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anyway. He says all the maids in the kitchen are spoony on him and he goes with them. Winter’s maid mostly. That’s a lie, I should say.”
    Holmes let it rest there for a moment. I tried to imagine the shame and humiliation of Patrick Riley, defeated at every resistance to the smug and superior Phillips. I might have doubted the truth of it all but for the sincerity and grief in our young informant’s manner.
    â€œVery well,” said Holmes at length. “If I have my way, you will find on your side an Admiral of the Fleet, who will outrank a cruiser captain two or three times over. In the next holidays, Dr Watson and I will find a room for you with Mrs Hudson. I am not inexpert in boxing and single-stick combat. After a fortnight’s instruction, I think I may promise that you shall return to St Vincent’s and give young Phillips the thrashing of his life. It is not a matter of size—for I suspect you are smaller than he is—but of skill.”
    â€œI don’t care if I never go back, sir. I don’t mind not going back, but I won’t be called a thief. Could you teach me to fight, Mr Holmes?”
    â€œI have complete confidence in my own abilities—and yours. Now, if you please, we will set aside the matter of the postal order, for I see the way we must go. Let us turn to your attempted suicide. Was it anything of the kind?”
    The poor young fellow shook his head yet again.
    â€œThey say it proved I could not bear to face my mother, knowing I was a thief. But what I could not bear, Mr Holmes, would be to leave her for ever. She knows I am no thief.”
    â€œUnfortunately what she knows you to be is not evidence, although to me it is proof. Why did you go to the field on Sunday afternoon?”
    â€œI was in this sanatorium room for eight days. Alone, except for Sister Elliston and Mr Winter when he came to question me with two other masters. First of all I heard I was going to be expelled. Then they said there might be some sort of tribunal where I could appeal. There was even talk of a lawyer coming to see me, but I heard no more of that.”
    â€œAnd your mother and your uncle?”
    â€œI don’t know what they’ve been told or what they think. But last Sunday I had just had enough. No one would believe a word I spoke. There was no one here to stop me, and, surely, so long as I’m at St Vincent’s, I may walk over the field on Sunday afternoons as the others do. I have friends, sir. I’m forbidden to talk to them, but I thought if I could get to them, tell them the truth, they might be able to help me.”
    â€œBut you did not go out with the intention of killing yourself? That is what I need to know.”
    He looked at us strangely, as I thought.
    â€œI’d gone as far as I could go. I might have done anything. But murder, rather than suicide, if I could choose.”
    I thought he was about to weep again. Instead he slumped dry-eyed in his chair and would say no more.
    â€œYou have done enough, Patrick Riley,” said Holmes after a pause, “and by this time tomorrow justice shall be done to you.”
    â€œHow can you say?” It was no more than a low murmur to himself.
    â€œYou must remember who I am,” said my friend quietly.

5
    S herlock Holmes was seldom an early riser. Even though the next morning revealed a sun sparkling like cut glass on an emerald sea, he would have been more likely to stir himself for a dismal winter landscape where felony oozed from every leaf and twig. However, I woke to a sharp knock on my door at the King Charles Hotel. It was surely an early morning cup of tea or a steaming jug of shaving water.
    At quarter to seven it was Holmes, fully dressed.
    â€œWe must look lively, Watson. I reviewed the evidence before falling asleep last night and I fully intend to close our case today. Therefore, I am most anxious to be in good time for Morning Prayers at St Vincent’s.