In the summer of last year, I discussed with him our plan to steal the football trophy as a gesture to the Birmingham underworld. He realised of course that the robbery would jeopardise the Delaney position. So he took it upon himself to tell his oldest son what we had in mind, imagining that his offspring might then take steps to ensure that the family were seen to be above suspicion and completely blameless of any involvement in the theft. But his son is a chancer, without his father’s caution and guile. He saw an opportunity to outfox my colleagues. He underestimated me and the lengths I will now go to, to get even with his kind.

When my associates returned to London, I knew that Clive Delamare had betrayed me. I made contact with him and told him what was to be done . He was to broker a deal with the Delaneys whereby the trophy would be returned to me and the family would, from that point on, operate under my control. Any divergence from this would result in the wholesale assassination of their leaders. It was then that he confessed to being Clive Delaney, one of three men who effectively controlled the Delaney Gang. He explained that his son had acted without authorisation and would be punished for what he had done. He went on to say that he was in no position to broker the deal I had insisted upon as the family would never agree to it. I am not an unreasonable man, Inspector Walcott. I said that I understood his difficulties and proffered a final solution - to surrender the trophy, kill his son and return to Ireland. It seems that he has been unsuccessful in adhering to my request and his son has, yet again, taken matters into his own hands.

At this point, you may be wondering why I should insist on telling you any of this. Well, it is just that I believe we can help each other. You see, the son has not only refused to bend to my will, but has also now instigated his own coup d’état and seized control of all the family’s affairs. As such, he is my chief rival in the midlands and I want him removed from that position. Something you can do in securing his conviction for murder.

You still have some work to do, however, and I suggest you invite Mr Sherlock Holmes - another of my adversaries, but a much more likeable one - to assist you in carrying out your task. Call it honour among thieves, or some sort of felonious chivalric code, but I will not let it be said that it was me that told you specifically who killed Clive Delaney. That said, you can take the following facts as gospel:

1. Clive Delaney, better known as Sergeant Delamare, was the intended target - unbeknown to his two accomplices, the guilty man fully intended to kill him.

2. The dead man was shot by his own biological son - he had no other children older or younger than twenty-nine years of age.

3. Any eye witnesses you have to the killing can be relied upon - they will have witnessed the death of your sergeant at the hands of his son.

4. The gun used in the attack belonged to Frank Delaney.

5. But the killer was not Frank Delaney.

I trust that this information will speed your endeavours.

Yours very sincerely,

A concerned citizen

I looked up in astonishment when I had finished reading the note. “But this is nonsensical, Holmes. Everything points to Frank Delaney, and yet we are to believe that he is not the killer. If this is written by Edwin Halvergate, it is another of his riddles, further evidence of his flowery poetic notions. He is seeking to make fools of us all.”

“My thoughts exactly,” added Walcott.

“Nonsense! It all seems perfectly clear to me. The answer lies not just in what is written, but what is not written - like those earlier haiku poems, we have to be mindful of inference. And I have a firm plan to finally expose the killer, which will require us to catch a train this very evening.” Holmes glanced at his pocket watch and jumped up with enthusiasm. “We have sufficient time to pack a few essentials and to pick up anything you require from your home on the way, Watson, before catching the 6.30 from Euston to Birmingham New Street. We will rely on Inspector Walcott to recommend a suitable hotel close to the station for our short overnight stay.”

My attempt to voice some opposition to the plan was soon drowned out by the noise of Holmes shouting down the stairs with various requests of Mrs Hudson. Ten minutes later, the three of us were seated in a cab heading towards my home, for a short stop on the way to Euston. I took the opportunity to quiz Holmes once more about the letter.

“How can you be certain the note was written by Edwin Halvergate?”

“Why, who else would be in a position to do so and who else would mention me specifically as an adversary?” he retorted. “You know my methods, Watson. I have made it my business to know the minutiae of Edwin Halvergate’s life. The tell-tale signs were there. The Seven Dials postmark on the envelope, the stationery purchased from Henry Stone & Son Ltd, the distinctive printing of the Merritt typewriter and the faint whiff of camphor from the hair oil he uses with some vanity to counter his accelerated hair loss.”

“Remarkable, Mr Holmes!” spluttered Inspector Walcott, in awe of my friend’s revelations. I had to admit that his case was pretty persuasive. While it may not have stood up in a court of law, it was enough to convince me that Halvergate was indeed the architect of this curious chain of events.

We arrived at Euston with about eight minutes to spare, sufficient time for us to secure a first-class compartment on the train and to avail ourselves of copies of the half-penny Evening News. When seated in the carriage, Holmes let out a big sigh and pointed to a headline at the bottom of the front page, which read: ‘Two bodies recovered from Thames - murder feared’.

“It seems that Edwin Halvergate has finally taken steps to assert his authority over his criminal associates. He has no doubt completed his reading of Niccolò Machiavelli’s The Prince and now believes that the way to maintain the discipline of his henchmen is to operate with ruthless expediency, the ends justifying whatever means he chooses. The bodies recovered from the river are of two well-dressed men in their early-thirties, whose wallets had not been taken. Each had been garrotted and both had distinctive wasp tattoos on their forearms - the symbol under which the gang operates. I think we can safely say that they were the hapless London thieves of the FA Cup and this is firm evidence that Halvergate is serious about his threat to assassinate key members of the Delaney family. I fear you may have some serious gang violence to contend with in the coming months, Inspector Walcott.”

The inspector nodded, but remained silent, taking time to read the full details of the story in his copy of the newspaper. Some minutes later, Holmes sought to raise Walcott’s spirits with a plan to reveal who had killed Sergeant Clive Delamare. On reaching Birmingham, the police officer was to make his way to the Steelhouse Lane police station and have Frank Delaney moved with some uproar from his holding cell to an area of solitary confinement, where he would be detained overnight in strict secrecy. At eleven o’clock, Walcott was to inform Thomas Logan that his colleague had managed to escape from Steelhouse Lane and was now on the run. Furthermore, Logan was to be told that he was free to leave the police station, as the detectives had concluded that there was little evidence for his culpability in the murder.

Trusting in Holmes, the inspector readily agreed to the plan. He was then asked to meet us at eleven-thirty in the foyer of the Grand Hotel, which he had earlier recommended for our stay in the city.