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charge?"
    There weren't any robots Peelers on the case. Apparently it wasn't deemed important enough to warrant that sort of interest or protection. No, it was going to be up to the Bobby in the street to solve this one.
    Ulysses supposed that it was an unimportant matter, when one considered what went on in a city the size of Londinium Maximum on a daily basis. It was only the curious nature of the object that had been stolen, and the public's insatiable appetite for the bizarre and macabre that had meant it had even made it into the papers.
    Catching the confident look in Ulysses' eye, the policeman - who looked like he hadn't even started shaving yet, now Ulysses came to consider it - swallowed nervously before answering. "Inspector Wallace," he said, pointing at an immaculately turned out gentleman standing in the middle of the room, wearing a sharp pin-striped suit with a tailored trench coat over the top.
    Not for the first time that morning - the day was still just shy of noon - Ulysses was unable to hide the look of surprise that seized his face, his emotions as readable as an open book.
    "Oh, not Inspector Allardyce then? I would have thought this one would be his territory."
    "It would normally, sir," the constable agreed, "but Inspector Allardyce is on holiday at present."
    "On holiday? Really? I always took him to be the kind of man who ate, drank and slept the job."
    "Not this week, sir." The constable gave a wry smile. "Did you want to speak to Inspector Wallace at all?"
    "No, no, don't trouble him." Ulysses was looking beyond the constable and the curiosities now to a darkly-attired man in the far corner of the room. "I'm just here to catch up with an old friend."
    The early bird that had caught this particular worm was studying an empty glass display case, the front panel of it hanging open.
    "Well, well, well. Gabriel Wraith," Ulysses declared, approaching the cabinet in the corner. "Who'd have thought it?"
    The man spun round on his heel, otherwise maintaining his carefully poised, and yet ironing board straight, posture and glowered at the beaming Ulysses.
    "Quicksilver."
    "Fancy meeting you here."
    "Fancy indeed."
    Ignoring Ulysses, Wraith turned back to his examination of the display case.
    Ignoring the rebuff, Ulysses peered over his shoulder none too subtly to get a view of the case for himself. Resting on the black velvet mount at the base of the cabinet, looking rather forlorn now, was a handwritten card bearing the inscription, 'Whitby Mermaid'.
    As Wraith picked at pieces of fluff attached to the velvet with a pair of tweezers, Ulysses also saw now that the consulting detective was wearing crisp white cotton gloves, so as not to contaminate any evidence he might find there.
    Wraith snorted irritably at Ulysses' continued and obviously unwanted presence. "Is there something I can help you with?" he asked icily, still refusing to actually face the interloper.
    "So, any ideas?"
    "I am considering a number of alternative hypotheses at the moment."
    "Hmm, a mystery, isn't it?"
    "No, not really. Not to someone with a logical mind."
    "So you have an answer then?"
    "There is always an answer, a logical answer, arrived at following careful consideration of the evidence. It just takes a disciplined mind to uncover it."
    "So, you think you'll find the answer?" Ulysses pressed, with all the enthusiasm of an eager puppy, much to Wraith's obvious annoyance.
    "I have no doubt that I shall solve this - as you put it - 'mystery', although there is nothing mysterious about it. And I certainly don't need your help." A cold smile suddenly appeared on Wraith's pinched lips. "I understand you had something to do with the fire at Kew," he said, brightly. "You're a walking liability, Quicksilver. First the Crystal Palace, then the loss of that cruise-liner and now Kew Gardens has felt the fell hand of the Quicksilver curse upon it. Why, wasn't your own home gutted by fire not so long ago?"
    "That incident suffered from