Holmes stumbled into the police station in a sort of daze. He had not come straight there from the house, having first walked aimlessly through the maze of narrow alleyways behind St Mark's Square trying to gather his thoughts. But the death had to be officially reported, and Daniel was hardly going to do that.

His grasp of Italian was fairly limited and the English speaking constable with whom he had conversed earlier that day was absent, but he managed to communicate the fact that someone had died, which seemed to rouse the energies of the man behind the desk. Within a matter of ten minutes he was on board a police boat, seated beside one representative of the law and being rowed energetically by another along the Grand Canal. In order to better navigate the waterways the mode of rowing was unlike any he had seen before. The rower actually stood upright, and used the two oars in such a way that the push forward was the power stroke rather than the pull back, and he could face in the same direction as he was moving. This, however, merely served as a reminder to Holmes of those perversely happy - or at least that was how it seemed now – days spent gliding up and down the Cherwell in Oxford…

'Qui?'

The voice of the policeman roused him from his reverie. He looked up, to see that they were approaching the landing stage of the house,

'Si,' he replied.

…….

There was no sign of Daniel and Edwina outside. Holmes rushed to the front door, and found it open

'Daniel!' he shouted, 'Daniel, where are you?'

He spotted something lying on the stairs. A torn piece of fabric, such as might have come from a woman's dress,

'Daniel!' he called again, pounding up the staircase. When he reached the top, he saw that the door to the upstairs drawing room was ajar.

……..

Edwina…or rather Edwina's body…was sitting up in a high backed armchair by the fire. Were it not for the slightly uncomfortable way her head lolled to one side she might merely have been asleep. If Daniel had bodily dragged her up the stairs, he had done a fine job of re arranging her clothes and hair to look good as new.

Daniel was sitting in the other chair. He looked at Holmes with an expression so calm as to be frightening

'I didn't want to leave her outside.'

Holmes felt as though it was getting harder to breathe,

'She's…' he managed,

'She's dead. Great Aunt Lucinda, Morris, Edwina, all dead…' his face crumpled suddenly, and he brought his hands up to cover his eyes

'…all dead…She's dead…She's dead'

Holmes backed out of the room as he began to cry with great howling sobs. The policemen were standing outside. He indicated the room with an inclination of his head, as if it was not already obvious, then stumbled down the stairs and out onto the wooden jetty to gulp gratefully at the cool air of the night.

It wasn't until he put his hand into his pocket for his handkerchief that he realised he was still carrying the empty bottle of cyanide and Edwina's suicide note.

He turned back to the house, to find one of the policemen...but his feet suddenly seemed welded to the ground. Slowly, he removed his hand from his pocket again, leaving the evidence inside.