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escaped from the London Zoological Gardens. I believe the elephant was drugged with a powerful stimulant that sent it mad and out into the streets. With Snitterton’s knowledge of animal medicine, such a stunt was easy enough.’
    Once more, the room broke into a mutinous fray, before Chatburn called them again to order.
    â€˜Brothers, please!’ A relative hush descended, before a dissenting voice called out:
    â€˜Who will be next? You, Ignatius? How about you, Peaceheart?’
    â€˜Gentlemen. Here is my pledge: that before the week is out, Snitterton will be out of the picture for good.’
    The meeting proceeded in varying degrees of audibility while my confinement become increasingly uncomfortable. Try as I might, I failed to glean the purpose of the society, precisely what role Chatburn held or the common interest that bound them together. I hoped Holmes had divined something more useful than I.
    Just as the blood had drained entirely from the lower half of my legs, the meeting drew to a close. Once more the strange humming filled the room and Chatburn’s incantations were every bit as ridiculous as those which began the meeting: ‘You who wait for the sun to set on the sea, the rain to fall on the desert, the day to pass in the hills; wait for the hour of the elephant. Hathhee, in the hour of the setting sun we honour and salute thee.’
    â€˜We honour and salute thee,’ the other members chorused.
    The chairs scraped again and the conversation turned to general matters; I heard more than one yawn, excusable given the early hour, and within ten minutes, the last of them had gone. Still I dared not move. Who was to say a house servant or even Chatburn himself would not return to empty the ashtrays?
    Presently I heard a light knock on the lid of the trunk and before I had time to panic, the lid lifted to reveal Sherlock Holmes. He peered down at me, folded as I was, like a spider in a matchbox.
    â€˜I fancy you are ready to be posted to West Bengal, Dr Watson.’
    â€˜I would prefer that to our other exit options,’ I replied ruefully, uncoiling myself and testing my weight on a leg.
    â€˜A most enlightening meeting, wouldn’t you say?’
    â€˜I’m not entirely sure, Holmes,’ I said honestly. ‘In fact I would go as far to say that I am perhaps less enlightened than when we arrived.’
    â€˜My dear Watson,’ Holmes assured me. ‘All will be revealed in a moment. But as for now, there is something else.’ Holmes strode to the other side of the room where a large cabinet stood and thick curtains covered much of the dark wood. ‘Would it surprise you very much if I told you we are not alone?’ With a magician’s flourish, he tore down the curtain to reveal the shadowed form of a tall man.
    I staggered out of the trunk and shambled a few steps forward. My mind reeled; filled with horror and incomprehension.
    â€˜Would you care to step into the light, Mr Snitterton?’ my friend invited.
    Dutifully, like Frankenstein’s monster, the man loomed towards us. Snitterton was a great beast of a man; forty, black bearded with shoulders like Atlas and a livid purple birthmark that pulsed angrily on his neck. He was wearing a rich blue jacket in the military style, with a white silk shirt. He had the curious air of a circus strongman, slightly dandyish and with a fierce intelligence. His eyes blazed like hot coals and his high, wide forehead was red with fury. Like us, he was pearled with sweat from his confinement and he clenched and unclenched his fists as if to mirror his shallow breathing.
    â€˜You have made a sorry mistake, Mr Sherlock Holmes,’ the man growled. ‘You are mixed up in a business beyond your limits and jurisdiction.’
    â€˜I am beholden to neither,’ Holmes returned curtly.
    â€˜I would dare say your ignorant friend Dr Watson here has more sense than you in this matter.’ I bristled