London was blanketed in fog and for many of the city’s inhabitants this was causing a problem.  For a feline such as myself the difficulties were not as extreme, but nevertheless the fog was distorting the smells.  I was, however, managing better than my two human companions, one of whom was alternately coughing and swearing.

“Really, Watson, I said you could stay in the warm,” Sherlock Holmes said.  “This weather is not aiding your recovery at all.”

“It’s not that much of a problem,” Dr Watson coughed, before uttering a sharp ‘ouch’ and an expletive whose nature I will not include here, since this is a family publication.  He managed to stop before walking into the tree, but had failed to see the overhanging branch which had hit him in the face.

I waited whilst the doctor got his breath back and Holmes untangled his umbrella.  Neither the doctor nor I were entirely sure why Holmes had brought the umbrella, but he had been adamant it would come in useful.  As it was, it seemed to add to the problems of negotiating the street when one couldn’t see as far as the length of an umbrella.

At least the lack of vision meant I was able to accompany Holmes and Watson without raising the suspicion of anyone who we passed.  I had no trouble in avoiding the pedestrians, who were forced to walk at less than half their normal pace, and they had no inkling I was there.

When we finally reached our destination Dr Watson was clearly regretting his decision to accompany us.  Ordinarily he would have been able to take a cab back to Baker Street when we had finished our mission, but with the weather cabs were few and far between, and there was as much likelihood of being run over by one as hailing it.  However, there was nothing he could do about it now, so, with a final cough and another expletive (Holmes had managed to hit him with the umbrella), he joined us as we entered the building.

Holmes had quietly opened the door, and we slid inside, the fog trying to make its own way in too, as it dispersed along the dark corridor.  I could make out a set of stairs going down into what smelt like some sort of workshop and a further set heading upwards and from where I could smell tobacco smoke and just make out men’s voices.

We started up the stairs, Holmes grabbing the metal handrail to use as a guide through the dark, with Watson close behind him.  I padded silently up the other side of the stairs, alert for any movement from above.

As we reached the top of the stairs a door opened and two men came out.  For a moment I thought they would choose to come our way.  Fortunately not much light was shed from either the open doorway, or the oil lamp one of the men was carrying and Holmes and Watson were able to keep in the shadows.  The men took a further set of stairs which led to the floor above.

Once we were sure they were out of the way, Holmes cautiously opened the door to the room they had come out of.  One man was still in the room, and he swung round to look at us as we entered.  Our appearance clearly startled him, for he remained silent for a few seconds, which gave Holmes sufficient time to cross the room and put a gloved hand over his mouth to prevent him shouting for help.

Holmes then proceeded to tie the man to his chair.  The man tried to struggle and looked as if he was still thinking of trying to yell, but I came over and sat in front of him, breathing the sardines I’d eaten earlier in his face, which made him hurriedly shut his mouth, thus giving Holmes time to gag him.

Meanwhile, Dr Watson had seen another man, who I took to be the watchman, who was lying on the floor groaning.  He hurried over to him and gave him such assistance as he could.

Holmes searched through the papers which were strewn on the table, and with a grunt of satisfaction, took up some of them, which he stowed in the inside pocket of his overcoat.  He then walked back out of the room, saying he would check if our presence had been discovered, and I followed him out. 

Turning to me he said, “I had planned to take the documents and leave as quickly as possible.  But quite rightly Watson won’t dessert the watchman, so we must take him with us.  I shall tell Watson to go first and I will delay the others as long as I can.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” I said.  “Can you open that window?  And I shall need you to do something with your umbrella.”

A few minutes later Holmes and Watson were helping the watchman down the stairs.  Fortunately he was able to walk with some assistance; it would have been more difficult if they had been forced to carry him.

They could not fail to make a noise as they descended the stairs, and as expected the two men heard and came running down to find out what was happening.  However, with the window open the fog had entered the passageway and stairs and the visibility was quickly reduced.  As they turned onto the passage from the stairs I gave a mournful growl.

“What was that?” one asked.

“Dunno.  Ignore it,” the other ordered.

“It could be a ghost.”

“Don’t be stupid.  It’s some sort of decoy.” 

I gave a second growl, and the first man stopped, clearly not intending to go any further.  His companion, obviously more concerned with what was happening than any potential supernatural manifestations, pushed open the door to the room at the end of the passage.  Holmes’ open umbrella, which he had perched on top of the door, fell onto the man, who gave a squawk.  It was sufficient to send the first man scrabbling back upstairs again.

Feeling I had given Holmes and Watson sufficient time to get a reasonable head start, I made my way back downstairs and out into the street.  I could see a few people moving around in the fog, and my sense of smell soon identified the three I was seeking.  I quickly caught up with them and we began the journey back to Baker Street.

We left the watchman in the care of a local publican, who knew him and promised to make sure he got home safely once the fog had lifted.

Leaving the public house, Watson began to walk in the wrong direction.  I gave a soft growl and he stopped, saying, “It’s no good, this fog has totally disorientated me.”

“I can’t say I’m much better,” Holmes admitted.

“In which case,” I said, “may I suggest you both place a hand on my back and I will walk between you and act as your guide.”

They followed my advice and we made it safely back to Baker Street.  The following day Holmes passed the papers to Inspector Bradstreet, who was very grateful to receive them, and carefully didn’t enquire where they had come from. 

As Bradstreet was departing he said to Holmes, “I’m amazed you managed to get out and back safely last night, given the pea-souper we were experiencing.  You must have some form of sixth sense.”

“Let’s just say I am able to rely on attributes not available to most men,” Holmes replied.