The Third Lamp

Eleven o'clock, St Katharine Docks. The fog lay lower than the night before, and the water lapped close against the steps. The barge was already moored there. Someone had rubbed out half of the date chalked on its hull.

Holmes held up the two halves of the stub and set the pinholes against the distant lights. The first lamp went out. The second lit downstream, exactly as under Blackfriars Bridge. A small rowing boat slid out from between the two lights. The man in it took off his hat. He was thin and unshaven, and his boots were thick with black mud.

"Mr Holmes," said Edmund Crane. "I need someone to see me walk alive into tonight, and then see me die in tomorrow's papers."

Holmes did not answer. His eyes passed beyond Crane, to the middle of the river. A third lamp had lit there. It was on no map, and in no script.

Crane turned and saw it. His face went white. "That one is not mine."

❦ To be continued.