My lodger spent the next morning locked in his rooms, banging about, the ceiling above my dining room creaking like a ship in a tempest. Resolving to see what caused his agitation, and knowing he had not eaten, I took him some beef broth, and was gratified when he accepted it, bidding me enter.

"I worry you are letting this business with Lady Templeford tire you," I ventured, only to have him fix me with a wild stare.

"What on earth do you mean, Mrs Hudson?" he snapped, sipping at the broth before setting it aside with a grimace.

"I noticed that because she arrived here in such agitation, you were compelled to deal with her case, despite being busy with other work."

To my surprise he raised his long head and gave a great bark of laughter. "Well Mrs Hudson, you will surprise us all yet," he said. "First Watson, and now you. I shall start to wonder if my investigative technique is catching. So tell me, what do you discern about the lady in question?"

"It's not my business to voice an opinion," I said, wary of incurring his displeasure.

"Let's say for a moment that it is your business. It would be intriguing to know the female point of view."

"I know she is upset by the marriage of her youngest son to a girl she considers to be of low morals," I replied, "and is shocked by the early arrival of a child. More than that I cannot tell."

"But you have said much, perhaps without even realising it." He inclined his head, as if seeing me through new eyes. "The night before last, Lady Templeford's new grandchild was snatched from his cradle, and no-one has seen him since. What do you make of that?"

"Its poor mother must be quite mad with grief," I said, remembering the picture of Rose Nichols in my paper. Then I considered the enmity that existed between the bride and her mother-in-law, and how the son must be caught between them.

Mr Holmes was clearly thinking the same thing. "Then take pity on Archibald, trapped between them, Scylla and Charybdis. At six o'clock his wife Rose enters the nursery to wake and feed her son, and there where the child should be is only rumpled bedding. They search the house until half past six, when Archibald returns from the city, and are still searching when Lady Templeford arrives to dine with them."

"There will be a dreadful scandal if you do not find it," I said excitedly. "Lady Templeford would naturally suspect her daughter-in-law, for a woman who sets a son against his mother will always be blamed, especially when there is a child involved."

"Do you really think so." Mr Holmes' eyes hooded as I continued.

"Mrs Drake, the lady who keeps house at number 115, informs me that Rose Nichols had a long-time suitor in the Haymarket, and there is talk that the child might be his." I realised I had gone too far, offering more of an opinion than was wanted on the subject. "Well, I must get on with my dusting," I said, embarrassed. "The parlour maid is off today and the coalman has trod dirt into the back passage."

He showed me his back with a grunt of disapproval before I had even turned to close the door.

I know my place. Landladies always do. I cannot help but form an opinion when I see so much going on around me. And, dare I say it, Mr Holmes is so convinced of his abilities he sometimes takes the long route to solve a simple puzzle. The disguises, for instance. I have seen him enter this house as a tramp, a blind man, a war veteran, on sticks, with a funny walk, first hopping, then dragging, in hats, in beards, in rags and on one occasion with a wooden leg, and frankly I have seen better impersonations at the Alhambra. I wonder that his suspects are not put off by laughing too hard. What is wrong with simply keeping out of sight? It is what a woman would do, because they know the ways of men.

But Mr Holmes does not know the ways of women. Oh, he acts superior around them, opening the door in his smoking jacket, listening to their stories with his elbow on his knee and his hand at his chin, appearing the man of the world. Why, then, does he become flustered when Elsie offers to clean his rooms? Why does he watch her from the turn on the landing as she smoothes beeswax into the banisters? I shall tell you; it is because he sees the female form from afar, and puts them on a pedestal, because they have never been close enough to disappoint him, and he will not let them nearer.

But I am speaking out of turn again, for which you must blame a Scottish temperament. Let me describe the conclusion in the case of Lady Templeford.