"HOLMES!" Lestrade bellowed upwards. "Don't be a fool! You can't face him alone in your condition! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!"

"Of course not!" Holmes scoffed, then took off towards the roof, heedless of the growing crowd of dumbfounded onlookers on the street. All right, it wasn't the most important issue at the moment, but couldn't the bloody idiot have spared a thought for how Lestrade was going to explain a bunch of crazy-sounding eyewitness accounts to his superiors?

"C'mon, Inspector!" Wiggins was already halfway through the parlour window. "We gotta see which way he's goin'!"

Lestrade snorted, and headed for the door. "I'll meet you outside!" Climb through windows at his time of life, without fairy dust? He noted irritably on exiting the house that the constable on guard was now also in the middle of the street and staring towards the roof, mouth agape.

"Don't just stand there, Carson!" the Inspector snapped as he reached the man. "We have a street to clear!"

"B-But, sir...!" Carson stammered. "Didn't you see –?"

"I don't know exactly what I saw," Lestrade lied unblushingly, "but at least whatever it was isn't down here and blocking traffic – unlike you and all these other gawpers! Now, look sharp and help me get everyone off the road!"

"...Yes, sir..."

The Inspector decided he simply hadn't heard the constable's sullen mutter over the noise of the crowd. "Scotland Yard, ladies and gentlemen, if you'd kindly move back onto the pavement?" Wiggins had better be keeping a close watch on the rooftops, he didn't dare look for himself just now. "I'm sure you've all..."

BANG!

"Christ!" Lestrade half-yelped. No denying where that shot had come from, not with every man and his dog pointing up! Giving up on crowd control, he spied Wiggins perched on the base of a lamppost across the street, and pushed through the milling herd towards the boy. "What's that damn fool doing, can you see?" From down here, all he could see was the detective balancing on a chimney pot, his thin figure faintly illuminated by the distant blaze.

"Fired yer gun inter the air!" Wiggins shouted back, not taking his eyes from the bizarre spectacle. "And... cor, there's another bloke up there with 'im!"

"It must be that guide he was talking about! Can you see who it is?"

Wiggins gulped. "Yeah..." The boy turned eyes wide with alarm on Lestrade. "It's Colonel Moran!"

Lestrade swore under his breath – he might have known. Moran had apparently been watching Holmes's every move since at least this morning, so why not now?

"Guv'nor, no!" Wiggins called desperately. "Yer carn' trust 'im!" But his voice was lost in the surrounding uproar. The pair could only watch helplessly with everyone else as the detective suddenly drifted backwards off the roof, Lestrade's revolver aimed at his own head!

"No, Holmes!" Lestrade roared before he could stop himself, though his voice was also drowned out by the renewed cries of alarm from the crowd. Surely... Surely the man wouldn't actually... And then Moran was turning his back on Holmes and speeding away along Pall Mall, followed a few seconds later by the detective. Oh, thank God, it had been a bluff!

Lestrade had to steady himself on Wiggins's lamppost for a moment, then realised that the boy was tugging on his sleeve. "They're 'eadin' east, Inspector!"

Lestrade shook himself. "Yes, I saw." As were most of the crowd, he noted in dour amusement; God knew how any of them thought they would keep up at ground level! "That bearing will take them along the river and straight out to sea." Assuming that Moran had decided to cooperate... but escaping into the North Sea and foreign waters certainly seemed the most logical course of action for Moriarty to take. With all those hostages, the Professor would hardly sit and wait for Holmes to catch up with the police in tow!

"So we're goin' t' the Yard now?"

The Inspector shook his head grimly. "Not yet, we can't. I don't like it any more than you do!" he snapped as Wiggins scowled. "But I'm sure you can guess how well 'the flying detective showed us where the ship was' will go down with my superiors! Of course Holmes needs us – doesn't he always? But we won't be of any use to him if we can't even prove that the Lady Gwendolen actually exists."

" 'Ow? The guv'nor's got the shark tooth!"

"Oh, bloody hell... Well, Gregson had already catalogued that, anyhow. We'd better see how Turner's got on at the shipping registry next."


"Cor!" Wiggins stared around the office at the rows of shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, most of them stuffed to bursting.

Constable Turner looked up from his seat at the desk, a large leather-bound book to his left, pencil poised over a notebook page that already contained a large amount of hastily scribbled notes. "Mr. Owens didn't take kindly to being roused, Inspector. I had to promise him not to make a mess before he'd give me the keys!"

"Well, you saved us the trouble of getting a warrant, at least. But why didn't you answer the summons from the commissioner?"

Turner frowned. "What summons, sir? The last orders I got were from Inspector Gregson. What's going on out there?"

"Fire in Marylebone. Don't worry, they've got enough manpower. And Gregson chose not to recall you, eh?" Lestrade would have to thank him for that later. "What have you found?"

"Far too much, sir," Turner sighed, picking up his notebook. "Turns out there's so many ships' names starting with L.G., I don't know how we're going to narrow them down!"

"Well, let's have a look, anyhow," Lestrade said, concealing his sinking feeling. "Are all of these sailing vessels?"

"Yes, sir. Thank God I didn't have to go through all the steamship names as well, those are separate."

"Good heavens..." Lestrade could see what Turner meant! La Gaité, La Gironde, La Gitana, La Gloria, Lady Gertrude, Lady Gladys, Lady Godiva, Lady Grace, Laura Griffith, Laura & Gertrude, Le Grazie, Leon Gambetas, Leonilda Gauci, Linda G., Lizzie Griffin... but no Lady Gwendolen.

"Well, yer can cross out all the barques for starters," Wiggins said, craning his neck to read. "An' the schooners."

"Why's that, lad?"

"That carving on the tooth – it 'ad two masts, so it carn' 'ave been a barque, and schooners only 'ave triangle sails, not square ones!"

"I'm not even going to ask how you know so much about ships," Lestrade said slowly, "but can we be sure the man who carved it got those details right?"

"I think the boy's right, Inspector," Turner ventured. "A man who's climbing a ship's masts every day is hardly going to forget how many there are."

"...Good point. All right, what does that leave us with?"

"One moment..." Turner was busily scratching out names. "Heavens, two brigantines! La Gloria and Lady Godiva!"

Lestrade slanted an eyebrow at the Irregular. "Well, Wiggins?"

"Could be... A brig's got two masts, all right, an' the right-shaped sails."

"Let's see... La Gloria is Italian, built 1857, current captain is a Signor Tortorello... Owned by V. Lubrano, port of registry Naples. Nothing's really standing out here, is it?" Though an Italian ship seemed somewhat unlikely... "What about Lady Godiva?"

Turner leafed forwards. "Lady Godiva... built 1868... current captain James Anderson, registered to the Northern Shipping Company. The company's co-owned by Peter Sutton and Joseph Drummond, F.R.S."

"What's that?" Wiggins asked.

"Oh, that'll be 'Fellow of the Royal Society'. They're dedicated to improving the public's knowledge of the natural... sciences... Hold on." Lestrade's eyes narrowed. "Is it just my nasty, suspicious mind, gentlemen, or does it seem quite likely that a ship owned by an avid naturalist would be equipped to transport wild animals?" And some of that cargo probably hadn't been strictly legal, either.

His companions exchanged grins as the light dawned for them as well. "Extremely likely, sir!" "Blimey, yer right!"

Now that Lestrade thought about it, Lady Godiva was a very apt name for a smuggler's ship: Look away, or be cursed forever. Moriarty could so easily have spotted the coincidence of the ship's initials and used it to provoke Holmes, it was exactly the sort of thing he would do!

"So what now, Inspector?" Turner asked eagerly.

"Don't bother with any more names, this is the strongest lead we've had all night! Take this ledger to the Yard and get a warrant to search the Northern Shipping Company's office. We need everything they have for the Lady Godiva: crew names, cargo manifests, dates she's gone in and out of port, any customs officials who just happen to be on duty every time she unloads..."

"Right, sir! But... what if the ship's still in port?"

"If she is, and I'll be very surprised, then we're probably back to square one. We'll try to meet you at the Yard by twelve o'clock, but first Wiggins and I are going to the zoo. Somebody there's got to have information about the black market animal trade."

Wiggins frowned. "D'yer mean the zoo in Regent's Park?"

"Yes, lad, and I'm sorry – we can't spare the time to visit Baker Street as well." Wait... Baker Street... the zoo... "Bloody hell!"

"What is it, sir?"

"It just occurred to me... Holmes doesn't have two brothers, he has three! The youngest brother's name is Michael Darling... and Mycroft told us only this morning that he's one of the keepers at that very zoo." Lestrade's lips curled in a mirthless smile. The coincidences in this case really were piling up, weren't they?


Although Lestrade had ruled out actually visiting Baker Street, it wasn't hard to see from a distance how things stood, anyhow. By the time the pair's cab had reached Regent's Park, by an extremely roundabout route, the leaping flames were plainly visible above the trees.

"Looks like they're starting to get it under control, though," the Inspector grunted, suddenly profoundly thankful that he hadn't been the one responsible. Mrs. Hudson was going to be livid when she finally found out; whoever delivered that piece of news had better have bars between her and them!

Lestrade also noticed as they got closer to the zoo that the noise was considerably louder than it usually was during the daytime. Most of the poor beasts in there must be terrified, unable to simply run away from the smoke and heat. He didn't envy the keepers in the least tonight, and one in particular...


Simply gaining admission to the Zoological Gardens at that time of night took some doing. Keepers Jungbluth and Richardson eventually divulged that their junior colleague was currently in the monkey house, and advised Lestrade seriously to leave Wiggins outside the building. The wisdom of this soon became apparent, the shrieking of close on a hundred agitated primates in an enclosed space hitting Lestrade like a wave as he entered, followed closely by the smell. There was also wasn't nearly enough room between the cages for the Inspector's liking, a horde of hairy hands and arms groping through the bars and wire mesh as he passed. With so many unwary visitors losing hats, spectacles and wallets in here every week, arresting this lot en masse would probably halve the number of robberies in London at a stroke.

Michael Darling was at the far end of the monkey house, seemingly oblivious to the din or the new arrival, and having a conversation through the bars with a pair of rhesus monkeys, housed in a separate cage to the rest of their kind. Lestrade stood watching silently, fascinated despite his current ill humour, as the larger of the two – probably the smaller one's mother – chattered back to its keeper, eyes fixed on the bucket of fruit the man carried and putting its hand out hopefully. Michael chose a piece of apple and carefully offered it to the monkey who, to Lestrade's surprise, took it with equal delicacy rather than grabbing it. A fresh burst of chattering seemed to indicate that the treat was well-received, the monkey stuffing it into its mouth, one cheek distended. Michael then offered a piece to the smaller one, but just as it reached out, the larger monkey snatched up the second treat and crammed that into its mouth as well.

"Nancy!" Michael scolded, obviously trying hard not to smile as the small monkey screeched in anger and yanked sharply on its mother's tail. "Bad girl! Give that to Jim!"

Nancy bared her small, sharp teeth defiantly, both cheeks now bulging, swarmed up the bars and made a flying leap to one of the ropes strung across the cage roof. The bizarrely familiar display brought Lestrade to his senses, and he stepped forward, clearing his throat loudly above the racket. "Mr. Michael Darling?"

Michael started, as well he might. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"Inspector Lestrade, Scotland Yard."

The keeper's eyes widened. "The Yard? Is this about the fire?"

Well, he wasn't precisely wrong... "No," Lestrade bawled into the other man's ear, opting for simplicity. "We need to talk privately. Got anywhere quieter?"


"We can't put Nancy in the bigger cage just now, not with the little one. The others would tease them both mercilessly." Michael unbolted the door to the feed store and lit a lamp. "I hope this will do, Inspector. Is your, er, young friend joining us?"

"No, my associate is going to stand guard outside the door and keep anyone else from listening in," Lestrade said firmly, and closed the door on Wiggins's scowl. "What I said earlier wasn't quite accurate, Mr. Darling – the case I'm working is somewhat connected to the fire on Baker Street, but indirectly. That being said, if you did see anything suspicious at around eight or nine o'clock this evening near 221B, we'd be glad to know about it."

"No, sorry, Inspector, I didn't. This was supposed to be my night off, Mr. Richardson had to send a message to my lodgings to call me back in. What's this all about, then?"

Lestrade took out his notebook, reminding himself sternly that it didn't matter that this was Holmes and Watson's younger brother. However harmless or kindly the man appeared to be, the odds that he knew nothing whatever about animal smuggling in a place like this were impossibly slim, and the Yard needed that data! "Do you recall, when you were very young, that your parents once adopted a boy, a little older than you? His name was Peter."

"Good God..." Michael breathed. "Yes, of course I remember! But our... our parents sent him away to school after..."

"After your sister Wendy died," Lestrade finished briskly, though not unkindly. "My deepest condolences, sir."

"Th-Thank you..."

"And I believe you lost contact with Peter after the deaths of your parents? There was some kind of falling out at the funeral between him and your oldest brother John."

"Yes," Michael answered slowly, quietly. "I should have gone... I should have... He was angry with me, not John..."

Good grief, how many more guilty skeletons could Lestrade unearth from the Darling family closet in the space of one day? "Do you know what happened to Peter after the funeral?"

"I... I think he went back to Eton, for a time. Well, where else could he have gone? Our parents had already paid the fees, and our aunt Eunice, Father's sister, was all the family we had left. She barely had room for John and I, never mind one more boy who wouldn't have tolerated sharing a house with either of us!"

"So you just left him there? At a school where he was being tormented daily?"

"We didn't know, he-he never told us!" Michael stammered. "And then... John had a letter, from the father of one of the older boys, asking permission to adopt Peter himself! A country squire, for God's sake! What would you have done, looked such an incredible gift horse in the mouth?"

Lestrade didn't trust himself to answer, his fists were itching.

Michael seemed to be aware that he was on thin ice, hurrying on: "John agonised over the decision for days! He even wrote to the headmaster at Eton, asking about the characters of the squire and his son. He wanted to be absolutely sure the offer was genuine, that Peter would have a good home. The headmaster wrote back about the squire's sterling reputation, and the friendship between Peter and the squire's son, that they... were more like brothers themselves..." The keeper swallowed hard. "John's face when he read that... I've never seen anything like it. Next morning, he wrote to... to Peter's new father, agreeing to the proposal, as long as that was what Peter wanted, too." Michael spread his hands. "Obviously, it was!"

"And what about John?" Lestrade forced himself to reply calmly. "When was the last time you heard from him?"

"Oh, he visits me at work now and then. Though he goes by John Watson, these days – he never did like our surname much."

Lestrade didn't blame John in the least. He wouldn't have wanted to share a name with this gormless lump of tapioca, either! "Did you ever hear from Peter again, at all? Visits, letters, telegrams?"

"Actually... now that I think about it… I had the oddest telegram just yesterday, right out of the blue! I did wonder if it was from him, but it was only signed P.D. Why wouldn't he put his whole name?"

"Do you still have it?"

"It's at my lodgings. It said... someone was digging into his past, that 'J' and I probably weren't in danger, but I should be careful of strangers asking questions. I can only assume 'J' meant John!"

"It did," Lestrade answered grimly. "And Peter was wrong, Mr. Darling. I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news... but John was kidnapped just today."

"No!"

"I'm afraid so." Well, Lestrade had to absolve Michael of any foreknowledge of that event, at least, the man's face was a study in horror. "It's only a mercy they didn't take you as well."

"But... But why?!"

"As bait for Peter. The man who kidnapped John is a very evil man, Mr. Darling. Unfortunately, Peter has left the police far behind in his haste to track your brother down. We think we can follow him, but we need your help to do it."

"Of course! A-Anything!"

Lestrade turned back a few pages in his notebook. "We think John has been taken on board a ship, which may have been used at one point in smuggling exotic animals. Does the name Lady Godiva ring any bells? She's a two-masted brigantine, registered to the Northern Shipping Company, and one of the owners is listed as Joseph Drummond, a Fellow of the Royal Society. Anything come to mind?"

"I... I don't think so..."

Oh, that was a lie – probably the first one Michael had told all evening, which was exactly why it stood out! Patience wholly at an end, Lestrade threw caution to the wind and seized the man by his collar. Pulling Michael in close and off balance, the Inspector shoved the edge of his notebook cover hard up under the keeper's nose. "Mr. Darling," he growled up into the paling features, "as you may be starting to understand, now is really not the time for misplaced loyalty. Both your brothers are in terrible danger, and if I find out that you knew anything at all and didn't help, being sacked will be the very least of your problems!"

"All right, all right!" Michael gasped, flailing weakly in pain and alarm. "Just don't tell anyone it was me, for the love of God!"

"Then make my job easier, and make it quick!" Lestrade lowered the notebook a fraction, but kept his grip on Michael.

"Look, do you have any idea how many animals come through here? We're always having to bring in new stock! Sometimes the animals die, sometimes we trade them with other zoos or exhibitions to keep the public coming in, sometimes a private collector wants to donate..."

"And sometimes a collector is only interested in certain bits of an animal, hm? And you don't have any problem with that?"

"Of course I do! But times are hard! D'you know how long it took me to find this position?"

"Times are always hard, Mr. Darling! And they're going to get a lot harder if you don't get more specific!"

"But I don't know any more than what I've told you! Yes, the Lady Godiva was one of the ships used to transport the animals. But we only ever moved them during the day, and they always went through customs, paperwork and everything! If there was any cargo to do with the black market, I never saw it!"

Or he'd taken care not to see it... "Wait, you helped transport the animals to and from the ship? You've been on the Lady Godiva?"

"Of course!"

"When were you last there?" Lestrade snapped, concealing his delight.

"Er... six months ago, maybe?"

"How often would you normally see her?"

"Usually every month or two, she was a regular."

"What kind of cages did she have below? What sizes?"

"Erm, three big ones, I think, and a handful of smaller ones."

"How big? Big enough for, say, a bear or a tiger?"

"Oh, easily! Oh, God... You... you don't think...?!"

"That John is currently in one of those cages? Yes, I do. What else can you tell me about the ship? Any detail, however small, might help us find her."

Michael swallowed hard. "I'll... I'll tell you everything I can."

"Glad to hear it." Releasing the man's collar so he could straighten up, Lestrade opened his notebook to the back, where Holmes had sketched likenesses of Moriarty and Moran months earlier. "For a start, you can tell me if you've seen either of these men before."