“What’s your name?” Brackenreid demanded. While Murdoch sat at the table opposite Sherlock, he stood, using his full height to tower over the man.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Your real name!”

“That is my real name,” Sherlock insisted calmly.

Shouting and fists might have been Brackenreid’s tools of the trade, but Murdoch preferred science and rational interrogation. “What were you doing at the scene of the robbery?” he asked.

“I deciphered the codes.”

“What codes?” Murdoch asked.

“The coded messages, of course. Moriarty puts them in the newspaper. That’s how he communicates with his agents of evil.”

Clearly they wouldn’t get much further with that line of questioning. Murdoch asked a constable to take Sherlock back to his office, with Constable Crabtree on watch outside from his desk.

The Inspector rolled his eyes. “Well clearly he’s a complete crackpot.”

Murdoch agreed. “I’ll have Dr. Ogden perform an assessment and ask George to refresh his memory of the books. If only Sir Arthur were in town again – he could probably help.”