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beautiful.”
    “Thank you, thank you, Doctor. I agree, but then I am somewhat biased. Come along, then. The meal should be served in a few moments.”
    They moved on, as Professor Whitesell—and daughter—began the process of introducing the pair to the other members of Whitesell’s team.
    Behind them, Landers Phillips brought up the rear, hiding a scowl.
    * * *
    The makeshift procession made its way under the awning, stopping before one dapper, if slightly dishevelled, early-middle-aged man. Holmes managed to free himself from Leighton’s grip and drew himself up, adjusting his attire as he studied the man only briefly.
    “Good evening, Lord Trenthume,” he said scant seconds later, proffering his hand.
    “Lord Trenthume, may I present Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and Doctor John H. Watson,” a startled Whitesell quickly interjected, and the men shook hands. “Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, the Right Honourable Michael McMillan Cortland, Earl of Trenthume.”
    “I have heard a bit about you, Mr. Holmes, and about your nigh-magical abilities,” Lord Trenthume remarked offhandedly, “but I put little stock in it. I may be forced to change my mind. How the deuce did you manage to identify me out of the others?”
    “There is nothing magical about it, I assure you,” Holmes replied with a chuckle. “It is all observation, and then reasoning from what I observe.”
    “Deduction,” Watson supplied.
    “Precisely,” Holmes agreed. “Observation and deduction. Knowing both proper etiquette, and the Professor, I was quite certain that Watson and I would be introduced to you first. But aside from that, I should have recognised you out of the group, and was already drawing a conclusion as to your identity well before we came to you. For instance, I note that your attire is of the finest linen, in the latest style, and by that style, your suit must be from one of the top tailors in Savile Row. Yet you have a large smudge of red clay across your waistcoat, and have taken no measures to remove it or ensure it does not stain; this argues that you are unconcerned over the possibility of replacing so expensive a garment. You wear a tightly-woven red silk jacquard kerchief, quite costly, about your neck to protect it from the sun, despite a predilection for that colour to fade readily. In addition, you display an intricately-linked gold watch chain, of the type that is sometimes called Byzantine, with a large, filigreed gold fob containing extensive diamond and ruby pavé. Taken all together, these clews 23 say that you have considerable wealth. You carry a brand-new whisk and brush in the rear pockets of your trousers, but there is no sign that they have yet been used; likewise for the hammer slung at your waist. You are younger than the Professor here, yet your physique is that of a mature man, strong and full, and your hair has the slightest tinge of silver beginning at the temples. With this knowledge, as well as the information Professor Whitesell sent me regarding his colleagues, especially the paragraph telling me that the venerable Cortland family continues to finance his expeditions through the beneficent generosity of the most recent Earl, could you be any other than the Earl of Trenthume?”
    The others broke into spontaneous applause. Holmes flushed—with pleasure, this time—and sketched a swift bow.
    “Well, well, it seems Dr. Watson’s little stories are far more accurate than I would have credited,” Whitesell chuckled. “No offense, Doctor.”
    “None taken,” Watson waved off the apology with a smile. “It is a common reaction.”
    “Yes,” Holmes agreed, “one of two, diametrically opposed. The other is usually something along the lines of, ‘Oh, how absurdly simple!’” and they all laughed.
    “Shall we see if Holmes can identify the others?’ Whitesell suggested, grinning broadly. “Are you up to the challenge, Holmes?”
    “Oh, quite,” Holmes replied with nonchalance. “I have already