Donning our hats and coats, we descended to the street and soon found a cab. Holmes directed the driver to Victoria Station and then leaning forward with his hands on his knees, he addressed our client.

"Tell me, Captain", he said, the keen eyes in his hawk-like face glittering, "What scent does Miss Wickham wear?" "Scent?", queried Blount, "I .I don't really know." "Surely you have been close enough to your fiancee to ascertain the perfume she uses." "Of course, Mr Holmes. It's just that I cannot remember if she does use perfume. I don't seem to recall any particular aroma. Pear's soap, perhaps?" "And her stationery, does she scent it?" For the first time Captain Blount smiled. "Miss Wickham perfume her stationery? Never."

Holmes relaxed and sat back on the seat. "Just as I suspected", he said, "Miss Wickham is a very composed young woman. She provided us a clue by perfuming the letter with Oil of Jasmine. What does that bring to mind, Watson?"

Remembering how often Holmes had berated me for not applying his methods, I thought carefully before answering. "Oil of Jasmine has medical uses", I said, "for bedridden patients it is useful for soothing the skin and preventing bed sores, it helps sooth sore throat, it is used by midwives and nurses." "Quite," said Holmes, "and it's major source is the city of Grasse. The center of the French perfume industry." "And a place where Her Majesty has stayed on occasion", exclaimed Captain Blount. "Precisely", said Holmes, his eyes glinting. "Well, we are here."