When we reached Birmingham New Street it was a little after ten-fifteen. We departed from the train and said our farewells to Walcott, making our way to the hotel with the directions he had given us. The Grand Hotel on Colmore Row was a spectacular seven-storey building constructed in a French Renaissance style. Our individual bedrooms were palatial by London standards and the hotel was furnished with a dining room, crush room and drawing room of the most flamboyant designs. Holmes insisted on booking the two rooms for our stay while I remained seated in the extensive lobby. When he returned from the reception desk, he handed me a key for ‘Room 238’ and announced that he had some business to attend to before our planned meeting with Inspector Walcott and needed some time alone. I watched him head off towards the main stairwell and decided to undertake a short tour of the hotel as I awaited his return.

Shortly before eleven-thirty, I made my way back down to the foyer. Inspector Walcott had just arrived, and sat on the plush seating looking distinctly drained and breathless. He explained that it had been a long day, but seemed pleased that Holmes’ strategy had been carried out as planned. Frank Delaney had been placed in a solitary cell, with only Walcott and a duty sergeant knowing of his whereabouts. And Thomas Logan had been released, scurrying away from the police station, barely able to believe his luck.

The two of us chatted for the next twenty minutes while we waited for Holmes to join us. The hotel seemed quiet that evening, with just a few guests returning from their evening excursions to the theatres, restaurants and music halls of the city. At one point I saw a particularly well turned out couple in full evening dress arrive by carriage. As the hotel doorman greeted them, I watched as a dark faced, shabbily-attired workman in a cloth cap attempted to sneak in before the couple, cheekily tipping his cap as he did so. He had clearly underestimated the adroitness of the doorman, however, who seized the back of his collar and pulled him to one side, while allowing the well-dressed night-goers to enter the hotel.

Inspector Walcott had also witnessed the fracas and as I jumped up, he struggled to raise himself from his comfortable seat in order to assist the doorman who was still arguing with the ragamuffin. As we approached, the captive let out an unrestrained guffaw, and then said, in a very familiar voice: “Inspector Walcott, Dr Watson, I would be grateful if you could please ask our friend here to release his iron-like grip from my delicate collar. The man is half throttling me!”

“Holmes!?” My exclamation was sufficient for the doorman to release his prisoner.

“I am so sorry, sir! I had no idea you knew these gentlemen,” stuttered the red-faced doorman looking across at Walcott, who already had his police badge out on display. The doorman then glanced back at Holmes, expecting some sort of explanation.

Holmes reached for a pocket and placed a half-crown in the man’s hand, while offering a short apology. “My good man, it is reassuring to know that the Grand Hotel employs such dedicated and resourceful men. In a short while we are likely to have need of your considerable talents. Within ten minutes, two well-dressed men in their late-twenties will attempt to enter this foyer. Please do not bar their entrance. Say only that ‘Frank’ has tipped you off about their arrival and they are to make their way to Room 238. Is that understood?”

The bewildered doorman looked once more to Walcott, who merely added, “Rest assured, this is police business. I will provide you with a full explanation in due course. For the moment, I would be grateful if you would go along with Mr Holmes’ request.” The doorman nodded his consent and the three of us headed off in the direction of the main stairwell.

A few minutes later, we were seated comfortably in the confines of my bedroom. Holmes had returned briefly to his own room to pick up a change of clothing and was now in the process of shedding his working man’s attire and removing some of the theatrical grease paint he had applied earlier to complete his disguise. In the warm glow of the gas lamps, he was explaining with some haste what he had been up to.

“Watson, it would be as well if you were to have your old service revolver to hand in readiness for our visitors. I am glad now that I reminded you to pack it earlier this evening. We can take no chances with the Delaneys - they are formidable folk. My disguise was necessary to allow me to follow Thomas Logan when he was released from the police station at eleven o’clock. I pursued him for a short distance until he hailed a cab. I heard him ask for the Anchor Inn on Tenant Street. When he was safely on his way, I took another cab and followed him to the public house, which I entered shortly afterwards. The crowd assembled there took little interest in me such was the furore that had greeted the arrival of Logan. It was not difficult for me to spot the Delaney leader, who was now patting Logan on the back and calling for drinks all round.

“Seizing the initiative, I approached the man and announced discreetly that I was the cabbie who had assisted Frank Delaney in his escape from Steelhouse Lane. He stepped away from the others and pulled me towards him. I explained that time was of the essence, as Frank had asked for immediate assistance - he was hiding out in Room 238 of the Grand Hotel and required some help in escaping from the city. Continuing with the charade, I then added that Frank was keen to avoid any unwanted attention and had suggested that if two well-dressed members of the gang could meet him in his hotel room at midnight armed with a gun it would allow him to make good his escape. The circumstances, the opportunism and the directness of the approach seemed to work in my favour. Not for a moment did he seem to doubt my story and I was able to slip away from the inn minutes later, a few counterfeit coins the richer. And now, I fear, we have but a short while before we receive a telling knock on the door.”

My colleague was not wrong. He had barely enough time to pull on a short black jacket and grab the small cudgel he had brought with him, when there was a loud rap on the bedroom door. Holmes raised an upright forefinger to his lips in order that we remain silent and stepped deftly towards the door. He opened it swiftly and stood behind the door as two burly characters entered the room at speed, the man at the front wielding a revolver. As both men turned to their left and saw Inspector Walcott and I the weapon was raised in our direction. I was too slow in bringing my own revolver to a firing position and feared we were done for. At the same time, Holmes stepped out from behind the door and brought his weighty cudgel down on the wrist of the intruder. The man’s arm fell away towards the floor and the revolver slipped from his hand. He cried out in pain and his colleague scrambled forward, trying to make a grab for the gun. But Inspector Walcott was already well ahead of him and kicked the weapon away from his grasp before flooring the man with a strong punch to the head. I had my own revolver pointing at both men before Holmes then spoke.

“Gentlemen, how good of you to put in an appearance! I am reassured that my cameo as a Birmingham cab driver was sufficiently convincing to lure you here. And it seems as if my little ruse has drawn the principal players to perform for us. Inspector Walcott, you are already acquainted with Thomas Logan, but you can now meet the murderer of Sergeant Delamare.”

With a look of some concern, Walcott stared at the tall man with the distinctive crop of jet-black hair who towered above the broad-shouldered Logan. “But how is this possible, Mr Holmes? I left Frank Delaney under lock and key only a short time ago. He could not have escaped in that time, met with you earlier and then made his way here.”