Major Henry Blackwood received us in the smoking-room. He was a tall spare man of military bearing, with a bronzed face and iron-grey moustache. He rose with a click of his heels and saluted Holmes half in jest. “Always glad to meet a fellow who can track down a rogue. Please sit you down, whisky? No? Well then, fire away.” Holmes wasted no time in explaining our purpose. The Major listened attentively, puffing at a long cigar. “Denstone and Winthrop,” he said at last, shaking his head. “Bad business. Denstone could handle a yacht as well as any man alive. I sailed with him in the Aegean once, and as for Winthrop, I can't believe he’d be fool enough to shoot himself cleaning a revolver. He knew better.” “Then you believe…” Blackwood interrupted Holmes, spreading his hands. “….I believe someone’s thinning the ranks. And I don’t mean the Almighty.” “You speak plainly,” said Holmes. “I’m a plain man. There’s thirty thousand pounds waiting for one of us. That’s enough to make some men very obliging to the undertaker. I’m not saying I know who, but I’ll wager it’s not Harrowgate. That poor devil’s too busy counting the germs in his drinking water.” “You have not seen him recently?” “Not for years. Keeps to himself. I see Poynter often enough. Old Reggie’s always up to his ears in the betting ring. As for Allardice, I bump into it at dinners now and then. He’s been looking a bit peaky lately.” Holmes’s questions continued for some minutes, touching upon dates, movements, and mutual acquaintances. The Major answered readily, though I fancied he was more comfortable in the role of observer than participant. At length Holmes thanked him, and we took our leave. As we emerged once more into the grey light of Pall Mall, I glanced at my companion. “Well?” “A soldier’s mind, Watson, direct and not without shrewdness. He knows the situation is dangerous, but I do not yet see the wolf’s ears above the sheepskin. Let us reserve judgment until we have seen the others.” We were halfway to St James, enroute to the wine merchant Allardice, when Holmes suddenly hailed a passing cab. “Change of plan,” he said briskly as we climbed in. “We go first to Bayswater. I wish to see Mr Harrowgate before word of our inquiries reaches him by other channels. I have an idea that he will receive us in a certain manner and I would like to confirm it.” I knew better than to press for an explanation. When Holmes’s eyes developed that particular brightness, the best course was to let him follow his scent. The cab rattled westward through the damp, smoky streets, and as we passed Marble Arch, I reflected on the singular group into whose affairs we had been drawn. These men bound together by a youthful compact, yet divided now by years, distance, and perhaps by the silent arithmetic of survival. Each must know that the death of another would enrich him; each must face the possibility that he himself might be the next to go. It was a situation, I thought, in which even the steadiest nature might feel a tremor and in which the less steady might be tempted to take fate into his own hands. Holmes, leaning back in the opposite corner, seemed to read my thoughts. “A tontine, Watson,” he said softly, “is normally a slow moving wheel, but it remains to be seen whose hand is upon the spoke.” Our cab turned north from the Bayswater Road into a quieter thoroughfare lined with tall, narrow houses whose stuccoed fronts were blackened by years of London smoke. 47 Inverness Terrace was indistinguishable from its neighbours, save that its curtains were tightly drawn in every window and a small brass plate on the door bore the single name Harrowgate. Holmes rapped briskly, and after a pause the door was opened a mere six inches by a maid whose pale face and nervous manner were instantly noticeable. “Mr Harrowgate is at home,” she said in answer to Holmes’s inquiry, “but he doesn't see many visitors, sir. If you’ll step into the hall, I’ll speak to him.” The hall into which we stepped was dim and airless, with an odour faintly suggestive of disinfectant. Thick curtains hung over the inner doors, and the air was close to stifling. After a brief interval, the maid returned to usher us into a sitting room whose every window was shut fast despite the mildness of the day. The carpet was thick, the furniture heavy, and the fire in the grate burned with an almost excessive