Irene outright refused to allow me to accompany her on her visit to Mr. Charles Augustus Milverton. I had heard the name even before she had recounted her conversation with Dr. Watson to me. Irene has encountered Milverton on several occasions over the years. Luckily she was of much less interest to the blackmailer than the men he threatened to expose for courting her, but he was undeniably a dangerous man.

Irene returned to the flat not long before lunch that morning, unscathed, if a little shaken by the brief encounter.

"He's an evil man!" she exclaimed as soon as the door had closed behind her.

"How did it go?" I asked warily.

She sat down across from me at the table and related: "He lives in a grand estate - a warning to his victims that he knows his business and carries it out. The grounds are guarded by a ferocious beast of a dog to further intimidate any who would dare trespass. I have heard it roams freely at night, but as I was there on 'legitimate' business, all it did was snarl at me as I passed. A young maid met me at the door and led me up to an immaculate office, overseen by his secretary - a tall, thin man, with an almost vulture-like face.

"Milverton didn't make me wait long, just long enough to remind me that I was in his domain at his leisure. When he did arrive, he greeted me with a cold, gloating smile that did not reach his hard, dark eyes, and wide open arms, as though to engulf me and devour all my secrets.

"'And to what do I owe the pleasure?' he asked as he led me into his study, the door shut securely behind us. 'Have you finally seen reason? You know that you owe nothing to any of them.'

"I held up a hand to quiet him and he eventually obliged - in his own time of course. I clarified, 'I am not here to sell, but to buy.'

"He gave me an indulgent, almost sceptical smile. 'An exchange perhaps?'

"I ignored the offer. 'Do you have any business with Colonel Sebastian Moran?'

"He let out a mirthless laugh. 'What do you take me for? I have no need for such methods, and nor would I dare. I assure you, he's a far more dangerous man than I. What interest do you have in him? Or should I say what interest has his master taken in you?'

"'His master? What is his business?' I asked, but I got no more of an answer than I expected.

"He only tutted at me and waited, smiling, for me to divulge my own side of the affair.

"I knew better than to let such a man's attention remain on me, instead I hastily turned to our other investigation. 'What do you know of the relationship between Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson?'

"A wide grin spread across his face. 'What do you have?'

"I told him the truth, 'Nothing.'

"'That is a shame,' he said. 'I would pay you handsomely for your evidence.'

"Milverton plainly has motive enough to hire us," Irene concluded, "with his wealth and influence, Mr. Holmes would be a prize for any blackmailer, but, though I hesitate to say it, Mr. Milverton appears to be telling the truth. Had he desired my services, he would have found a more convincing incentive, and I do not think he would go so far as to hire us just to blackmail one man unless Mr. Holmes has him cornered. Mr. Milverton had nothing more to tell me. He must know something of our employer, but I could get no word out of him."

"If not Milverton, where does that leave us for our enigmatic employer?" I asked, hoping it was clearer to Irene than to myself, but I confess, not terribly optimistic.

However, she answered with enthusiasm, "It's time we found out."

We ate a hurried luncheon and then Irene left in the guise of a roguish young man. I did not see her again until after lunch the next day.

I had just sat down with a book - not one of Dr. Watson's - when I heard a knock at the door. It took me a long moment to remember that the rough man I was looking at was in fact my dear Irene. I ushered her inside and she ducked into the washroom to clean herself up.

Once she was back in the guise of Mrs. Victoria Drebber, I joined her at the table for a belated meal. She declared between bites of food, "I have found Mr. Mycroft Holmes's professor."

"The one he thought was our employer?" I asked.

"This whole time, it was all just a distraction," she continued, and I took the non-sequitur as assent. "It's like my disguises; he has us ask one question when he's truly after something else that he knows will come out of the answer. Mr. Holmes is in Paris; he knows we couldn't find enough proof of anything to ruin Mr. Holmes's reputation. Instead, he's after Mr. Holmes's associates, Dr. Watson in particular - you have seen how the colonel directs us toward the doctor. And with reason; if you were at odds with Mr. Holmes you would no doubt wish to know what allies he has at his disposal and whether this simple doctor - the detective's sole companion - could be a weakness to exploit or a threat that must be gotten out of the way. That is what he is truly after."

"And this is all because of Mr. Mycroft Holmes's professor? What could he have against Mr. Holmes?" I asked, barely able to keep up.

"The professor must be at the end of his rope. It must be a terrific organisation which he has built up, I cannot say what pains Mr. Holmes has gone to to dismantle it."

"This professor leads a criminal organisation, in which Colonel Moran is somehow embroiled?" I surmised. "Shall we return to the Yard?"

Irene hesitated. "I am afraid we have underestimated our employer. He is a dangerous man to cross."

I was about to endeavour to argue when a knock sounded at the door. I confess my heart nearly leaped out of my chest and I froze in the nebulous fear that Irene's discovery had been found out.

"It must be Mrs. Hudson with those lovely biscuits of hers," Irene exclaimed, having somehow easily fallen back into the guise of the wide-eyed Mrs. Victoria Drebber.

She hurried for the door, and I tried to quell the pounding of my heart as I hastily followed.

On the other side of the door, we were not greeted by Mrs. Hudson's smiling face. Instead there was a lanky young man with sharp features and an easy confidence. He was not quite intimidating, but I could see he easily could have been if he tried. He was dressed well, like a footman in a moderately wealthy household.

"Professor James Moriarty cordially invites Mrs. Irene Norton to join him for tea," he announced, somewhat more leisurely than a propper footman.

Irene had come up behind me and now joined me at the door to see our visitor for herself.

"This is a surprise!" Irene said, more the wide-eyed debutante than Victoria Drebber. "I am afraid we have other plans for today, but another day."

The man who had seemed so relaxed before suddenly shifted, so he loomed over us, a hard glint in his eyes. "Professor Moriarty insists upon your presence."

Irene took her time in answering, and the messenger was beginning to look impatient when, to my surprise, Irene at last acquiesced, "Very well. Then I accept his gracious invitation."

"A coach is waiting." The man waved her outside.

Before I quite knew what I was doing I pushed between them and declared, "I will accompany her."

Irene glanced back at me and gave me a pleading look before she answered with cold impatience, "You'll just get in the way." Then she turned away to follow Professor Moriarty's man.

I drew myself up to full height and squared my shoulders. "She goes with me or not at all."

Irene shot me another pleading glance over her shoulder and then continued after the man without another word. I followed her and we all stepped into the cab in silence.

We were ushered into the professor's study immediately upon our arrival. We passed between two large men who guarded the solid, dark wooden doors, and opened them to let us inside. The doors swung shut nearly upon my heel, leaving us alone with the professor, who was already seated behind his grand mahogany desk in expectation of our arrival.

Professor Moriarty was a tall, thin man with deep, sunken eyes and rounded shoulders that gave the impression that he had spent many hours bent over ancient tomes. His great domed head, betraying his great intelligence, swayed slightly from side to side as he spoke.

His study spoke of an orderly mind, just shy of opulent, decorated with paintings and an abundance of curiosities collected from a long life of study, all of them clearly chosen with care, for none looked out of place. The walls were lined with laden bookshelves, bearing an eclectic assortment of tomes.

The professor greeted Irene with a terse smile and bade her make herself comfortable. He hardly paused to look at me, but I confess my legs were unsteady as I hurriedly claimed a small chair in the corner of the room. Irene sat front and centre on a wooden throne, lined with plush cushions. She held her head high and bore our host's full attention with ease and grace while I sat frozen in my chair, torn between making myself as small as possible as not to draw the professor's ire - or ruin whatever plan Irene may have formed - and jumping out of my seat to defend my Irene from whatever plan this dastardly professor had devised. The result of my uncertainty was inaction, but I swore to myself that if Irene betrayed any distress I would leap to her aid like any true gentleman.

I hardly noticed the doors opening to allow a maid to enter, bearing tea and pastries, until she was directly in front of me, offering me a cup that I did not dare touch. Irene accepted her cup graciously, with a nod to the maid, and sipped at her tea as though we were among friends. Even Professor Moriarty took a cursory sip or two. But the pastries went uneaten.

Once the maid was gone Professor Moriarty finally spoke, "I am afraid that I overestimated your ability to do what was asked of you without succumbing to distraction. However, I now realise the fault was my own in leaving you with another mystery which you could not help but pursue. Now that it has been satisfactorily solved, I expect you will resume the investigation which you were hired to complete." Though his words held no threat, there was something in his tone that suggested the consequences for failure would be dire.

"I fear we may be unable to complete the task which you set for us," Irene said lightly, but she was more serious than she had been for most of our little investigation.

Professor Moriarty looked at her for a moment with an appraising eye. Finally, he said, "I see I must leave no room for misinterpretation or you will use it to feign ignorance of my true meaning. It was under my instruction that you were hired to use whatever it was that enabled you to best Mr. Sherlock Holmes once to do so again. First, I expect you to complete your investigation into Mr. Holmes's allies and what remains of his relationship with Dr. Watson. If I find your performance to be satisfactory further tasks will follow. Of course, you will be rewarded handsomely for everything you do in my service. However, for treachery there is only one recourse. Do we have an understanding?"

"I am afraid you have overestimated my powers. I would be of little use to you, and likewise know better than to challenge you as Mr. Holmes has done."

"I advise you to reconsider. You have little to gain from fleeing and much from cooperating."

"I must regretfully decline." With that, Irene stood, curtsied at our host and bid him good day. She did not spare a glance at me as she went.

I only belatedly realised what was happening and stumbled to my feet to follow her out the door. Professor Moriarty watched us leave with a frown.

As we stepped out of the study, I expected the men guarding the door to stop us, but they did not move and so we were allowed to pass. We made it out onto the street and hailed a cab back to the flat. Irene sat stiffly beside me and did not say a word until we were behind locked doors.

Only then did she collapse upon the couch in our sitting room. "I fear he will never let us out of his sight! You saw the man following our cab - he didn't even attempt to hide."

"What can we do?" I asked.

"We must return to New York, there at least we may be safe."

We were dogged by Professor Moriarty's men until we stepped off the boat a week later. Even with an ocean between us and the professor, there were still times Irene would seem to notice something out of the corner of her eye that put her ill at ease until we were safely home or in the company of friends. Only when the news arrived that Professor James Moriarty and Mr. Sherlock Holmes had fallen to their deaths in the Swiss Alps, not two weeks after our departure, were we truly able to breathe easy once more.