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bubbling up on the heels of my initial delight. Shipboard life was conducive to self-invention. In the course of too many sea voyages, I’d met a “professional gambler” who disembarked wearing a priest’s collar; a self-proclaimed dowager countess whom Holmes recognised as a brothel-owner; two remarkably indiscreet “secret agents”; seventeen married couples who weren’t; eight American retired Congressmen, three Senators, and a Vice President, only two of whom appeared in the Congressional Record; and enough superfluous Royals to fill a supplemental volume of Debrett’s. My approach to all was the same I gave Miss Sato now: a face of willing belief.
    “Fascinating. So you are on your way home?”
    “I am. Although not by a direct route—I decided to see something of the world on my way. But I will be very glad to get back to proper food. And an actual bath.”
    “I’ve heard about Japanese baths. They sound … interesting.” They sounded like giant cannibal pots in which the sexes casually simmered shoulder to shoulder, but “interesting” would do to begin with.
    She was traditional enough to cover her mouth when she laughed. “Westerners do find them a puzzling side of Japan, it is true.” The word “puzzling” coming from her mouth made me want to pinch her cheeks.
    “As the Japanese no doubt find our beef pies and boiled vegetables. Although I agree, one disadvantage in travel is how it makes one crave certain foods.”
    “Wrapping her dumplings/in bamboo leaves, the girl’s hand/tidies a stray lock.”
    “Bashō again?”
    “Bashō spent most of his life wandering; how he must have missed his mother’s cooking!” She glanced down at her wrist-watch. “I shall now go and smile at the cooks. Can I bring you something?”
    “No, thanks. They’ll come by with tea in a while.”
    She gave a little grimace. “English tea, with milk: another thing I never learn to enjoy.”
    She dipped her torso at me and walked away.
    I watched her go, with two thoughts in my mind. First, that my chances of getting through the coming days without “intense tutorials” had suddenly taken a turn for the worse. And two, for someone who was not being groomed as a gymnast, the slim figure disappearing down the steps possessed a lot of hard muscle.
    *1 Arthur Conan Doyle, “His Last Bow.”
    *2 Details given in The Game .

Pert gaze, quick sure flight .
What brings this lady sparrow
Onboard a great ship?
    A short time later, Holmes found me, to deliver the news that the Darleys were not scheduled to abandon ship in Colombo. To the contrary, they planned to sail all the way to Japan. “Oh, good,” I said gloomily.
    “You don’t sound too pleased, Russell.”
    “Holmes, I have several printed means of keeping the boredom at bay. I have no wish to hound the footsteps of a man who may or may not have had a criminal past, ten years ago. If you want something to do, why don’t you keep an eye on his son? He looks the sort who cheats at cards.”
    Holmes paused in the act of lighting a cigarette. “Cards. Excellent idea, Russell. Thank you.” He strode happily away. I sighed, and went back to my book. I would let the purser know that there was a hefty tip in it for him if he managed to transfer us onto a faster ship to Japan. Perhaps I could convince Holmes that Darley had recognised him?
    I did not tell Holmes about Miss Sato, not then. I wanted to see what she would do next.
    Were it not for the muscle, and the sharp intelligence in those black eyes, I would more readily have accepted her as nothing more than a fellow passenger. After all, a sea voyage goes more quickly if one has sympathetic company, and a woman on her own might be expected to seek out another of her kind, even if not of her race.
    But there were other possible reasons for a stranger to seek me out. Yes, Sherlock Holmes was currently travelling under the name “Robert Russell,” but neither of us was unknown, and this oh-so-casual