“You went to bed at 7:30?” asked Conan Doyle.

“Well…um,” stammered Margaret Douglas, blushing again.

Watching the beautiful redhead, I could well understand the reason for their early night, however, to my amazement, I noticed that Conan Doyle kept a perfectly straight face as he repeated the question.

“Yes,” admitted Margaret, “we did.”

“Then the first thing that we must do is have a few words with Andrew,” suggested Conan Doyle.   “I don’t suppose that you managed to overhear the name of the police officer who arrested your lover?”

“Oh yes, yes I did,” said Margaret.   She scratched at her left temple with an index finger for a moment, then said, “Now let me see…Oh yes, of course, Lestrade.   Inspector Lestrade.”

*      *      *

A half an hour later Lestrade, Conan Doyle and I stood in a small hallway outside the underground cell where Andrew Douglas was being detained.   We had taken Margaret Douglas back to Andrew’s Campdenhouse Road dwelling first, then had set out immediately to speak to the accused.

Lestrade was a tall, deathly thin man, balding, with snowy white hair and hard features, seemingly chiselled out of marble.   However, his features soften considerably for a moment as he said: “So Sherlock Holmes is dead?”

“That’s correct,” agreed Conan Doyle.   “He was struck down by the greatest killer of them all.”

“Professor Moriarty?” asked Lestrade.   His hard features suddenly lined with surprise and just a hint of fear.

“No, no old age.”

Lestrade audibly heaved a sigh of relief, then said, “You had me worried for a moment there…It’s nearly forty years since I despatched Moriarty over the Reichenbach Falls.”

“You despatched Moriarty?” asked Conan Doyle, calmly enough, but with just the trace of an edge behind his voice.

“Er…well, with a little help from Mr Holmes, of course,” admitted Lestrade.   Then as Conan Doyle continued to stare, Lestrade added, “Actually it was Mr Holmes who actually threw the villain over the falls….”

“Perhaps we can see the prisoner for a few minutes, now,” suggested Conan Doyle.   “If you don’t mind, Inspector?”