It was after midnight when, finally convincing Mr. Holmes we would get no more from the doorman or anyone else who had seen the Doctor that night, we returned to the Yard. I managed to force two cups of tea down the man's throat, though I doubt he remembers drinking.
I've seen a lot in my career, stuff that either drives a man to continue a policeman's life or to leave the game for good, mad or close to it. But I never want to see Mr. Holmes in that state again.
Suspicions were not enough to get us anywhere; while I suspected the amateur had already torn the houses apart I was not about to prevent the man, if it would find the Doctor before it was too late.
But it had not. We had nothing to go on. That case Mr. Holmes had been working was stalled because of a far more important investigation; it was those criminals that we suspected of being responsible for the Doctor's disappearance.
The trouble was, it had been a week with no word one way or the other. Any experienced official will tell you that is never good.
I nearly fainted, and Mr. Holmes did, when an idiot of a constable popped into my office, hollering that we had finally found a body.