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gelatin, at least ten pounds, mineral salts, beef broth, and swine blood once we prepare the media,’ he continued. ‘You are not writing this down?’ His gaze flicked towards me, a little annoyed. I smiled innocently, indicating that I had neither pen nor paper.
    ‘Professor Moriarty would like us to isolate the bubonic plague,’ he said.
    ‘I see.’ I put a hint of consideration into my voice. Goff seemed to have no idea where to place me. I decided to let him roast a little longer. Soon, uncertainty drove heat into his face.
    ‘Hum. I wonder how we can obtain the germs…’ He huffed, and I noticed that he had hoped I would answer his question. For a moment, I saw him sitting through an exam, eyes darting left and right, trying to catch a clue from his fellow students but never acknowledging them once they provided the much-needed help. What a twisted situation: I was supposed to be his superior in profession, but his inferior in sex, character, and intellect. The prospect of letting him clean up after me felt rather satisfying.
    ‘What, in your opinion, are we to do with bubonic plague germs, Mr Goff?’
    The man froze. ‘We are not to talk about such details without the professor present.’  
    That meant he knew that whatever Moriarty was up to wasn’t purely charitable. ‘What is Professor Moriarty’s field?’ I asked.
    ‘Mathematics, but he is retired now.’
    Why would he retire so early? I wondered. ‘Where did you study bacteriology, Mr Goff?’
    ‘Cambridge.’
    ‘An excellent school. How did you enter this employment?’
    ‘Erm…,’ he said, absentmindedly scribbling on a notepad and obviously producing the list he had wanted me to write. I did not move. He had his back to me and I used the moment to inspect the room. The place felt like as had a year ago. I almost expected to see remnants of cholera-contaminated faeces on the floor, and a heap of dirty blankets, a dying woman within.
    As he turned, I looked at him expectantly.  
    ‘I am not allowed to talk about it.’
    Ah, what an interesting answer. The man was all enveloped in secrecy and seemed to love it. I wondered whether his ties to Moriarty went deeper than the mere connection of an assistant.
    ‘You have worked here before, I understand?’ Goff asked without looking at me.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I never heard of a female medical doctor working here. Or anywhere else in London, for that matter.’
    ‘Me neither.’
    Exasperated, he turned towards me. How could he be so dense and believe that the Dr Kronberg sitting in front of him and the Dr Kronberg he read and heard about were two different people?
    ‘So how could you possibly be a medical doctor?’
    ‘I masqueraded as a man.’
    His gaze flickered, as though he suspected something behind my facade. Then, it finally hit him.
    ‘ You are Doctor Anton Kronberg?’
    ‘Yes,’ I said, taking off my hat and stroking any disorderly strands of hair back into place, sighed and placed my hands back in my lap. This little show seemed to be enough for Goff to relax into his previous superiority again. Inwardly, I smiled. Having Goff as an assistant was a gift. He would not see the truth even if I were to shove it up his nose. I would keep this charade up for a while, hoping that Goff would think me stupid or naive. Perhaps, he would accidentally slip information he otherwise would keep from me. Or he would give me a bit more space to manoeuvre, to plan my escape. It felt a bit as though I had to hide in two different shadows — plotting to get away without risking my father’s life.  
    After an hour of merely sitting and occasionally agreeing to Goff’s suggestions, I feigned boredom and asked whether he could show me to the library. I had some reading to do, in addition to the exploration of potential loopholes.

    Moriarty was not at home when I returned. That postponed the inevitable confrontation over my choice of clothing. A female medical doctor might produce publicity if I were