Amid the general chit chat of the expectant audience, I took the opportunity to ask Holmes a discreet question. “Holmes. I do not wish to sound ill-informed, but having had little time to think about the nature of the lecture this evening, I find myself in the unenviable position of having no idea what the Cuneiform Records of Mesopotamia actually are.”

Rather to my surprise, Holmes did not tease or reproach me for the admission, but sought, in hushed tones, to provide me with a succinct explanation. “My dear friend, there is no shame in admitting that one lacks knowledge of such a specialist subject. In fact, there are only a handful of academics across the planet that have a full understanding of both the history and significance of cuneiform records. Around five thousand years ago, the Sumerian people of the Mesopotamian region developed an early form of writing which used pictures and symbols to convey information about their everyday social and economic affairs, like the harvesting of crops or the taxes that had to be paid by citizens. Through time, this developed into a more sophisticated script of signs and characters which we now call cuneiform. The ancient scribes used clay tablets on which to record their trade and community affairs and even chronicled their observations on astronomy. Their records and those of similar civilisations laid the very foundations on which many of today’s Asian and Indo-European languages are based. For that reason, I have developed a fair working knowledge of cuneiform, but would not profess to be an expert by any means. Let us hope that our speaker can enlighten us further.”

The lights in the reading room dimmed and the noise within the room subsided to a point where it would have been possible to hear a pin drop. A tall, frail looking man, with wire-framed glasses and a long black gown took to the stage. He was not quite the robust, middle-aged, archeologist I had envisaged Dr Canham-Page to be, and when he introduced himself, it was clear that I was not wrong. “Forgive me, gentlemen. I am Professor Michael Braydon of the Oxford University Archeology Faculty. It was to have been a great honour for me to be able to introduce to you this evening an esteemed colleague, arguably the very best archeologist that this country has ever produced...”

The professor paused at this point and looked visibly shaken. There were tears in his eyes and his hands, which were now firmly clutching the sides of the lectern, had begun to shake. With a deep breath he composed himself and continued. “There is no easy way to say this, but I am afraid that Dr Henry Canham-Page will not be able to speak to us this evening. Only a short while ago he collapsed in a back room of the library and my colleagues were unable to revive him. We have sent for a local doctor and the police, but it is clear that he has passed away.”

There was a degree of pandemonium in the room as everyone began to talk at once with the shock of the announcement. Some attendees got up from their seats and began to saunter quietly towards the exits. Others looked almost angry at the news. A few were overcome with emotion and sat in a stunned silence.

No one seemed to notice the sad figure of Professor Braydon who appeared unable to release his grip on the lectern. In that moment, it was Holmes who stepped forward to assist the aged academic. With a word in his ear, he helped the professor down from the stage and nodded for me to join him. Against the backdrop of noise and confusion, Holmes explained that I was a doctor and could attend to the deceased. Braydon smiled weakly and led us off towards the back room where the earlier drama had occurred.

At the entrance to the room we were introduced to a man called Brendan Stevens, who explained that he was the manager responsible for organising the annual programme of academic lectures at the museum. He seemed relieved to hear that I was a doctor, but somewhat surprised to be introduced to Sherlock Holmes. “Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, this is indeed a pleasure - I just wish it were under more pleasant circumstances. Perhaps I ought to explain the sequence of events and why we felt it was necessary to call for the police in addition to a doctor.”

Holmes was direct in his response. “Yes, Mr Stevens, I would be very grateful if you could outline the pertinent facts. I had already imagined that there might be some unusual or unexpected features when I first heard that the police had been called.”

Stevens continued: “We had shown Dr Canham-Page to the room at about six o’clock this evening. All of our guest lecturers use the room before their talks. It gives them a quiet space in which to prepare themselves, which most seem to value. He had arrived by carriage and, I have to say, did look tired and despondent. I asked him if he wanted anything, like a glass of water or something to eat, but he indicated that he just wanted to be left alone and closed the door after I had left.”

“That could be significant,” mused Holmes.

“You will see when you enter the room that it is bereft of furniture. It has only a small desk and chair and no windows. In everyday use, it acts as a rest room for some of the museum staff. I was content to let the Doctor prepare in solitude, but around six thirty-five thought it wise to remind him of the time and check that he was not in need of anything for the lecture. Miss Prentice, one of our administrative staff, was with me. When we received no response to my knock, I entered the room and was shocked to see him lying on the floor close to the desk.”

“I see. And has the furniture been moved at all since?”

“No, Mr Holmes. I busied myself checking his breathing and pulse and realised then that he was dead. I knew how important it would be to leave everything as it was. It seemed clear to me that he had died as a result of a blow to the back of his head. I could see and feel blood on the back of his skull, you see. What I did not know was whether the blow had been accidently or maliciously inflicted.”

“Agreed. And no one has been in the room since?”

“That is correct. I instructed Miss Prentice to let Professor Braydon know what had happened and to call for a doctor and the police. She did so, and returned to the museum shortly before seven o’clock. Since that time, I have stood guard by the door.”

Holmes was warm in his praise. “Thank you, Mr Stevens. Your summary and your actions to this point have been highly commendable. I think we should allow Dr Watson to take a look at the body now. He may be able to offer us some further insights on what may have led to the death.”

As Holmes was about to turn the doorknob, a familiar voice rang out behind us. “Well, if it isn’t my good friends, Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson,” cried Inspector Lestrade. “Now what brings you to these parts? Are you to tell me that there is some great mystery attached to this death?”

Holmes laughed. “Lestrade, my dear fellow. It is good to see you. And no, I am hoping that this will be a straightforward death. Watson and I were here for a lecture that the deceased was due to give this evening.”

“I see. Well, let’s have a look at what we’re dealing with.” He beckoned for Holmes to open the door.

When the three of us entered the room there was little to catch the eye beyond the outstretched body - feet towards us, face up and close to the desk in the left hand corner of the far wall. The room itself was about twelve feet square and the only other item in the space was a small wooden chair which was rested half way along the wall to our left. Holmes took a quick glance around the room and with his magnifying glass to hand began to scan areas of the floor along the left wall. At one point he stopped and using a small set of tweezers picked something from close to the wainscot and placed it in a matchbox he had retrieved from his pocket. Lestrade was content to stand back and allow Holmes to carry out his work. I knelt down and began to examine the body.