"Now, my dear fellows, I propose the following: since today should turn very fine later this morning, we will put off any shopping until then. Let us make our way first to where the weather makes little difference, and which happens to be the first stop on my list for inquiries."

"That's a fine plan, Mr Holmes." I swiveled my head back and forth between the hansom cab's glazed windows, still accustoming myself to the frenetic pace, sights, sounds, and smells of civilization's melting pot. "'Where the weather makes little difference', you say? Are we calling at the Garridebs' tenant house?"

"It is unfortunate that that is an all-to-accurate description," Susato-san murmured, knitting her brows. "At least poor Natsume-san is no longer in residence there."

I nodded, recalling our Japanese cultural exchange predecessor, whom we'd lately assisted in court due to a terribly convoluted and unlucky series of events. Despite our regret over losing a fellow countryman to converse with in London, his own well being was more important. "I do hope he is having a restful voyage back to Japan."

"I'm sure he is," said Holmes. "But in regards to your guess as to our destination, Mr Naruhodou: despite sharing the same general direction, I'm afraid that where we are heading is even drearier than those bricked-up windowed rooms."

"It sounds dreadful," I said, pitying those who had to live in such a place. "I hope that its residents can find a better situation soon, and that we don't have to visit such a place often."

A quarter of an hour later, I was keenly feeling the weight of my words. "I should have guessed," I sighed.

Susato-san steepled her fingers with a rueful air. "Honestly, I was afraid that this is where Mr Holmes had been alluding to."

"Actually, I think I was too. I just didn't want to admit it to myself. It's just our luck that we end up visiting the jail cells even on our days off." I glanced at Holmes, deep in conversation with the overseer. "I wonder who he planned to meet here."

"Mr Holmes said he knows someone that visits here often," Susato-san answered.

"Well, they can't be anyone good," I said. "Considering it's prison."

"We've both visited before," Susato-san pointed out. "And likely will again, many times."

We were interrupted by Holmes himself, sweeping past us deeper into the corridors. "Follow me, friends! Our lucky contact should be right this way!"

We hurried in his wake, and nearly plowed into a greatcoated figure encompassed by a familiar oily aroma.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, sunshine!" The pride of Scotland Yard, Inspector Tobias Gregson himself, waved his fist - empty of its trademark fish and chips for once - in our faces angrily. "It's far too narrow to expect chaps to dodge around here, especially with their hands full!" He gesticulated with his left hand this time, which was burdened by a closed cardboard container, roughly the size of a hatbox.

"Ah, just the man we wanted to see!" Holmes bounded in front of him.

"Inspector Gregson?" I asked. "How did you know he would be at the prison at this time?"

"Elementary, my good fellow! The nearby pub has a luncheon-time discount on fish and chips on Fridays, so the good inspector tends to schedule any necessary errands to the prison accordingly. I was willing to wager the latest improved microscope to a culture tube that we would encounter him as planned."

"Oh, you have one of those fascinating devices, Mr Holmes?" Susato-san asked eagerly. "I should dearly like to examine it!"

"I do not have one at present, unfortunately," said Holmes. "But I can always find a use for additional laboratory glassware." That's not how betting with collateral, or lack thereof, works, Mr Holmes.

"Well, you found me, and don't expect any prizes for it," said the inspector gruffly. "So what do you lot want? I've got business to take care of."

Holmes patted his back in understanding. "Of course, we sha'n't keep your fried friends waiting! I simply wished to ask if you had recently encountered anyone who carried a fan composed of feathers such as this one." So saying, Holmes plucked a single plume from his pocket and produced it for the inspector's perusal.

"You didn't bring the entire fan, Mr Holmes?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "I thought it prudent to leave it safely at home, to avoid contamination of evidence."

"Well, I'm afraid I won't be of help anyway. I can't remember seeing anything like that; it sounds like some fancy frippery, and I don't run into much of that in my job." Gregson turned his flat stare back to Holmes. "What's it from? Some crime scene?"

"Ah, we're not yet entirely certain," said Holmes. "We're still looking into possibilities."

"Well, if does turn out to be one, report it to the Yard. If not, you lot are well aware that we've got enough to do without running about on wild goose chases for the fun of it."

"'Ostrich-chase', if you would permit the distinction," Holmes countered brightly. "And is that really any way to treat the indispensable consultant on so many of your Yard's most fiendishly difficult cases?"

"I'd rather not, and yes," retorted the inspector, muttering "'Indispensable', my left foot!" under his breath.

"Perhaps this would have gone smoother if Iris were requesting instead," Susato-san whispered to me from behind a raised hand. I nodded in agreement.

"But fortunately for me, you've just saved me a bit of time," Gregson continued. "I was actually on my way to send for you, sunshine. We've got an inmate here that's been refusing counsel all down the public defense list, and now he's pretty much left with you."

Huh? "Oh, me?" That would be a first. So far, I'd only been assigned cases by Lord Stronghart directly. I couldn't help but notice that I was still considered a last resort, though. "Wait, don't tell me - is Lord van Zieks prosecuting, too?!"

Gregson shook his head. "No, not this one. This man's small potatoes. He's been turning down representation for himself, due to… well, I'll let him explain his own reasoning."

I looked around curiously, eager to see this potential client. "Where is he?"

"Just around this corner - I was about to deliver this package to him on my way out."

We trailed after Gregson to congregate around a barred cell door much like all of its neighbours in this dingy place. "Here we are," he said. "The man himself."

"Arrr, if 'tisn't the great inspector, bearin' gifts!" We were addressed by a gold-grinning grizzled giant of a man. Judging by his salt-crusted, scruffy coat and breeches, along with his booming, rolling drawl, he was clearly a nautical man. "And with such fine gen'lefolk towed in yer wake. Weel now, I'd hate it to be said that Cap'n Frey E. Booter was an in'ospitable son-of-a-gun. But I'm afraid I weren't expectin' no company, and I'm shore ye wouldn't stand to have a pore, down-on-'is-luck humble seafarer, such as mesel', be deprived of a birthday cake baked with love by 'is best and only friends left in the world, would ye now?"

"Ah, no, of course not!" I surmised from Capt. Booter's hungry gaze that the box Gregson held must contain the highly anticipated cake. "We wouldn't dream of it!"

Susato-san dipped her head in the elegant bow she offered all our new acquaintance regardless of circumstances. "We are pleased to meet you, Captain Booter. My name is Susato Mikotoba, judicial assistant, and this is Ryuunosuke Naruhodou, practising defense attorney. We understand from Inspector Gregson that you may be in need of counsel. Is there any way we can be of assistance?"

"Avast, me dear, don't worry yore pretty li'l 'ead over it; 'tis all just a misunderstandin'!" Capt. Booter laughed heartily. The brass buttons on his coat winked in the torchlight as his ample stomach shook. "So ye be legal types, do ye?"

"Um, yes!" I pointed to my right arm. "This armband with the scales of justice is the mark of an attorney in Japan." I could get into the fact that it was awarded to Asougi, not me, later.

"So 'tis not just a pretty piece-of-eight! But no call for any palaver, matey. Sure as the tideswell, this whole sorry mess'll blow over by next sunrise."

"That'll be quite a trick, making a fair cop of smuggling in the act disappear just like that," Gregson stated plainly. "I should know; I was there. But you heard 'im. Every time we ask him to select an attorney, he insists that it won't ever come to a trial."

"And indeed, whyever should he not?" Holmes popped up between us like a buoy too long submersed. "It's as plain as day, or day where there's still access to sunlight, that our new friend has every reason to expect to walk free without ever standing trial."

"Eh? How do you figure that?" I asked.

"Why, from simple deduction, naturally! Shall I lay out my steps here and now?" Holmes's eyes twinkled with suppressed anticipation.

"Oh, how exciting!" Susato-san clasped her hands in glee. "Another of his famous deductions!"

"And just who might ye be, matey?" Capt. Booter was clearly taken aback by the impetuous bold claim.

"Why, the world-famous number-one consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes, at your service," said he, doffing his deerstalker and twirling it with a flourish, to the background accompaniment of Gregson's deriding snort. "Perhaps you may have heard of me."

"Sherlock 'Olmes, eh? Hoist me, I 'ad no notion ye were a flesh-and-blood man." The sea captain stared at him goggle-eyed. "So ye think ye've got me situation all pegged square, do ye?"

"Certainly," Holmes replied. "If you allow me to elucidate, I'm sure you will see how I concluded that you are as innocent of this regrettable accusation as you claim."

"Just from this skimmin' pass?" Capt. Booter was impressed despite himself. "Arrr, that'd truly be a marvel to witness!"

"I've no say, do I," sighed Gregson, shaking his head in resignation.

"Very well, I accept your kind invitation! Let us begin our adventure in a Logic and Reasoning Spectacular!" Holmes snapped his fingers, and all our attention fixed on him as if a spotlight on a stage.

"You may not be surprised to hear, Captain Booter, that I have spent some little time among the wharfs and ports of our great empire during my investigations. In the course of my explorations, I've observed your same aspect and demeanor quite often, and thus your type is quite familiar to me."

"That's because he's a common sea rat," Gregson interposed.

"That is indeed one explanation," allowed Holmes. "And naturally, it is the one most readily suggested by the circumstances in which the Yard found Captain Booter in the fulfillment of their duties. Therefore, it is no surprise that it is the one that they and you have adhered to. But in actuality there is another occupation that fits the known facts of the case, and which also explains this importuned ocean-faring businessman's steadfast assurance of succor in his hour of need. Do not think, my good captain, that it has escaped our notice that your exclusive focus has been claimed for the duration of our admittedly short acquaintance by a particular object."

Holmes snapped again, and now drew our gaze to the cardboard box resting in Gregson's hand, which flinched in surprise.

The great detective plowed on with his explanation. "You, Captain Booter, have been devoured with anticipation since Gregson's arrival with this unassuming box, containing, as you claim, a cake to commemorate your birthday. While I also annually await with extreme feelings my own special day - which is on the sixth of January, in case you were curious, my dear fellows - surely that isn't the sole reason that this treat has so piqued your devoted interest? I submit that the true purpose of this cake is something else."

"Yarr!" The long-winded explanation was punctured by the sudden involuntary shout from Capt. Booter. He covered his mouth in embarrassment as all attention shifted to his outburst. His eyes twitched, and a few stray pale greenish sparks popped from his brass buttons, as if from the remnants of St. Elmo's fire.

"I see I have hit the nail on the head," Holmes declared. "So, what does this tell us? The captain has stated that this cake is a present from 'his best and only friends left in the world'." Surely this cake delivers a message beyond that of their many happy returns. What is your friends' identity, and how does it reveal your own true purpose at the scene of arrest? By following your inadvertent glance just now, I can discern where to find the answer. Both those questions can both be solved by this gash on Inspector Gregson's left overcoat pocket!"

Huh? We listeners all turned towards the named article with a bewildered gaze - and none more so, I noticed, than Capt. Booter.

"As you can see," Holmes said, twirling closer, "Inspector Gregson's pocket has been cut clear through the outer fabric, as if by a sharp metal object. It is exactly the right size and fray, in fact, as would be made by a polished serviceman's badge." Holmes began pacing excitedly. "You see, friends, I do not believe that Captain Booter was participating in a smuggling operation with ill intent. Far from it. I posit that the captain is a clandestine member of the naval forces, posted undercover to shed light on the smuggling rings that plague our fair empire, and was mistakenly apprehended in the course of his duty. With his ongoing mission compromised, the intrepid captain was unable to reveal the truth to the arresting officers while in the company of his supposed co-conspirators – but in actual fact, his targets. In a moment of quick thinking, he secreted his identifying badge in the nearby inspector's pocket.

"The rest is elementary. Following his orders, the valourous Captain Booter maintained his cover even into prison, all the while waiting for a sign from his shadowy superiors for when all is in readiness to clear his name. This cake must be the chosen method of sending the signal for his imminent release." Holmes ended his impassioned speech with final snap and triumphant pose. "Therefore, in conclusion: Captain Booter is confident that he will not be required to attend a trial, because he is actually an undercover navy officer dismantling smuggling rings!"

We all soaked it in amidst thunderous silence.

"…Is that it?" I finally asked.

"Whatever do you mean?" Holmes produced and held his empty pipe, eyes closed.

"Well, even though it was rather lengthy, it still felt like something was missing from usual." It was difficult to put my impression into words.

Susato-san consulted her notebook. "Your previous deductions contained at least two separate conclusions, and included twice as many points of data." She flipped through the pages. "But at least we've managed to learn Mr Holmes's birthday!" She enthusiastically scribbled an addendum.

"My dear fellows," Holmes said with indulgent benevolence. "There is little stimulation for the intellect in jail cells."

"He is quite correct, as usual," Susato-san glanced around our surroundings. "There's nothing much here at all, to examine or otherwise."

"Did you hear that, my good captain?" Holmes leant suddenly towards the barred door opening. "I would heartily recommend avoiding any further attempts at temporary residence here."

"But didn't you just say that Captain Booter is actually an undercover serviceman, Mr Holmes?" asked Susato-san.

The great detective reinstated his trademark pipe and nibbled on it. "Oh, yes. Quite."

"But there is still something that doesn't feel right," I said, drawn in spite of myself back into the now-familiar flow. "For one thing, if Captain Booter had shoved his badge into Inspector Gregson's pocket during his arrest, mightn't it have been in danger of being lost by now?"

"I must agree." Susato-san folded her hands gravely. "If Captain Booter is indeed a member of the navy, why was this not revealed, along with the badge, at an earlier opportunity, such as during processing?"

"Exactly," I was quick to elaborate. "They should have had no qualms about revealing his true identity with only law enforcement around. There would have been no danger of being exposed to his targets there."

"It sounds like you two are spoiling for an alternative solution," Holmes said, eyes sparkling. "In that case, if you would be so kind?"

"Of course." I nodded. "Assuming you have no objection, inspector?" I turned towards Gregson.

"By all means," the inspector sighed. "Leave objections to the lawyers, that's my motto."

"Well then, shall we, Susato-san? Let's begin our course correction!"

Outside distractions dimmed around me as I ran through the steps of Holmes' deductions in my head. They seemed solid enough at first; Capt. Booter's expression at the mention of Inspector Gregson bearing cake was a notable confirmation.

"I think we can leave everything Mr Holmes deduced until the gash in the inspector's overcoat as it is, more or less," I said, stroking my chin. "That seems to be the point where Captain Booter's attention diverged from Mr Holmes' claims."

"Yes, I noticed the same," said Susato-san. "But Captain Booter certainly glanced in the vicinity of Inspector Gregson's person. That means we ought to look in that direction for more clues."

I focussed first on the most obvious item, tucked in his right pocket. "Do you think it could be this?"

"Inspector Gregson's empty fish and chips wrapper?" Susato-san looked at me with measurable concern. "Oh dear, didn't you eat enough breakfast?"

"I guess not. I wonder if the inspector would tell us the best places to get fish and chips."

Susato-san sighed at me. "I think we'd better check elsewhere."

I remembered from previous 'dances' that we often struck gold when searching behind the person or item Mr Holmes pointed out. I stepped around Inspector Gregson, and peered at the dank wall of the prison corridor. The only thing to be seen other than the endless expanse of solid stone and mortar was a large black spider dangling from a web.

"Gyaah!" I jumped back.

"Don't be so timid, Naruhodou-sama. Spiders are among humanity's greatest and most hardworking friends. Just consider how useful they are: eliminating pests, among other things."

"I'm also considering that you don't seem very eager to make friends with it yourself." I couldn't resist - it was the first time I could find anything in the perpetually unflappable Susato-san to tease.

"That's neither here nor there," she said tartly. I noticed that her eyes were wide as she kept me between her and the amiable arachnid. "I think we should leave it alone and take another look at Inspector Gregson's left pocket."

We did so. It was rather flat, and lacked any sagging distortion from carrying a dense metal badge. At this new proximity, I noticed something else. "Susato-san, do you see some white cream smeared on the edges of the gash?" A sweet scent wafted from it - a pleasant contrast from the fatty smell that clung around the inspector due to his constant diet of fish and chips.

"Yes, I do now that you've pointed it out. Look, there's some here too, on the outside of the cakebox. It's coming through this puncture here."

We both bent closer: it was a perfect match for the slash in the coat.

"May we, inspector?" I gestured to the box.

"Be my guest." Inspector Gregson handed it over. We brought it away from the group and closer to a torch further along the corridor, to examine it in more detail under the sputtering light.

The cakebox had not survived its journey to the cells unscathed, as expected. The white frosting smeared inside the box looked and smelled the same as the creamy mark on the good inspector's pocket. The cake itself however was surprisingly still intact, mostly.

"The pink sugar letters on top are a bit smudged, but they do seem to spell 'Many Happy Returns'." I took a closer look at the exposed insides. "It's darker than the cakes that Iris serves at tea, and has these tiny orange strings in it," I pointed out. "Do you think it has gone bad?"

Susato-san sniffed the cake, wrinkling her delicate nose. Somehow, she performed even this typically juvenile action with unparalleled elegance. "I believe this is carrot cake. It is usually baked with cinnamon and ginger, lending it a distinctive smell."

"Well, that's one way to make people eat their vegetables."

"I suppose." Susato-san raised her hand to her lips to hide a small grin. "But I'm afraid it hardly explains Captain Booter's keen interest."

"You're right," I admitted. I glared harder at the vegetable cake. "Right there, by the tear in the box - can you see something sort of… glinting?"

"Yes, I can!" She reached into the box and gently tugged on the wax paper wrapper to tilt the already jostled cake on its side, and worked the twinkling object out of its spongy surroundings. "Why, it's a key!"

"That's a very odd thing to lose while cooking," I observed. "I may have dropped my student pin into my ramen once or twice, but I've never dropped my student housing key into it."

"We should revisit that anecdote later," Susato-san told me severely. "But from the lack of ridges, I believe this is what is known as a skeleton key."

I frowned. "I think we'd better see if there's any other unusual ingredients in the cake."

"I agree," Susato-san said gravely.

Within a couple minutes, the box bottom was covered with various lock picking tools and even a miniature metal file, all extracted from the base of the cake.

"I believe we've found our answer," said Susato-san.

"All right, here goes." I took a deep breath, and announced to the rest of the room, "Captain Booter's friends' identity, and his own true occupation, are both revealed by the lock picking tools hidden in the cake!"

It was as if a thick wall between us and the truth had been shattered.

"Yes, this contraband explains everything clearly." Holmes swooped in to tie the final threads together. "You and your fellow smugglers had made a pact, promising to rescue any who should ever be caught, in order to avoid bringing the rest of operation members to light. These are your vaunted friends - obviously not very gifted ones, however," Holmes added, lifting his index finger. "All professionals know to add any smuggled goods into baked ones only after allowing the bottom layer to set."

"Maybe you shouldn't give free smuggling advice to an actual smuggler," I pointed out, unseasonable sweat dripping.

Holmes ignored my interjection. "The conclusion is inescapable!" He pointed dramatically. "Captain Booter is confident that he will not be required to attend a trial, because he is planning an escape from prison!"

I stood beside Holmes as he took his final pose. Copying his forefinger alongside the brow, I announced with him, "Deduction: complete!"

The spell was broken by a loud "Aaaaah!" and "Yaaaarrgh!" from the inspector and captain respectively. The effect on the latter was especially eye-catching. Capt. Booter's brass buttons sparked like miniature firecrackers, and his queue stood out stiff behind him as if struck by lightning.

"I guess it was a good thing we ran into Inspector Gregson earlier, in the literal sense," I realized. "If we hadn't upset his hold on the cake, causing the sharp edge of the hidden tools to cut through the box, he wouldn't have had the tear and dab of cream on his coat. If it weren't for that, we probably wouldn't have found out the truth about the cake."

The inspector didn't share my pragmatic view of the situation. "Blimey! Those blasted pencil-pushers! If I've told them once, I've told 'em a thousand times to thoroughly check the prisoners' post. Whoever's on desk duty's ears'll be ringing before I'm done with 'em!" Inspector Gregson raved.

Thoroughly unmasked and discharged, the burly pirate heaved a noisy sigh. "Arrr, I wager the jig's up." He looked at me pleadingly, buttons as lackluster as his defeated voice. "I don't suppose ye'd have any interest in representin' me in court, would ye?"

I called to mind Asougi's guiding advice, how believing in one's client forming the heart of an attorney's resolve. I added that to the fact that he had a full list of attorneys to choose from, and how few trials I had under my belt. "I'm flattered by your request, and certainly under other circumstances, but I'm not entirely confident that I would be your best choice."

"Ah, perhaps I can be of assistance here, my good fellow, being as I am a world traveler, even to the far eastern isles," Holmes offered cheerfully. "That phrase is actually a literal translation of their own charming colloquialism, meaning 'absolutely not'."

"Aye, his face signaled as much." Capt. Booter shook his head ruefully. "Clear as a semaphore flag, it is. Such be the squalls o' life sometimes."

"Good luck in court," I wished him honestly.

Holmes broke out into a boisterous laugh. "It seems, my dear inspector, that once again I've saved your bacon, or at the least your bacon grease!"

Gregson emitted a whistling noise reminiscent of a kettle approaching the boiling point.

"Well, having completed our errand of mercy here, it is high time we moved on to our other more prosaic errands elsewhere," Holmes decided, and swiftly transferred the cake box from my hands back to Gregson's. "Good day, inspector! Captain!" He tapped the brim of his cap in a mock salute, and ushered us past the still steaming Gregson and out of the jail into the daylight.