that knife!" Lestrade shouted at Jack, the steel in his voice promising hell on earth if disobeyed. "Hands in the air! Cuff him, you two, and see to the doctor! Count Sylvius, I arrest you and your accomplice in the Queen's name!"