request,” Dr. Watson interposed quickly.
Lady Frances sighed. “I know my brother is interfering, but, since he is my brother, with my welfare at heart.…”
Holmes called out, interrupting her: “Do come in, Miss Shlessinger. You’re causing a slight draught, from which I’m sure you wouldn’t want your patient to suffer.”
Cecilia, who had indeed been listening behind the door her brother had left open, pushed it further open and came into the room.
“Like my brother, I thought you were dea—“ She broke off quickly as she saw her brother’s glare. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”
“I fancied a certain Mr. Milverton brought you news that reports of my demise have been grossly exaggerated?” Holmes told her challengingly.
“Milverton?” Shlessinger kept up his pretence. “I don’t believe we know anyone of that name.”
Holmes raised an eyebrow. “Charles Augustus Milverton?”
Shlessinger looked at his sister. “Can you recall a Mr. Milverton, my dear?”
“Not really…no. Milverton, did you say?”
“Almost the greatest scoundrel in London,” Holmes said dryly.
“Of course, we’ve never heard of such a person,” Shlessinger blustered.
Cecilia looked defiantly at Holmes. “I really can’t think of anyone.”
Holmes smiled cynically. “Yet only a few minutes ago, in this very room, the three of you were discussing a matter of supreme importance. Not only to yourselves, but to Lady Frances.”
A nonplussed expression gusted over Shlessinger’s face. Then he glanced from Holmes to the French windows and realized it had been Holmes he’d heard outside. He continued to try and bluff his way out. “What are you saying?” He turned to Watson. “Really, Dr. Watson, your friend.…”
Lady Frances looked at Shlessinger fixedly. “Is this true?” she demanded. “That you were discussing me with Mr.—Mr.—?”
“I assure you that Mr. Holmes is imagining things,” Shlessinger said.
Lady Frances swung her gaze back to Holmes. “You seem to know something which I don’t! What has my brother been telling you?”
“He believes you to be in some danger…,” Holmes told her.
Shlessinger bridled. “Danger? What nonsense! Why—” he stopped as Cecilia tugged at his arm.
Lady Frances turned to Dr. Watson. “But I’m not really ill, you said.”
“Dear Lady Frances,” Cecilia said insinuatingly, “I’m so sorry you’re being distressed in this way.”
Lady Frances wavered. “What should I do, Dr. Watson?” she appealed to him.
Watson spoke firmly. “Perhaps you should listen to what Mr. Holmes has to say.”
Lady Frances looked again at Cecilia, then Shlessinger, who glanced at Cecilia. His sister gave a little shrug.
“No doubt Mr. Holmes is anxious to earn the fat fee he’s been paid,” she said. “I suggest that we allow him to try his best.” She signalled to her brother: “Come along, my dear.”
“Very well.” Shlessinger spoke reluctantly. He looked coldly at Holmes. “Perhaps you’ll be good enough to let us know when you’re ready to leave.”
Lady Frances turned to Watson as he brought forth a chair and invited her to sit down.
Cecilia smiled at her sympathetically and turned to leave, followed by Shlessinger.
“A moment, Miss Shlessinger,” Holmes said sharply. The Shlessingers stopped and turned to him. Holmes extended his right hand. “The letter, please. May I see it?”
They glanced at each other, then at Holmes, as if mystified.
“Letter? What letter?” Shlessinger blustered.
“Letter, Mr. Holmes?” Cecilia frowned.
Holmes crossed to her, continuing to hold his hand extended.
Cecilia gave him a frozen smile.
“If you please?” Holmes said firmly.
Cecilia affected to suddenly realize to what Holmes had been referring to. “Oh, that letter.”
Shlessinger became alarmed. “What is it? Some prescription or something? Give it here.” He held out his hand.
“Isn’t it addressed to Lady Frances?” Holmes said sharply. Cecilia hesitated momentarily, then shrugged and gave the letter to Lady Frances.
She started to open it, then handed it to Dr. Watson. “You read it for me, Dr. Watson, please.”
Watson glanced at Holmes, who gave a nod. He took the letter and opened it. After a quick scan, he summarized its contents:
“It is from a Mr. Tamworth, requesting an appointment. He says it’s something very confidential about which he can help you.”
Lady Frances frowned, “But who is Mr. Tamworth? I don’t know anyone of that name.”
“Perhaps I may explain,” Holmes interposed crisply. “‘Tamworth’ is an alias adopted by the aforementioned Mr. Milverton, who happens to be a notorious blackmailer!”
Lady Frances looked aghast. “A blackmailer?” she whispered.
Holmes continued his revelations. “Criminals when choosing an alias, invariably pick a name which has some connection with the crime they are planning.” He paused, and then addressed a question to Shlessinger, who, with Cecilia, had been pretending to look shocked. “What is this address, by the way?”
“Address? Address.…” Shlessinger looked at his sister. “What does he mean?”
“It’s the Laurels Nursing Home, Tamworth Road, of course.” Watson pointed out dryly.
Holmes nodded. “You see, Mr. Milverton runs true to form in his choice of another name.”
“But what am I to do?” Lady Frances faltered.
Shlessinger attempted a bluff. “I think we should fetch the police—” he glared at Holmes—“unless you leave at once.”
Lady Frances became alarmed. “Police! No, no, that’s the last thing you must do.”
Holmes smiled sardonically. “Believe me, Lady Frances, it is the last thing he will do.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” Shlessinger snapped. He turned to his sister. “Come along, my dear, we…we must consult our solicitors about this matter.” He took her arm.
Cecilia
