"Who's the military gent who hasn't taken his glims off my teats for the last minute and a half?"

"Colonel Sebastian Moran, the best heavy-game shot our Eastern Empire has ever produced." ⁵

"Good with a gun, eh? Looks more like a shiv-man to me."

She pointed her index fingers at her cleavage, which she thrust out, then angled her fingertips up to indicate her face.

"That's better. Look me in the lamps, Colonel."

I harrumphed and paid attention. If she hadn't wanted fellows to ogle, she shouldn't have worn that dress. There's no reasoning with women.

"Here's the thing of it," she said. "Have you heard of the Duke of Strelsau?"

"Michael Elphberg, so-called 'Black Michael', second in line to the throne of Ruritania." ⁶

"That's the fellow, Prof. Things being slow this season, I've been knocking around a bit with Black Mike. They call him that because of his hair, which is dark where the rest of his family's is flame-red. As it happens, photographs were taken of the two of us in the actual pursuit of knocking-around. Artistic Studies, you might say. Six plates. Full figures. Complete exposures. It would ruin my reputation should they come to light. You see, I'm being blackmailed!"

Her voice cracked. She raised a kerchief to her eye to quell a tear, then froze, a picture of slighted maidenhood. Moriarty shook his head. She stuffed the hankie back into her sleeve and snorted.

"Worth a try just to keep my hand in. I'm a better actress than critics say, don't you know? Obviously, I'm not being blackmailed. Like you said, there are stingers and stingees. We are stingers."

"And the stingee?"

"Another bloody Colonel. Colonel Sapt. Chief of the Ruritanian Secret Police. Which has been a dozy doddle for the last thirty years, since it's one of the most peaceable, least-insurrection-blighted spots on the map. Not so much as a whiff of dissent since '48. When, admittedly, the mob burned down the old White Palace. There are very scenic gardens on the site. Anyway, intrigue stirs. King Rudolf is getting on, and two sons have claims to the throne. Rudolf the Red, the older, is set on shoring up his case by marrying his cousin, Princess Flavia. Where do they get these names? If you put them in an opera, you'd be laughed off-stage. Sapt is loyal to Rudolf. Lord knows why, but there you are. Some people are like that. He's also a keen appreciator of the aesthetic worth of a fine photo."

"I see," I said, "this Sapt thinks to blacken Michael's name � further blacken, I suppose - so the Duke will never be king."

Irene Adler looked at me with something like contemptuous pity.

"Gilbert the Filbert, Colonel of the Nuts ⁷, if those pics were seen, Black Mike'd be the envy of Europe. He'd be crowned in a wave of popularity. Everyone loves a randy royal. Look at Vicky's brood. No, Sapt wants the photographs off the market, so Mikey can be nagged into marriage by Antoinette de Mauban, his persistently pestering mistress. Which would scupper any chance he might have with Flavourless Flavia."

"You said Rudolf was engaged to the Princess?"

She made a gesture, suggesting the matter was in the balance. "Whichever Elphberg marries Flavia is a cert to be king. Black Michael is scheming to cut his half-brother out. Are you following this?"

Moriarty acknowledged that he was.

"Why do you want those photographs?"

"Sentimental value. I come off especially well in Study No. 3, where the light catches the fall of my hair as I lower my... No? Not convinced? Rats, I must work on this acting lark. Obviously, I want to blackmail everyone � Colonel Sapt, Black Mike, Red Rudi, Mademoiselle Toni, Princess Lavatoria... With half Ruritania paying me to keep quiet and the other half to speak up, I should be able to milk the racket for a good few years � at least, until succession is settled - and secure my comfortable old age."

She could not have been more than twenty-five.

"And where might these 'artistic studies' be found?" Moriarty asked.

She dug into her reticule and produced a paper with a map drawn on it.

"The Ruritanian Embassy in Belgravia," she said. "I have a collector's interest in floor-plans, schedules of guards, and the like."

"What's this?" the Professor idicated a detail marked with a red circle.

"A safe, hidden behind the portrait of Rudolf III, in the private office of Colonel Sapt. If I had the key, I wouldn't be here. I've been driven to associate with criminals by the need for skills in cracksmanship. You come highly recommended by Scotland Yard."

Moriarty sniffed haughtily. "Scotland Yard have never heard of Professor Moriarty, except in my capacity as a pure mathematician."

"For someone as crooked as you, I call that a recommendation."

Moriarty's head started bobbing again. He was thinking the thing through, which meant I had to look afer practicalities.

"What's in it for us, missy?" I asked.

"A quarter of what I can screw from the Elphbergs."

"Half."

"That's extortion!"

"Yes," I admitted with a wink. "We're extortion men, you might say. Half."

She had a little sulk, made a practiced mou�, shimmied her chest again, and bestowed a magnificent smile that warmed my insides.

"Deal," she said, sticking out a tiny paw to be shaken.

I should have shot her then and there.