I rose somewhat later than was my usual custom, my rest being uninterrupted by the usual early-morning patient calls. Revelling in the decadence of the unusual indulgence, I lay in bad, looking at the diffuse stream of light flooding through the narrow slit between the curtains that I had not drawn tightly closed the previous night when I retired. I was no longer a permanent tenant of the bedroom and although the room was kept neat and generally prepared for visitors, although so far as I was aware, I was the only person who ever frequented the room, a fine layer of dust had accumulated on some of the out of the way surfaces. This dust was being stirred by the imperceptible air currents in the room and floated lazily about, gently winding in and out of the illuminating beam of light.

But with the knowledge that Holmes would be eagerly awaiting my appearance down at breakfast, and the news of the case that I bore, and that Mrs Kendrick might have need of my professional services, I could not justify lazing about to myself. Dressing rather hurriedly to make up for the wasted time, I descended to the sitting room to find Holmes languidly reclining before the fire and breakfast for three laid on the dining table.

"You are rather late in rising this morning," Holmes observed, not lifting his gaze from the heavy book in his lap. I thought his manner rather cool.

"Surely you cannot be angry with me for refusing your questions last night," protested I, keeping my voice low in case Mrs Kendrick was still abed in the next room. Although it was later than my habit, I was by nature an early riser and the hour was still quite early.

Holmes closed his book with a loud clap that I felt sure carried well throughout the apartment and I fixed him with a stern gaze. "She has been up and about for hours already," Holmes informed me with a sigh. "And we're both quite dying to know what further information you have procured. But that was not the reason for my coolness just now."

"Well, what then?" I stammered, determined to know what I had done to warrant such treatment.

"I assure you, my dear Watson, that the fault was in no way yours. Rather, a point of dispute between the lady and myself has been resolved quite in her favour." Here he gestured to the several thick volumes piled about his chair. "It has been confirmed by several unimpeachable sources."

Rarely in all the time that I had known him had Sherlock Holmes been proven wrong on a point of information. Facts were his specialty and he took great pride in always having them accurately fixed in his mind. But astonished as I was at that, I was all the more astonished that my charge had already been up and about for several hours, arguing with Holmes nonetheless. I gaped at him, wanting to simultaneously address both points and not finding sufficient words to address either.

"My good doctor," declared Holmes, at once realizing the nature of my difficulty, "I assure you that the argument was purely of an intellectual nature not pertaining to the problem at hand and not of my instigating. Had my wished been obeyed, she should still have been abed."

"Where is she now?" I asked, for she was not to be seen in the sitting room.

"Dressing, I should imagine," Holmes commented with an air of indifference as he picked up a volume from the stack at his feet and began to leaf purposely through it.

"Dressing!" cried I, thoroughly shocked at Holmes cavalier behaviour about the whole business.

"Calm yourself, Watson," said Holmes. "The whole matter came about quite innocently enough. At about three o'clock, as I was dozing here on the sofa, I heard footsteps, pacing in fact. As I knew that the footsteps could be neither mine nor yours, and that Mrs Hudson was in her rooms downstairs, I knew at once the difficulty."

"So what exactly did you do?" I inquired rather sharply.

"I informed Mrs Kendrick as to the location of my warm blue dressing gown, clothed myself in the purple, and invited her to come out to the sitting room where there was more room to walk about," Holmes replied. "She was grateful, considering the cramped quarters of my bedroom and walked the floor while I read a bit. After some time had passed and she showed no signs of wearying, as had been my hope, I inquired as to whether mental exercise could not be substituted for the physical."

"And you have been arguing since that time?"

"Not entirely," Holmes replied. "We had to stop for a period while she looked up some rather obscure point and I smoked the remainder of my pipe."

I was quite put out by the knowledge that despite my best efforts to allow Mrs Kendrick the rest that she required, I had been thwarted while I slept on unaware. I turned away from Holmes and crossed over to the bow window, staring out into the dreary grey sky.

"Come now, Watson," called Holmes from behind me, "several times I urged her to go back to her bed and spend the remainder of the night at rest, but she quite refused, stating that she had always been a restless sleeper and that her mind rarely got such exercise as I was giving it. What was I to do?"

I sighed, for I knew that Holmes had never been able to resist mental exercise. In fact, it was when he had no such exercises that he turned to his cocaine injections, a worrying habit that I had lectured him about on more than one occasion. "I suppose that indulging her was the best course of action," said I finally, when Holmes offered nothing more by way of an apology. "So long as you did not overly tax her."

"I should say that it was quite the opposite, was it not, Mr Holmes?" Mrs Kendrick's voice rang out lightly from behind me. "Have you confirmed my statement to your satisfaction?" she asked my companion.

Holmes had never been one to begrudge another credit when it was due. "You were entirely correct in that instance," replied he. "But it went the way I argued in the 1456 matter that I had cited in my defences. I should say that we were both quite right and leave the matter at that, for Doctor Watson should not like to have you excited."

"Then we should take the good doctor's advice," said she, nodding her head to me in greeting.

She looked none the worse for her adventures the previous day, for her cheeks were of a rosy colour and her eyes bright and keen. She had not yet pinned up her hair and it tumbled freely down her back in a way that reminded me of a painting I had once seen whilst visiting my uncle in Scotland. Her rosy lips were parted in a smile that I could not help but return.

"I hope that you rested well," said I, inclining my head toward her, "short though the rest was."

"Do not blame Mr Holmes," she insisted. "The fault was all mine. I have never been a sound sleeper and never less so than when I am occupied with something. Lately, I have been more restless than ever, and that was before this problem was ever brought to my attention."

I nodded, for I knew that was often the case for women in her state. I made no comment on it though, for such matters were not for free discussion, although Holmes had shown little enough restraint the previous day. "Shall we breakfast then?" I asked, motioning to the set table.

"I should think so," said Sherlock Holmes, bounding up from his seat. "For I can't imagine that you will share what information you have gathered until we have finished," he noted, looking over at me.

"No," I agreed, "I shouldn't imagine that I would."

We dined well, for Holmes had had the foresight to order a large breakfast up for us. It was a domestic scene that I had missed these past weeks while my wife was away and while I had been occupied with my professional business. It did not matter much that the wife was not mine, for the atmosphere was the same. Even Holmes's sallow complexion looked that much the better for the lady's presence.

I refused to allow my two companions to rush through their meals and, as it was my co-operation upon which they depended, they followed my lead without complaint. We discussed common things and I was much impressed with the idea that should he not have been so occupied with his work, Sherlock Holmes should have made some woman a fair husband. But then, if he were not so consumed with his work, he would not have been the Sherlock Holmes I knew and I dismissed the idea without mentioning it to him.

We resumed our positions of the night before, Mrs Kendrick in Holmes's comfortable chair with Holmes close by her elbow, and I withdrew the letter from my pocket, passing it across to Mrs Kendrick. It had been delivered to her and so it was only right that she be the one to open it, although the thought had crossed my mind to do it myself, in case the contents should be shocking.

Holmes, with her permission, was peering eagerly over her shoulder as she opened the envelope and withdrew a paper. Unlike the stiff paper of the previous note, this was thin paper, worn about the edges. I could tell nothing else from across the room, and should Mrs Kendrick have not read the writing out to us, I should not have known what it said until Holmes had completed his preliminary examination of it.

Again, the writing was in poetry.

"Ancient laws our deeds do govern," she read.
"And secure our courses, as you must learn
"There is no way for this to change.
"Our fortune does wax while yours does wane."

"It follows the same meter and rhyme scheme as the first," I observed, "although the meter falls off a bit in the last line."

"I should imagine that was to have the proper tense of the verb 'wane,'" Holmes noted, "in order to make the rhyme."

"Is the writing the same as the first?" asked I, unable to see for myself.

"It is written in the same hand, but in a different ink," Mrs Kendrick informed me. "Or, rather, in a reversal of inks."

"A reversal of inks?"

"Whereas the last note had been allowed to dry naturally but for a few words which were blotted, this note has been blotted with only a few words allowed to dry naturally," explained Holmes.

"'They hold,'" I quoted from the other note.

"Whereas this note says, 'Our courses change,'" read Holmes.

"What does it mean?" I demanded.

"If I should know that, my dear Watson, then I should have solved the case," said Holmes. "Now, I believe that you are still withholding some details from us."

"The letter was delivered last night by a freckled girl of about twenty, her hair an unusual shade of auburn," said I, determined to have the best of Holmes at least once.

"A girl!" cried Holmes. He looked rocked to his foundations.

Mrs Kendrick laughed and spoke up. "If she was wearing a blue dress, then I should not be surprised in the least, for you have just described Colleen, the maid that was to have come and stayed with me. But you have neglected to mention that her eyes are green and her nose turned up at the end."

Holmes fixed me with a look. "This is not a matter to be trifled with, Watson," said he severely.

I hastily outlined all that Colleen had revealed to me, for although I had gotten the better of Holmes, I felt little triumph in it. Holmes listened intention, interrupting me several times to press the details. Once Mrs Kendrick herself broke in with a query. Thanks to the careful questioning I had done the previous night, I was able to furnish the requested details, and although I had not quite finished, Holmes leaned back in his chair.

"I think that you have quite redeemed yourself, my dear Watson," stated Holmes. "You have brought back nearly everything that I had wished to know."

"You mean to say that you have solved it?" I questioned.

"No, no," replied Holmes. "Not yet, but the pieces are beginning to come together quite nicely. Don't you agree, Mrs Kendrick?"

She sat in silent thought for a moment before answering. "They may be beginning to assemble themselves," she said carefully, "but as yet the whole of it remains quite hidden."

"Have you learned anything further, Watson?" Holmes asked, obviously contented with Mrs Kendrick's answer.