After that distasteful interview, I was all for heading directly to Bethlem, but Lestrade told me roundly not to be a fool. "If it hadn't been for that bloody explosion last night, Doctor, you'd already be at home with your good wife – and that's just where you're going now! Lord, you could use those bags under your eyes to carry potatoes!"

I nodded grudgingly, although the thought of spending the rest of the day with Mary was a most welcome one after the morning we'd just had.

Lestrade hailed a cab, climbing in after me. "You know, I do think Mycroft was right, Watson: our man'll come to no harm where he is, at least for the moment. Best place for him, really, with that sort of information in his head..."

"No, it isn't!" I replied sharply. "I don't give a damn what Mycroft said, Lestrade. That man became my client last night, and as far as I'm concerned, he still is!"

Lestrade gave me an odd look. "Don't you mean 'patient'?"

"What?"

"You said 'client' just now, Doctor, not 'patient'." Lestrade shook his head at my reddening cheeks. "Look, Watson... I'm sure I don't need to tell you, of all people, about getting too involved with a case..."

"No, Inspector, indeed not," I replied, a little more sharply than I'd intended. "Many thanks for your concern."

I ignored the sharp prod from my conscience as Lestrade's lips tightened, both of us lapsing into an affronted silence, for which I perversely became less and less grateful as we neared my house. Perhaps I had spoken a trifle hastily... yet I still didn't see the need to justify my views. My colleague hadn't lived with Holmes as a friend and flatmate all those years; he could hardly know better than I the effects of being cooped up in one or two rooms, without any form of meaningful work, upon a person of such restless ambition and intelligence! And to have a dream of extreme wealth within one's grasp, only to be snatched out of reach at the last second... that would be enough to drive any man mad, and I would be damned if I simply stood by and allowed it to happen.

I bade Lestrade an awkward farewell at my front door, reminding him pointedly that I wouldn't be at the Yard for the next two days, as I had my usual practice to attend to.

"I hadn't forgotten," he coolly assured me, although his tone seemed to imply that he'd been wondering if I had. "Good afternoon, Doctor. My regards to Mrs. Watson."

"Good afternoon, Inspector." As my colleague turned away, a sudden misgiving prompted me to blurt out, "Lestrade... thank you for today. I, er... don't suppose I've been the most pleasant company..."

Lestrade raised an eloquent eyebrow, then gave me a sympathetic grin. "Go on with you, Watson. I'll see what else I can find out about your friend, all right? You never know... perhaps there's some other random crime he might have witnessed before last night?"

Which would of course necessitate a second interview... I laughed. "Bless you, Lestrade! I'll see you on Friday."

~0~

An afternoon and evening off with my dear Mary, followed by two days of ordinary practice, did a great deal to improve my disposition. Lestrade did have a point, after all: Bethlem Hospital was by far the best asylum as far as conditions for its patients went, thanks largely to a long run of compassionate resident directors and the recently-passed Lunacy Act of last year. My friend would receive excellent care for his physical injuries, at least, and I felt quietly confident that in time I might be able to get him released – provided he posed no further threat to the British economy, of course! All that my client... patient likely needed was for someone to gently nudge his thoughts in a different direction, suggest a new way forward. There must be many other applications for his detailed knowledge of chemistry, besides creating a mere illusion of wealth. It would be a positive crime to waste such a valuable human asset to scientific progress, and I meant to tell Mycroft so when next we met.

In the meantime, it was imperative that I should get back in contact with my patient, reassure him that he had at least one friend on the outside with his best interests at heart. Even if visits were forbidden at the moment, I could surely persuade the current superintendent to inform him that I had called.

Friday morning saw me back at the Yard, Lestrade greatly relieved at how much better I looked. "I went round to see the building's landlord while you were away, Doctor. I didn't learn very much, though, except for the name your patient gave when he moved in: Edward Taylor."

"An alias, most likely," I sighed. "Well, if you're free this afternoon, Lestrade, shall we see what else we can discover?"

When we arrived at Bethlem, however, we learned with dismay from the chief physician that we had been too slow off the mark yet again: 'Edward Taylor' had already escaped two nights ago!

~0~

"I'm terribly sorry, officers." Superintendent Robert Smith frowned down at the report on his desk. "One of our senior orderlies, George Brown, was approached by a strange gentleman on Wednesday morning, who claimed to be a distant relative of our newest arrival, and offered him a large sum of money to assist Mr. Taylor – if that is indeed the patient's name – in leaving the hospital, which he unfortunately succeeded in doing. Mercifully, Mr. Brown was caught trying to break into the archives next, with the intent, we believe, of altering the patient's medical file."

"Why didn't you report this incident earlier?" I demanded angrily. The poor, desperate fool... I couldn't blame 'Taylor' in the least for seizing the first chance of escape offered him!

"We did, Doctor – to the persons who committed him to our care, which I'm afraid is classified information unless you gentlemen can produce a warrant. As for Brown, he has been suspended, and is due to be disciplined by the Lunacy Commission for his unprofessional conduct." Smith's eyes narrowed. "The patient may have witnessed a serious crime, you say?"

"Indeed he may, which I'm afraid is also classified information," Lestrade replied smoothly, rising from his chair. "Thank you, Dr. Smith, you've been most helpful."

~0~

"But why didn't you at least ask for the orderly's address?" I asked Lestrade as we left the building. "I'm sure he could tell us something about what this 'distant relative' looked like!"

"And how would that help us track him down, with nearly forty-eight hours head start?" Lestrade retorted. "You can bet George Brown's already told everything he knows to his superiors, who'll have passed that information straight on to ours! And if none of them have found a sign of the pair by now, what hope do we have of doing any better?"

"So you're just going to give up?!"

"I don't like it any more than you do, Watson," my colleague sighed, "but we have to face facts: your patient is probably long gone. He could be practically anywhere in the British Isles by now, if not the Continent!" Lestrade gripped my shoulder bracingly as I groaned, putting my head in my hands. "And the longer we carry on this investigation unofficially, the more trouble we're likely to attract. At least we know 'Taylor' is in no physical danger at the moment."

That made me look up again! "What makes you so sure?"

"Because whoever was behind this rescue obviously wants 'Taylor' to continue his work. If he'd wanted that knowledge buried, he could have bribed Brown to simply give 'Taylor' an overdose of sedative or something."

"True..."

"And even if our man doesn't completely trust his patron's motives, he's hardly going to pass up the chance to finally realise his dream, is he? A private laboratory, all the equipment and materials he might need, money no object..."

"Yes, yes, all right!" What worried me more than any of that was the thought of what might happen after the first quality diamonds had made their debut. How much would Taylor's life be worth to his benefactor then? I prayed to God that my friend would have the good sense not to reveal more of his methods or formulas than strictly necessary! And with Lestrade unequivocally resigning as my partner for this case, I suspected I would soon be petitioning Heaven's good graces far more frequently.

~0~

The next several weeks were the most uncomfortable I had yet spent at Scotland Yard. Lestrade knew me far too well to believe that I had dropped the case altogether, and I took care to hide a decoy set of notes where I could be certain he alone would find them. I had already considered and rejected the idea of Taylor being smuggled out of London, never mind England. My friend's injuries must still be too severe to allow him to travel far without attracting attention. Making inquiries with any railway or shipping lines would therefore be a waste of time, but if Lestrade believed that this was my intent, so much the better. He would probably have had apoplexy if he'd known what I was really up to.

If, as I suspected, Taylor were to remain in London for the duration of his endeavours, it seemed likely that a new diamond would eventually emerge on the market to test the waters; but it would hardly find its way to a respectable jeweller, they'd spot a fake instantly and report it! Holmes had had occasional business with the less reputable sort of trader, however, and it didn't take me long to track down a handful of his old contacts. I could not reveal my true identity, of course – any weight that my association with Holmes might have lent me had gone with him – but even in disguise, I still retained my own methods of persuasion. I felt fairly confident that at least one or two fences would send word if any new diamonds appeared to be circulating.

That sense of confidence was about to be my undoing.

~0~

One foggy November evening, I had closed the morgue early, intending to surprise Mary with dinner at our favourite local restaurant. My poor wife had recently recovered from a severe cold, which had necessarily put all case work out of my head, save for hers. Dining out would make a pleasant change for both of us, as my own cooking skills were limited, and I had forbidden Mary to resume working at a hot, smoky kitchen range before she was completely well.

A stone's throw from home, my pleasant musings on the merits of roast beef followed by apple tart and cream were interrupted by the sudden, nagging feeling that all was not as it should be. Those two men dressed as common labourers, leaning on the area railings of the Parker family's residence, three doors from my own... Was it mere imagination, or had they looked over just a little too expectantly at my approach? My suspicion was confirmed as the pair turned towards me, the hair rising on the back of my neck at the friendly grins that went nowhere near their eyes.

"Evening, Doctor!" one of them greeted me in a deep, rough voice; a heavily built young man with a slab-sided, obstinate face, and fair hair cropped short. I hardly had to glance at the abrasions and callouses on his knuckles to confirm that he was a prizefighter – and a good one, if the lack of marks on his face was any indication. Tightening my hold on my cane, I slowed to take stock of his companion on his left: shorter and slighter, a Roman nose and hooded eyes giving him a peevish expression, framed by longer dark hair that looked oddly clean for a labourer's. Smooth, thin-fingered hands revealed little, but his restless gaze darting over my frame and lingering on my medical bag gave away his profession, too: thief, most likely a pickpocket.

"Bless my soul!" I exclaimed in seeming delight. "Peter Wainwright! Where the devil have you been hiding, old chap?" Before either of them could do more than exchange a bewildered glance, I had set down my Gladstone, stepped forward and grasped the thinner man's right hand, shaking it warmly. In almost the same moment, my left hand lashed out with the heavy-topped cane at the heavier man's head. Some instinct must have warned him, for what should have been a crippling blow merely whistled over his head as he ducked reflexively, fists raised in a professional stance. I had no time to congratulate myself on a solid piece of deduction, however, as the man whose hand I still grasped had recovered from his surprise and was reaching for my throat with his left. Off balance from the missed strike, I let go of the thief's hand and let gravity take me, meaning to roll away, or at least strike at their kneecaps. I had unfortunately forgotten about my Gladstone on the ground, and landed on top of it, a strangled yelp escaping as the handle dug into the small of my back, then gasping as my wounded shoulder hit the pavement.

The prizefighter began to close in, but to my astonishment, the thief seized him by the shoulders and pulled him up short.

"No, Sam, don' be a fool! Wasn't meant ter go like this, remember?"

'Sam' growled, but grudgingly lowered his fists, while my erstwhile rescuer offered me his hand and an ingratiating grin. "Sorry 'bout that, guv'nor, yew got the drop on us an' no mistake! Still, no 'arm done, eh?"

I pointedly ignored the outstretched hand, trying hard not to wince as I got to my feet with the aid of my cane. "You and your colleague might try visiting cards," I grunted, "if you don't want law-abiding citizens getting the wrong idea. What the devil's going on?"

"I like yer way, Doctor," he chuckled. "No messin' about, tha's fair. Word is, yew bin lookin' fer a certain gen'leman frien' o' yers, 'oo almost turned hisself into a firework?" My heart leapt as a stained scrap of paper appeared in the thief's hand like a conjuring trick. "Well, yew can 'ave this with 'is compliments... if yew promise ter stop lookin' fer 'im."

"What!" I blinked, hand frozen in mid-reach. "But why, for heaven's sake?" Somehow, I didn't doubt that the man was sincere.

"We ain't got all night, guv'nor," the thief responded tersely, peevish expression starting to return. "D'yew wan' the message or not?"

"And how do you know I won't keep searching for him after that?"

"You're a smart man, Doctor..." A chill travelled down my spine as Sam glanced casually over his shoulder towards my front door. "You tell us."

"I see," I answered icily. "In that case, gentlemen... I shall bid you a pleasant evening. Good night!" As Sam started to move menacingly towards me, all need for diplomacy gone, I took two quick steps to my right and struck with my cane at the Parkers' lighted parlour window, shattering the glass. "Fire!" I shouted in as rough a voice as I could manage.

The effect was electric: the pair froze to the spot, and Mrs. Parker angrily wrenched the parlour curtains open a moment later, peering wide-eyed into the street, while running footsteps began to sound along the pavement. I had already dropped the cane, and pointed at the hastily retreating pair, bold as brass. "They did it, someone call a constable! I'm so sorry, Mrs. Parker, I was just too late to stop them!"

"Oh, thank you, Dr. Watson, it was so kind of you to intervene! Are you all right?"

"Quite all right, Mrs. Parker, thank you, but I must get home at once. Good night to you!"