Chapter 4; "Very interesting."

Lydia stared out across the ocean; blue, seemingly endless, was it the sea reflecting the sky or the sky reflecting the sea? She smiled, she knew which it was but out here the two looked so similar. Wearily she turned away and began pacing the deck of the ship, the skirts she hated so much billowing about in the wind. She payed them no head and sat down heavily upon a bench. Life would never, could never be the same after this. With her father dead and her mother struggling out of a crater of depression. Not to mention their change of address, India to England. Lydia would be expected to behave like a lady, engage in trivial, polite conversation. There would be no outlet for her intellect, she would never be allowed to sprint through the jungles with the tribes people again. She began to cry silently, letting her tears fall unchecked down her cheeks for what must have been the hundredth time that day.

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It was ten in the morning and Lestrade, who had travelled up from London at the news of Winters discovery, was sitting along with several other constables in the entrance hall of Shortleat. Also present were Norwood, Watson, Holmes and Winters who were sitting in a feverish impatience to hear the results of the forensics tests. "Well?" choked the inspector breathlessly. Lestrade eyed his comrade, and enjoying their rapture he began to tell them; "The results reveal that the last person to have handled the gun with his bare hands is a man we certainly do have in our records, they are the finger prints of a Mr Martin Rison!" Holmes drew breath suddenly his mouth opening slightly. Annoyed that the detective might spoil his story Lestrade continued quickly, "Mrs Olivia Rison's husband, and a man who was hung for murder two years ago! And what's more in front of hundreds of people!

The company sat in silent shock for a few moments, "Very interesting…" murmured Holmes to no one in particular. "VERY INTERESTING?" Exclaimed Norwood; "It's down right impossible! Do another test Lestrade, I demand it!"

Lestrade shook his head, "There's no point we've done several already!" Norwood began to protest but Winters interjected; "Don't be so hasty in your conclusions sir! I have known such things to have happened before!"

"Yes such as the crimson leaf affair of '82 or the murder of a certain George Renel in '89!" Holmes muttered.

"Then what shall you do about it?" stipulated his distraught client.

"We shall be spending the rest of the day in the most disreputable back streets of London; answers are to be found with the questionable!"

Two and a half hours later Watson, Winters and Holmes had transformed themselves into dockworkers, their jackets and faces disfigured with grime. "Well we look the part!" commented the inspector, surveying himself in the full length mirror, "It just remains to be seen whether we can act it!"

"I think we shall manage!" Holmes smiled. "Come I have a hansom outside ready to take us to Roadstreet Lane which is where we shall begin our search!"

"Roadstreet Lane? Surely you don't mean you're going to see him?" Watson expostulated.

Holmes rolled his eyes, "Certainly I am going to visit Mr Johnson, I presume that's who you are referring to!"

Winters looked awkwardly from one to the other; "Could someone please enlighten me?"

Watson opened his mouth to answer but Holmes cut him off; "He shall discover the nature of our acquaintance in but thirty minutes, let it be a surprise!"

It was a dank, dark alleyway in which the cab deposited them. Slime oozed out of cracks in the walls and moss grew over the stone slabs that served as the pavement. Ironically not one of the words in its sobriquet, Roadstreet Lane, quite fitted it. "Gutter" as Winters showed no hesitation in remarking would be much more appropriate. They turned in at a door that could only really be described as offensive! After rapping smartly (if gingerly) on the mouldering wood, Holmes turned to Winters and whispered into his ear, "Do not divulge your real name, our friend does not encourage policemen!" The inspector gulped but before he could say anything the repugnant slither of wood swung in wards to reveal a hulking man who was worthy of a similar description! "What the…" he began but Holmes interposed.

"Relax Johnson it's me, Sherlock Holmes, and no doubt you will remember my colleague and associate Dr Watson?"

The man nodded and turned his suspicious eye onto Winters; "An' 'oos this?"

"Err Mr Johnson this is Mr Win…slow" The inspector stuck out a hand, he regarded it with disdain but took it anyway. "Nice to meet you!" he sneered.

Clearing his throat Holmes drew attention back to himself, "Ehem… We wished to enquire as to the location of a particular gentleman."

Johnson grinned; "Enquire away!"

Holmes permitted himself a smile but then continued, "Can you find me the where about of a Martin Rison? I know it is unlikely as he will almost certainly be incognito."

Shinwell laughed, "For once Mr Holmes you're wrong, I know exactly who you mean and where he lives!"

Holmes stared expectantly at him; "Well?"

"Number four Streetroad Lane!" The detective gave a satisfied smile and slipped some money into his informant's hand. "Nice perpetrating business with you!" his lip twitched enigmatically, then beckoning to Winters and Watson led them from the godforsaken little shack.

"I wander why our Mr Rison uses his real name?" mumbled the doctor.

"He either feels he has no fear of being caught or is not afraid of the consequences if he is," replied Winters, "personally I incline to the latter theory, he will be at least as old as "Mr Angels", his wife's dead, he hasn't got anything left to live for!" Holmes turned a corner and was about to add to their discussion when suddenly two immense arms shot out and seized him around the neck. Winters leapt forward and punched the assailant in the stomach, (practically the only place he could reach!) The man staggered backward against the wall and hitting his head on a protruding drainpipe slumped to the floor! Winters smiled triumphantly however the thug's cohort strode out from the shadows and grabbing the inspector by the coat collar hit him hard across the face then dropped him to the floor insentient. He rounded on Holmes and Watson only to look down the barrel of the detective's gun. The man grunted in surprise then after little deliberation turned and ran for it. Holmes scowled contemptuously and thrust the revolver back into his pocket; "Coward!"

Winters groaned and sat up nursing his black eye, "What happened?"

Watson knelt beside him; "The ruffian knocked you out!"

"I can feel that!" The inspector snapped then seeing the doctor's offended countenance continued, "I'm sorry, it just hurts that's all. They got away then?"

Holmes joined them on the floor and sticking out a hand he helped Winters up, "Yes." He answered simply.

The inspector sighed and began to dust himself off, "Only to be expected I suppose!"

Holmes cocked an eyebrow at the pessimistic observation but turned his attention back to the matter at hand, "I shall be stopping at Scotland Yard to do some minor enquiries before meeting this Mr Rison, will you accompany Watson and myself?"

Winters shook his head, "Alas I know I am prone to concussion from… similar incidents, it would be wiser for me to return home!"

Holmes shrugged in an effort to portray indifference, "Very well, as you wish. May we have an address for you so it will be easy to contact you tomorrow?"

"Lanestreet Road, number Twenty Seven, but you will not need it, I shall call for you!"