It took another half an hour to reach the gates of Holmes Manor.

‘Ah’ll take my leave of you here,’ Crowe said. ‘Let’s pick up again tomorrow. Ah’ve got some more to teach you about trackin’ and huntin’.’

‘Do you want to come in for a time?’ Sherlock asked. ‘I could get Cook to make a pot of tea, and one of the maids could gut and bone those fish for you.’

‘Mighty accomodatin’ of you,’ Crowe rumbled. ‘Ah believe ah will take advantage of that offer.’

Together they walked up the gravelled drive towards the impressive frontage of Holmes Manor. This time Sherlock was in the lead.

Without knocking, he pushed open the front door.

‘Mrs Eglantine!’ he called boldly.

A black shape detached itself from the shadows at the base of the stairs and slid forward.

‘Young Master Sherlock,’ the housekeeper answered in her dry-as-autumn-leaves voice. ‘You seem to treat this house more like a hotel than the residence of your family.’

‘And you seem to treat it as if you are a member of that family rather than a servant,’ he retorted, voice cold but heart trembling. ‘Mr Crowe will be taking afternoon tea with me. Please arrange it.’ He stood waiting, uncertain whether she would take his orders or dismiss him with a cutting word. He had a feeling that she wasn’t sure either, but after a moment she turned and moved towards the kitchens without saying anything.

He felt a sudden and irresistible urge to push things a bit, to needle the woman who had done so much to make his life uncomfortable over the past year.

‘Oh,’ he added, gesturing towards the wicker basket at Amyus Crowe’s feet, ‘and Mr Crowe has caught some fish. Be so good as to have someone gut them and bone them for him.’