At The Reform Club
Mycroft Holmes was to be found, as he had been found every afternoon between a quarter to five and twenty minutes to eight for something like the preceding twenty years, in the Strangers' Room of a certain club in Pall Mall. It is one of those small facts about the senior Holmes which he never troubled to conceal because no one, in his judgement, would ever have the temerity to make use of it. Only his brother made use of it, and he did so at intervals of sometimes years.
We went that same evening. The fog was down again, and the lamps along Pall Mall burned each in its own small orange blur, and the steps of the club, when we reached them, were wet from a light rain that had not quite become a proper one. A porter took our hats. A second porter, who appeared to know Holmes by sight though Holmes had not been in London long enough to have acquired much in the way of club acquaintance, bowed us toward the Strangers' Room without requiring either announcement or inquiry.
Mycroft occupied, as he always did, the largest armchair in the corner nearest the fire. He was reading the *Edinburgh Review*, and ate, as he read, with slow deliberation, a biscuit from a plate at his elbow. He looked up as we entered, and closed the review upon his thumb, and did not rise.
"Sherlock," said Mycroft. "And Doctor. You are both well. You have come about the letters."
"I have come about the