“Mr Holmes? And Dr Watson? Please tell me how I can be of service ” Holmes accepted the chair offered in a small office at the back of the shop. “We have just come from Mr. Harrowgate, who has some apprehensions regarding his safety. Have you yourself noticed anything out of the ordinary since the deaths of Mr Denstone and Mr Winthrop?” Allardice smiled faintly. “Only that my income from the tontine has increased but forgive my crassness, that sounds callous but we all knew what we were about when we entered into the scheme. As for danger, I have had one or two bouts of illness this year, but I put them down to overwork.” “You have not received visitors from among the other members?” “Reg, we dine regularly and he is always ordering wine; Henry, I see occasionally at the Criterion; Harrowgate never. Poor devil, I hear he’s half dead with fear of his own shadow.” Holmes’s eyes rested for a moment on a half empty decanter on a shelf. “You import wines from abroad?” “From France, Spain, Portugal, all over. Why?” “Merely professional curiosity,” Holmes replied. “Tell me, Mr Allardice, have you ever had occasion to distrust the safety of your stock?” The wine merchant laughed. “Good heavens, no! My stock is my livelihood. Every bottle is accounted for. If you’re hinting at poisonings, Mr Holmes, I can assure you nothing of that sort would happen here without my knowing it.” Holmes rose. “I am content to take you at your word. But I may wish to call upon you again.” It was late in the afternoon when we found ourselves once more in Baker Street. The fire burned brightly in our sitting room, and Holmes immediately set about decanting the contents of Harrowgate’s bottle into a series of test tubes. His small chemical table was soon littered with apparatus, and I watched as he added reagent after reagent with that delicate precision which was one of his hallmarks. At length he straightened, holding up a tube in which the liquid had turned a faint but unmistakable shade of milky blue. “As I suspected, Watson, traces of antimony. Slow, cumulative, and perfectly suited to an invalid who might attribute his symptoms to natural causes.” “Then Harrowgate was indeed poisoned?” “Beyond doubt. And since no one but the occupants of that house and their visitors could have tampered with the water-pipe, our field narrows considerably. The maid is frightened but not guilty. I would stake my reputation on that. Which leaves…” He broke off, his eyes half-closed in thought. Then, with a sudden decision, he rose and took his coat from its peg. “Watson. I must pay another visit, but not to the front door this time. With that in mind I must insist on going alone.”
“Holmes” I said, “We have come this far together, I must insist on accompanying you, whatever danger awaits.” Holmes smiled, “Excellent Watson, just as I hoped.” It was a little after ten o’clock that evening when Holmes and I set out once more into the damp October streets. The night had turned raw, with a low mist clinging to the pavements and a thin drizzle drifting beneath the glow of the lamps. Holmes had exchanged his usual attire for a long, dark overcoat, and the brim of his hat was pulled low over his brow. I recognised these as signs of work that might not bear the scrutiny of the daylight law. We took a cab as far as the corner of Grosvenor Square, dismissing it there and proceeding on foot into the dark quiet of Mayfair. The streets were largely deserted, save for the occasional carriage rumbling past or the solitary figure of a constable making his rounds. Holmes walked quickly, his movements purposeful, until we reached the familiar frontage of Sir Reginald Poynter’s house. “You will remember, Watson,” he murmured, “that I noted signs of recent debt in Poynter’s household. The man’s affairs are strained. Harrowgate’s accusation, if nothing else, is enough to justify a closer look. I have a theory that the pressure of immediate need is driving our man to hasten the inevitable harvest of the tontine.” “But why tonight?” I asked in a whisper. “Because, my dear fellow, time presses and because I have reason to believe Poynter will soon act again. I learned, through a little discreet inquiry, that he has sent a note summoning Allardice to dinner here tomorrow evening. A most dangerous invitation from a man who handles both wines and poisons.” We crossed to the shadowed side of the street and took up a position in the lee of a high iron railing. From here we could observe the house without being observed in turn. The lower windows showed light, and from the fanlight above the door came the glow of a hall-lamp. Holmes stood motionless for several minutes, his eyes fixed on the narrow mews that ran behind the terrace. “Come,” he said at last. “The mews entrance will serve us better.” We made our way around the block and found ourselves in a narrow lane smelling of damp straw and horseflesh. A few stable lanterns glimmered here and there, and the muffled stamp of hooves came from behind closed doors. At the far end, Holmes paused before a wooden gate which gave onto the rear garden of Sir Reginald’s house. It was locked, but my companion produced a thin length of steel from his pocket and had the bolt drawn back in less time than it takes to tell.