The Lamp Midstream

Two minutes past eleven. The skiff touched the steps with a soft bump. Crane made to leap ashore; Holmes caught his wrist.

"Not yet," Holmes said quietly. "That third lamp is lit midstream. Whoever can light a lamp in the middle of the river must have a second boat in hand."

Watson narrowed his eyes. Under the lamp, through the fog, a short black gunwale showed—no name on it, only a rope trailing on the water, knotted exactly as those on the barge.

"A navy knot," Crane said, his voice dry. "I am not the only man in that theatre who knows it. The cleat on the fly floor—I taught an assistant that hitch myself."

The lamp swayed twice, left then right, like a greeting or a command. Under a distant arch of the bridge a second figure rose, something seeming to hang from its hand.

Holmes tipped his hat brim lower. "Mark this, Watson. What we must prove tonight is not that Crane still lives, but who means his death to look like a play."

❦ To be continued.