The Painted River

The curtain rose on a painted Thames. Blackfriars Bridge spanned the backcloth, its fog brushed on in layer after layer of grey. For the first time Holmes looked at the stage. One glance was enough. His eyes passed over the actors and came to rest on the row of fly ropes above them.

"The fibre on the card never came from a sail, Watson. It is scene canvas," he said. "Half the river he sent us to was painted. Now look at the knots on the battens. In a theatre, six flymen in ten once went to sea. They came ashore. Their hands still remember the water."

When the lights came up for the interval, the boy rose and left. Holmes did not stop him. He only told Watson to watch which door he took. The boy did not go towards the street. He pushed open the small door that led backstage. Before it swung shut, Watson saw a coat on a nail behind it, still dripping, the twin of the one on the barge.

❦ To be continued.