At that moment a strong smell of jasmine wafted through the close air of the tavern. A small door near the mantelpiece was closing rapidly.

"Quick! The bird is on the wing," Holmes ordered, and in the twinkling of an eye he dashed to the rear of the taproom and managed to arrest the progress of the door, which was fitted with an ingenious internal self-locking mechanism that, had it closed, would have rendered pursuit futile, or at least significantly prolonged it (assuming that my colleague had remembered to bring his picklocks.) Scattered applause resounded from a few conscious topers who noticed Holmes' nimble stunt, who then relapsed into their customary sodden stupor.

The Captain and I hurried hot on Holmes' heels down a small and slanting passageway, which was dimly lit by occasional gaps in the stone wall. The smell of jasmine grew stronger. "Quickly, else all is lost!" cried Holmes, covering his mouth with his muffler. We found it increasingly difficult to breathe the cloying scent of jasmine which waxed ever worse.

At the end of the passageway stood a small room garishly lit by electric light. In the room stood a woman, who turned to face us as we entered. Her face expressed the coldest defiance that I had ever witnessed on a human countenance. She grasped the post attached to the iron bedstead filled with crumpled linens that incongruously shared the space with a burbling chemical apparatus, a quantity of birdcages filled with screeching avian occupants, and dozens of pipkins, ramekins, and firkins of honey. Truthfully there was very little room for all of us to fit into the cramped and cloying space.

"Miss Wickham, I perceive?" said Holmes coolly. "Can you explain the significance of this object?"

He held out something in one gloved hand. It was a long, electric blue feather, the exact color of the electric blue dress that the woman wore.

"My chickens have come home to roost," the woman cried, and she fell senseless upon the bed.

With a wild cry, the Captain rushed forward, but Holmes subdued him with an ingenious baritsu move that quite immobilized them both. "Brandy, Watson!" he commanded, and after we had all had a small tipple I chafed the wrists of the unconscious figure. Her eyes opened and she sat slowly upright, never taking her eyes off Holmes and the Captain.

"I must offer a short explanation," she said finally, and pulled a huge sheaf of papers from under the mattress. She took a deep breath and began to speak.