Holmes sighed deeply and clutched the pile of newspapers to him

Holmes sighed deeply and clutched the pile of newspapers to him.

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

Holmes stared at me pleadingly. I tried hard to remember the case.

The previous summer we had been called in by Lestrade to investigate a series of rather bizarre deaths in society houses. Seven servants in different locations around London had perished in ways that could not be explained; in particular one appeared to have strangled himself with his own hands. I had conjectured and Holmes proved, using rather unorthodox methods and himself as a test subject, that it is not possible to strangle oneself. Unconsciousness occurs before death and would cause a man to lose his grip. We had managed show all of the deaths had indeed been murders, and were perpetrated by members of a criminal gang.

The case had proved very difficult to solve. It had been easy to catch those responsible for the murders, but their ringleader, an ironmonger from Leeds, was very careful to hide his involvement. His underlings often did not even know his name or appearance, and there were many members of the gang thought to be still at large. The gang members were infiltrating the staff of wealthy houses, waiting a few weeks or even months, and then stealing to order, particularly metal items, as were required. The organisation would then convey them to Leeds to be melted down, and return them to London as other items. The poor victims had been other, honest members of staff who had dared to interfere.

I still did not see what this had to do with Thomas Pike, nor did I remember him. Holmes turned his back to me and groaned, knowing from my face that I was trying too hard to remember.

"I had the Irregulars monitor goings on at the docks. It was this way that we were able to trace the route of the goods to Leeds. Thomas Pike was hauled from the river two days after we closed the case."

"I still do not see how this is your fault, Holmes. People are drowned in the river all the time. The terrible undertow can hold the unfortunates down for months. And why is it of such concern now?" I was somewhat confused, still.

"Wiggins has told me that in their latest recruitment of irregulars, they met a boy very similar, a little stockier and taller, and all but the same in face and eyes. It was his twin brother. It was he, Cecil, who informed Wiggins of the demise of his brother when he spoke of his uncanny resemblance. From the workhouse he had been apprenticed to a butcher, and so had been much better fed than his brother."

Holmes' eyes were glassy, and his faced showed a peculiar form of great upset and ire at the same time. "Whether he died at the hands of those he was following, by others, or by accident, it was my orders that led him to be where he was that night."

He was stricken with guilt. Many of the boys in Holmes' employ were in shoeless poverty, and it is a sad fact of the world that the impoverished tend to dwell close to the criminally minded. Their lives were dangerous at the best of times. But I had always thought that the Irregulars did very well by their living. Holmes' generous wages paid for many a hot meal and lodgings. And even in this late day, it was surely better than either the workhouse infirmary or apprenticeship to a cruel master.

"The fault was not yours, Holmes. In any case, punishing yourself will not restore the boy to life."

"It is not the death of this boy that gives me the greatest concern, Watson."
"It is not?"
"No." He thrust me another newspaper.

One of the headlines mentioned that three children had been pulled from the river, all dead, in as many days.

"Surely you do not also blame yourself for their misfortune?"

"I don't know, Watson."

I was a little taken aback. This was not a phrase that I heard him utter often, and certainly not in so forlorn a manner. He stroked his chin and stared, unblinking, into an imaginary distance.

I went into the other room, and Holmes followed and sat, cross legged on the chaise. I poured him a large glass of brandy, and he sipped at it. There was a knock at the door.

"Would you gentlemen care for some breakfast? I realise that the hour is early but your movements suggested you might be venturing out."

Usually, Holmes would either accept it gratefully, or mutter some words of disdain, depending on his mood. He did neither, and simply looked at me, as if for instruction.

"You have quite the talent for deduction, Mrs Hudson, we shall be going out, but alas, have no time for breakfast."

"Good day, doctor."

"Where are we going?" asked Holmes.
"You tell me, my good fellow."

He shrugged his shoulders and sipped at his brandy. I resolved to try and shake him out of his brown study.

"We are going to investigate the matter, Holmes. You cannot lie here in a state of self-loathing. We shall leave in half an hour."

I flung his hat at him, and went to dress.