On listening to this my curiosity was aroused. “Could I see the notes?” I asked.

“Certainly,” replied Lestrade, and passed both across to me. I laid them out on the desk. The first was the note containing the handwritten list of symbols. It read:

“I take it that this is Canham-Page’s handwritten copy of some of the Mesopotamian cuneiform we would have heard about this evening?”

“Yes,” said Holmes, “the ink is the same as that used on the supposed suicide note, which is actually signed by him and addressed to a Dr Eversley. It appears to make some reference to the first cuneiform symbol, as if that may have been some sort of key to unlock a wider academic mystery.”

I turned my attention to the second note, again laying it out on the desk. This one read:

Dear Dr Eversley,

I have checked the first cuneiform as you suggested, and it does appear to be the key to the mystery. I know I can’t go on like this. At times, the pain is just too acute. Action must be taken.

Yours,

Dr Henry Canham-Page

I smiled broadly as I read the note. “My dear Holmes. For once, I think I can solve this particular mystery for you! This is not a suicide note at all. I thought I recognised the name. Dr Colin Eversley lives and works not half a mile from Baker Street. He is a doctor, but not in an academic sense. Like me, he is a medical practitioner. But, unlike me, he has chosen to concentrate on a very specific area of treatment. Dr Eversley is a chiropodist and has taken a lifelong interest in the treatment of feet. Before his lecture this evening, Dr Canham-Page had clearly penned a quick note to Eversley. The pain he refers to is the result of his saddle bone deformity which has got to the point where treatment is necessary. Dr Eversley had obviously suggested a quick check prior to his client’s first consultation. If I tell you that the medical name for the condition is metatarsal cuneiform exostosis, I think all will become clear.”

Holmes beamed at the pronouncement. “Watson, you have excelled yourself! So, the ‘first cuneiform’ referred to has nothing to do with the second note or any ancient symbolism?”

“Nothing whatsoever. The medial cuneiform - also known as the first cuneiform - is the largest of the foot bones. It is situated at the medial side of the foot, to the front of the navicular bone and at the base of the first metatarsal.”

“Well I never! bellowed Lestrade. “So a case of bad feet caused him to fall off a chair.”

“So it would seem, Inspector - and no great mystery, after all. That said, I think Dr Watson deserves full credit. I was saying earlier that there is no shame in admitting to a lack of knowledge in a specialist subject. Watson’s extensive medical training is way beyond my layman’s understanding and has proved to be conclusive in this case.”

“Hear, hear!” echoed Lestrade. “And thank you, gentlemen. Once again you have helped me to sort out what could have been a tricky case. I will explain to the library staff what has occurred and arrange for the body to be taken away. I am sorry you both missed out on your lecture this evening.”

“There is no need to be concerned, Inspector. It is still early and I feel that Watson deserves a decent meal and a bottle of the finest red Bordeaux. I think we will therefore retire to the Café Royal for some French cuisine. If you are able to finish your shift at a reasonable time this evening, you are more than welcome to join us.”

“That is kind of you, Mr Holmes, but I fear I have a long night ahead. Not that I will be having many more of those beyond this month. It seems only fair to tell you that I am retiring in a few days’ time. I have been with Scotland Yard since I was sixteen and it is now time to call it a day. Mrs Lestrade and I have purchased a small cottage down in Kent, close to her relatives, so I think a country life beckons.”

Both Holmes and I were surprised to hear the news, but pleased for the hard-working detective. We wished him the very best in his retirement and thanked him for his assistance in the many cases we had enjoyed together over two decades.

That evening, as we sat in the elegant interior of the Café Royal, Holmes proposed an unexpected toast. “To Inspector Lestrade - a fine officer and one who will be sorely missed.”

I raised my glass at the worthy tribute. It was just another sign that time was marching on and none of us were getting any younger.

5. The Trimingham Escapade

Many of you will know that Sherlock Holmes lived out the final few years of his extraordinary existence well away from the hubbub of London and tending to his beloved bees on a quiet smallholding on the South Downs in Sussex. What is less well known is that he did, with occasional outbursts of energy and enthusiasm, continue to employ his talents on a small number of the more baffling and challenging criminal cases that were still being presented to him on a regular basis. One of these was a convoluted commission which Holmes took on in 1926 at the age of seventy-two. It was the last case we worked on together, so I have always looked on it with some affection. As such, it seems fitting that I should now record the details of what occurred that particular summer.

As had often been the case, my involvement in Holmes’ investigation occurred more by accident than design. I had been visiting my dear friend on a radiant sunny day, having decided to take my new 3-litre Bentley touring car on its first excursion outside the capital. With little risk of rain and a full tank of petrol, I had cruised through the picturesque landscape of lowland heath, ancient woodlands and chalk grasslands to reach Holmes’ modest farm near Saddlescombe in time for a light luncheon of salad and home-grown new potatoes.

Holmes was overjoyed at my visit, telling me about his new-found love of astronomy and his recent purchase of a powerful telescope, enabling him to explore for the first time the wonders of the solar system. Like a child with a new toy, he insisted on being taken for a spin in the Bentley and marvelled at its speed and comfort. I had rarely seen him more spirited. Yet, when we returned to the farm to find a black Austin Twelve parked outside his humble cottage, his countenance changed immediately.

“I fear our fraternal excitement is about to be rudely dampened by the long arm of the law, Watson. I recognise the number plate. It seems we have a visit from Chief Inspector Wattisfield of Scotland Yard - a capable fellow, but a man without humour. As you know, I have no telephone, so he has clearly made some effort to track me down. No doubt he has a perplexing case and is seeking some guidance. I hope you will linger a while longer and hear what the good man has to say?”

My response was immediate and heartfelt. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Holmes!”

Wattisfield was brusque but amiable and, like Holmes, not one for irrelevancies and idle chit chat. When seated in Holmes’ farmhouse kitchen, he went straight into the nature of his dilemma: “Mr Holmes. I have myself a very impenetrable murder mystery. Earlier this morning, we were called to Trimingham Manor in Surrey where the dead body of a solicitor named Barrington Henshaw was discovered in a locked room of the house. He appears to have fallen back against a stone fireplace and died of the head injuries he sustained. On the basis that the key to the room could not be found, I can only conclude that we are dealing with a case of potential murder or manslaughter. And given that we have not, as yet, ascertained the whereabouts of one of the household staff - a valet by the name of Heinz Descartes - I would suggest that he may have something to tell us about the nature of this unpleasant episode. We understand the man to be a German national, who has only recently come to this country, and I have alerted all ports and airports as to his identity to block any attempt he may make to escape to the continent.”