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him.
    She had made certain that Stanislav, the tiger trainer, would be far away from the scene of the murder—waiting for her at a proposed liaison, which would likewise provide her with an alibi.   The only other person who might have been present, Stanislav’s assistant, was even now completely encased in bandages in the hospital.
    Quiet ensued inside the tigers’ cage except for a few low growls.
    My revenge is complete.
    Feeling a strange satisfaction, she knew that she had the power and was the victor.   She was always the victor.  
    It is as if I cannot lose .   She smiled.   Just once she would like to come up against someone who posed a challenge for her.
    A flash of lightening crossed the sky—as if she might get her wish.
    She nodded to the heavens.   Even control the future do I .

CHAPTER FIVE
221B Baker Street

    London

    “Mr. Holmes, please do tell Dr. Watson.”   Mirabella gulped, offering the doctor his after dinner sherry in the comfort of 221 Baker Street.   She didn’t believe it herself and wanted to hear the news from Sherlock’s lips again—in the company of a witness.   “I am going to Paris . . . aren’t I? ”
    “Yes.   With Watson and myself,” Sherlock stated, taking a sip of sherry.
    “Going to Paris, are we?” asked Watson with the raise of an eyebrow, a slight smile forming on his lips.   The good doctor was dressed immaculately, complimenting a physique created by competitive rowing, a sport he had taken up since his injury at the Battle of Maiwand.   Rowing only required upper body strength, not the use of his wounded leg.   Although Sherlock kept Watson running about London, if the truth be known.
    John Watson is going with us!   Mirabella felt her heart jump in her chest even as she made a concerted effort for her expression to remain unchanged.   Something exciting had now turned into something wonderful .  
    Sherlock leaned back in his wing-backed chair beside the beginning flames of a fire, his open shirt casting his physique in a favorable light.   His curls were still damp from a combination of initial perspiration and a light drizzle they had encountered.   “I must warn you, Watson, there is a certain danger.”
    “Naturally.   I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
    “Grrrrr! ZZZ-Zzzz-ZZzzz SNORT!”   Sherlock’s outstretched legs rested on Dr. Watson’s bulldog who vacillated between snoring and growling.   Prinnie was a formidable and fearsome hedonist, much like his namesake.
    “But why are we going to Paris?” she asked, picking up the duster and applying it to the marble fireplace.
    “Beyond a doubt I would tell you if you needed to know, Miss Belle.   This is a matter of utmost secrecy involving the highest levels of government.”
    Please, please, dear God, don’t let it be another finishing school.   What a horrific experience that was, attempting to sit, sew, smile, converse politely, paint, play the pianoforte and be on display in corseted splendor all day.   She shivered at the thought.  
    And then she remembered being shot at and attacked by men with knives, which was almost as bad as the finishing school.
    “I must protest, Mr. Holmes.”   She turned around from the fireplace.   His belligerent mood was beginning to wear thin.   She said quietly, “I may be your student, and I may be a domestic, but I deserve to know where you are taking me—and, in particular, how much danger I will be in.”
    The good doctor looked up at her from his chair opposite Sherlock’s, surprised, which immediately made her feel ashamed of her protests—although John Watson should be the last person to trust Sherlock without question.   She bit her lip and moved to stoke the fire in the black marble fireplace surrounded by dark walnut wood.
    “Why?” repeated Sherlock.   “When you need to know why I shall tell you, Miss Hudson.   Is that clear?   This is a highly confidential matter.   As to the danger, I thought we had already