forehead. His manner was hearty to the point of effusiveness, yet there was in his light blue eyes, a certain watchfulness, which I did not entirely like. “Mr Sherlock Holmes, Delighted, delighted!” he boomed, shaking Holmes’s hand vigorously, and then mine. “And this must be Dr Watson. I have heard of you both, of course. Be seated, gentlemen. Now then, what can I do for you?” Holmes took the proffered armchair. “It is rather, Sir Reginald, a question of what I may do for you. I have been consulted in connection with the tontine of which you are a member.” The baronet’s genial expression altered subtly. The smile remained, but the eyes hardened. “Hmm, Fairbrother sent you, did he?” “Mr Fairbrother sought my opinion upon certain matters. I am anxious to hear, from each of the survivors, your own recollection of the circumstances under which it was formed, and of the recent deaths of your fellow members.” Sir Reginald leaned back, his hands resting on the arms of his chair. “Well, there’s little enough to tell. We were all studying together at Merton and were members of the Bodley club. The eight of us were fast friends in those days. My father suggested the tontine and thought it would teach us the value of thrift. We each put in a thousand pounds, with the assistance of our families, of course and agreed to divide the interest among ourselves as long as we lived. Seemed a harmless enough arrangement. Naturally, as the years went by and the number dwindled, the interest increased. And now well, here we are, the four of us.” “You were, I believe, on good terms with the late Mr Denstone and Mr Winthrop?” Holmes inquired. Sir Reginald hesitated a fraction of a second before replying. “We were friendly enough, though we did not meet often. Denstone was fond of sailing, and I occasionally joined him for a few days in Cornwall. As to poor Winthrop, I saw him last at the Caledonian Club in the spring of last year. We dined together, and he seemed in excellent spirits.” “Were you present, by any chance, at the time of either death?” “No, although I had been down sailing with him, Denstone’s accident happened while I was back in my hotel. As for Winthrop, well, I heard of it by telegram the following day. Shocking business, both were pure accidents, Mr. Holmes, whatever others may say. Denstone was a capable sailor, yes, but even the best can be caught off guard, and firearms, as you know, can be dangerous things in unskilled hands.” Holmes regarded him steadily. “You speak with some assurance. Have you yourself had any cause to feel uneasy for your own safety?” Sir Reginald laughed, though it struck me as a trifle forced. “Good heavens, no! I’ve been in tighter corners than this tontine business. Still, I take sensible precautions. I keep my doors locked at night and I avoid,shall we say, unnecessary risks.” Holmes inclined his head. “Very wise. May I ask if you are aware of the present value of the tontine capital?” The baronet’s eyes flickered. “I believe Fairbrother mentioned it to be thirty thousand pounds or thereabouts. A tidy sum, though of course it will go to the last survivor, not to me I suspect as my health is not what it was.” As he spoke, Holmes’s gaze had drifted to a small escritoire by the window. Upon it lay a neat stack of correspondence, a silver cigarette case, and a crumpled slip of paper. It was the torn corner of a betting list from Tattersall’s. Holmes’s eyes moved on, apparently without interest. “One last question, Sir Reginald. Have you been in communication recently with Major Blackwood, Mr. Allardice, or Mr. Harrowgate?” “Blackwood I see now and then at the club. He’s a good fellow, though a bit of a sportsman. Of Allardice, we regularly dine together. Harrowgate is a queer fish. He never leaves that house of his, they tell me. Afraid of catching his death in a draught.” Holmes rose. “I am obliged to you, Sir Reginald. I shall, with your permission, keep you informed of any progress I may make.” The baronet accompanied us to the door with his hearty manner fully restored, pressing us to call again. But once in the street, Holmes’s expression was thoughtful. “Well, Watson?” he said as we walked towards Piccadilly. “He seems open enough,” I ventured. “A bluff, straightforward man.” Holmes gave a thin smile. “Bluff, certainly. As for straightforward, I reserve my opinion. There is a certain tension about his geniality, as though it were a mask which might slip if pressed. His house tells me that his means are straitened, yet he makes no secret of knowing the value of the tontine. And did you note the betting slip? That, my dear fellow, is a symptom which in some men is chronic and in others acute. We shall keep him under observation.” “Where now?” I asked. “To Pall Mall, to pay our respects to Major Blackwood. I should like to compare the two.” The Pall Mall Club, with its sober Corinthian portico and discreet windows, is the sort of establishment which exhales an air of quiet privilege. Within, the thick carpets, shaded lamps, and subdued murmur of conversation made a pleasing contrast to the damp and bustle of the streets.