Harry woke the next morning and felt just as tired as when he'd gone to bed the night before. "Maybe I should just give up on sleep all together," he muttered to himself as he shrugged into his suit coat and trudged down the stairs.

He found Adelaide and Doyle in the dining room having an excited discussion about gas being heavier than air.

"So, where did this tidal wave come from?" Doyle asked as he shuffled the medical files together.

Adelaide paused for a moment then smiled. "The mine," she said decisively. "The Cave of Dogs was a man-made cave; we have a copper mine behind the town."

"So why are we still here?" Harry asked as he sat at the table. He ignored the assessing look Doyle gave him. "Why aren't we sick or dead?"

"Maybe the gas is all gone," Adelaide answered.

"Or there's just less of it," Doyle added. "We need to go back up to the mine."

Adelaide left the room in a rush to dress and Harry could see Doyle was also excited about a possible answer to their mystery. All Harry could think about was the hike back up to the mine and wondered how he would manage the distance.

Adelaide was back a few minutes later and the trio left the hotel and followed the road until it dead-ended at the start of the hills; after that Doyle and Adelaide hurried up the side of the hill to the entrance of the copper mine, Harry trailed behind them. When he finally arrived, Doyle struck a match and held it out at the entrance to the mine and slowly lowered it. When the match was roughly a foot off the ground, it went out.

"This mine needs to be shut down and sealed off immediately," Adelaide said.

"You may have saved a lot of lives," Doyle told her.

Harry looked at Doyle for a moment then glanced at Adelaide. "Well I guess we can leave, first thing tomorrow." He looked at Doyle again. "Save your husband," he said to Adelaide.

"We all can," Doyle agreed and gave Adelaide an encouraging smile.

Harry watched as Adelaide's face fell. "You're right," she said to Houdini. "This is stupid. And dangerous." She looked up at Doyle. "Which is why I can't let you go with me. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to either of you." She turned abruptly and started back down the hill.

Harry watched her go then looked back at Doyle. "We're not going to just let her leave without us are we?" Harry asked.

Doyle started down the hill after Adelaide. "Of course not. But we'll need to convince her she needs our help." Doyle said. "That's not something our Adelaide seems capable of accepting."

Harry followed Doyle slowly back down the hill.

"Let me talk to her," Doyle said when Harry caught up with him. "I'll try to make her understand we're concerned about her and want to help."

Harry nodded and turned toward the road out of town once they were back in LaPier. "I gonna go see Walt. Tell him what we found and let him know his people can return to the valley."

Harry waited until Doyle was back at the inn before he walked down the road to the mining compound.

H&DH&DH&DH&D

"She says, say hello to the President," Walt said as Harry stood and pulled on his top coat. Harry turned and gave Walt a stunned look. "He's coming to Buffalo tomorrow."

Harry sat back in the chair. "What do you mean?"

"Your mother, I heard her," Walt explained and Harry shook his head.

"No, about the President. He's in New York?"

Walt nodded and bent down to pick up a newspaper lying by his chair. "The newspaper from Cicely had a story about it," Walt said as he handed over the newspaper.

Harry read the headline and felt his stomach plummet. The article said the President would be speaking at the Temple of Music and that he was staying at the King Edward Hotel while he visited the Pan-American Exposition.

Harry jumped to his feet and grabbed his top coat. "Can I have this?" he asked shaking the newspaper as he flung open the door to Walt's cabin.

"Certainly," Walt replied calmly. "What's wrong?"

"No time to explain," Harry said as he left the cabin. "I think I know who the target is!"

He saw Walt's confused expression, but didn't have much time to waste. "Thanks Walt. You may have just saved the President of the United States."

Fatigue forgotten, Harry ran back up the road to LaPier. He ran into the inn and slapped the newspaper down on the table in front of Doyle and Adelaide. "They aren't in England," he said and collapsed in a chair.

Doyle picked up the newspaper and quickly scanned the story, the handed the paper to Adelaide.

"The target isn't the King," Adelaide said with a horrified look as she handed the paper back to Houdini. "It's the President of the United States."

Harry glanced at Doyle; when Arthur nodded in silent agreement, Harry said, "We need to be on the next train to Buffalo" He stood from the table and hurried upstairs. He grabbed his carpet bag, stuffed it with the few items laying around the room and headed back downstairs. Once Adelaide and Doyle joined him, they headed for the door in search of a wagon or cart they could commandeer to get them to Cicely.

H&DH&DH&DH&D

When they arrived at the station, the train was already preparing to leave. "Tell the conductor to wait," Harry said as he went inside the telegraph office.

"How are we supposed to do that?" Houdini heard Adelaide ask, but he'd already disappeared inside. He unfolded the copy of the newspaper with the Pan-American story and scanned the page again looking for someone he could contact and warn them about the threat. Finally he spotted the name of the Secret Service agent in charge at the hotel and grabbed a telegraph form. The message was short and to the point:

Known threat to President. Do not leave hotel room. Will explain on arrival.
Harry Houdini

He handed over the form to the young man behind the counter and watched his eyes bulge slightly as he read the message.

"You sure about this, Mister … Houdini?" the boy asked as he sat at his machine.

"Very sure. Tell whoever is on the other end of that thing to deliver the message immediately." Harry tossed some coins on the counter and headed back toward the train platform.

Harry came around the corner and saw Doyle arguing with the railway official, Adelaide stood nearby next to their meager luggage.

"Come on, Doc," Harry called as he walked past, picking up his carpet bag along the way. "We wouldn't want to hold things up." Harry pulled open the door to their car and helped Adelaide with her case.

"What were you doing?" Doyle asked as the train started moving.

"I sent a telegram to the Secret Service agent at the King Edward Hotel," Harry explained as he stared out the window. "It's four hours to Buffalo; I just hope he takes me seriously."

"What are we going to do once we get there?" Adelaide asked. "We don't have any proof something is going to happen. Just supposition."

"Leave it to me," Harry said. "I can be very persuasive. Who knows, maybe President McKinley is a fan."

H&DH&DH&DH&D

The train pulled into Buffalo late enough to still be considered on time and the trio gathered up their bags and searched for a cab, no simple task with the influx of people for the expo. Harry was ready to give up and just walk regardless of the cold evening air, when Doyle managed to flag down a driver and they climbed in.

They met Agent Branowski in the lobby and Harry was relieved to hear the agent had received the telegram and the President was still in his room. As Houdini followed Branowski back to the President's suite to explain his cryptic telegram, he glanced behind to see Doyle and Adelaide had separated and started to search the hotel for anyone who could be part of the anarchist group.

Branowski directed Harry to the elevator and spent the brief ride up to the President's floor telling Houdini the President had a tight schedule and deviations from the set timetable would create other problems. Harry only nodded along and focused on what he had to do.

Harry hammered on the door to McKinley's suite and brushed past the man who opened the door. "Mr. President, I'm Harry Houdini. I'm here to save your life," Harry announced to the room and looked around.

President McKinley turned from the small group of men around a table and Harry realised he'd interrupted some sort of conference.

"What is the meaning of this, Agent Branowski? I have an appearance to make in twenty minutes."

Harry moved toward the huddle of people around the President and said, "I don't suppose I could convince you to skip it?" Branowski cleared his throat loudly behind him. "I'm serious, sir. It's not safe for you to be here."

Branowski took Houdini's arm and tried to pull the magician away. Harry jerked free and continued. "There is a group, a Polish group, that has been working it's way through Europe the past few years. There have been seven different attacks my friends and I have discovered and at each one of them, a government official was assassinated." Harry glanced around the room. "They are here, and we think they want to kill you."

President McKinley leant back in his chair. "I'm not sure what to make of this, Mr. Houdini. Why would this group want to murder me? As far as I know, no one would wish to hurt me."

Harry sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I don't know the motive, sir. What I do know is this is a serious threat and we need to get you out of here. The expo runs for another two months, plenty of time for you to reschedule a speech."

"Agent Branowski, do you have an opinion?" McKinley asked.

"There is a constable with Scotland Yard downstairs who confirms the story, Mr. President. It may be wise for you to leave the building and give us a chance to search it properly. We have another hotel nearby where you can stay while we look into this further."

Harry watched as McKinley considered the information. After a moment, the President stood and faced the group around him. "I apologise, gentlemen, but it seems there will be a slight delay in my speech."

Harry let out the breath he'd been holding as Agent Branowski nodded and started organizing a group to escort the President to the standby hotel down the street.

Harry took Branowski aside as the group was ready to leave and said, "If it's all the same to you, I meant what I said about helping. I'm coming with you at least as far as the hotel exit. I'll feel a lot better once the President is out of here."

H&DH&DH&DH&D

Harry was on the President's left side as they exited the elevator and started for the hotel exit. They were only half-way across the lobby when Harry looked up and saw Doyle fighting with another man on the mezzanine above them. Harry heard a gunshot and Doyle fell to the floor. The man, Harry recognised him as Benjamin Graves from Adelaide's photo of her husband, turned to fire down at McKinley when another shot rang out and Benjamin collapsed as well.

Branowski and his agents herded the President away from the lobby and Harry ran for the mezzanine, his heart pounded with a combination of adrenaline and fear. Don't be dead. Please, don't be dead, ran through his head with each step as he pelted up the stairs and around the corner. He found Benjamin writhing on the floor a few paces away from Doyle who was slumped, half-seated, against the railing for the mezzanine.

"Doc? Doc!" Harry exclaimed as he landed on his knees at Arthur's side and tried to look at the wound.

"I'm all right," Doyle ground out but Harry didn't hear him as he glanced first at Adelaide on Arthur's other side and then at Benjamin Graves, still moaning softly on the floor. Adelaide turned to the dying assassin and a corner of Harry's mind realised she'd shot her husband to save the President and Arthur. Where did she get a gun, his mind flittered, but he quickly dismissed the mystery and focused on Arthur.

Harry had dealt with any number of injuries over the years, most of them his own. He wasn't squeamish at the sight of blood, but then it had usually been his own, not that of a close friend. He moved Doyle's hand and pressed his handkerchief to the wound, but the cloth and his hands were soon covered in blood. He pressed harder at the wound and Arthur weakly pulled at Harry's hands and started to close his eyes.

Harry didn't know what to do, he jostled Arthur's shoulder to keep him awake and yelled at the two police officers that finally appeared at the top of the stairs. Houdini saw Doyle watching him and jostled Arthur's shoulder again. "Stay with me, Doc. I can't lose you, too."

Harry saw Doyle glance up at him again and he, Arthur, tried to smile but his eyes started to roll back in his head. "Doc?" Harry said near panic. "Doc!" Doyle's eyes closed again and this time Harry couldn't shake him awake.

"Do something!" he yelled at the police officer who knelt beside them.

"Keep the pressure on the wound," the officer said. "We need to get him lying flat."

The officer shifted Doyle until he was lying prone with Harry's suit coat under his head. Adelaide knelt at Harry's side again and tried to help as well.

Harry glanced over at her and saw the tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry about … ," He nodded at Benjamin lying a few steps away with a police officer guarding the body.

Adelaide nodded but didn't say anything.

Another flurry of pounding footsteps heralded the arrival of an ambulance team and Harry was forced away from Arthur as the medical men moved in. In a matter of moments, they assessed Doyle and the still sluggishly bleeding wound before hurriedly strapping him to a gurney and rushing back to the stairs. Harry followed as quickly as he could, but the ambulance attendants were ready to leave by the time Harry made it out the door.

Harry grabbed the driver, leaving a bloody mark on the man's shirt, and asked, "Where are you taking him?"

The driver gave the name of the hospital and Harry let the man go and he watched the ambulance disappear into the night. He knew he needed to follow them but he couldn't get his mind wrapped around what to do about it.

He startled when a hand landed on his arm and he swung around to face Branowski standing behind him. "I have a car," he said and pointed to a vehicle waiting at the curb. "I'll take you and Constable Stratton to the hospital."

Harry nodded and looked around for Adelaide. He saw another police officer escorting her to the same car Branowski pointed out and followed the Secret Service agent. Branowski cranked the car to a start and climbed behind the wheel. He handed Harry his handkerchief as he maneuvered the car out to the road and said, "For your hands."

Harry glanced down at his bloody hands and absently wiped at his fingers. There was more blood spread across his waistcoat and the sleeves of his shirt and he suddenly realised his suit coat was probably still on the floor inside the hotel.

Even though the drive to the hospital was short, by the time they arrived, Doyle was already in surgery to remove the bullet from his abdomen. Harry kept one hand wrapped in Adelaide's as he pushed his way to the nurse talking to Branowski.

"Where can we wait for him?" Harry asked impatiently cutting across their conversation.

"Are you family?" the nurse asked, glancing up and down at Harry and then Adelaide.

"Yes," Harry replied succinctly.

The nurse made a face and Harry was certain she would call him on the lie, but instead she led them to a corridor behind her desk. "You can wait for the surgeon in the room at the end of the hall."

"Thank you," Harry said and pulled Adelaide along behind him. Branowski followed them, but Harry ignored him.

The room they entered was small with a few chairs and a low table in the middle of the space. There was a set of double doors opposite the door they'd entered from the hallway and a row of windows along the wall to their left. The right wall was solid and plain.

Harry sat Adelaide in one of the chairs and proceeded to pace the room. He didn't know what was happening behind the double doors on the other side of the room and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He was shot in the stomach, Harry thought feeling helpless. People don't survive getting shot in the gut. He suddenly felt dizzy and fell into the chair next to Adelaide and covered his face with his hands.

"Harry?" he heard Adelaide say to him. "Are you all right?"

Harry couldn't help the sarcastic bark of laughter that escaped him. "No," he said and glanced at the double doors. "I'm really not."

Harry took a deep breath and faced her. "I'm sorry," he said a moment later. "In all of this I forgot you've had a miserable night of it as well." He reached out for her hand again. "I'm sorry about Benjamin," he told her again. "And what you had to do."

In the corner Branowski perked up and stared at them intently.

Adelaide squeezed Harry's hand and he saw tears in her eyes again. "You were right all along," she said and gazed out the windows at the night. "He never was a spy trying to save people, he was a murderer. He didn't give me a choice, he would have killed the President and probably Doyle, too."

"Yeah, probably," Harry said in a low voice. "But that doesn't make what you did any easier. You loved him."

Adelaide sighed a let go of Harry's hand. "I loved … something," she said. "I loved the memory of him."

Branowski stood in the corner of the room and said nothing. Harry noticed he made a few notes in a small pocketbook, and knew there would be questions from the Secret Service agent sooner or later. He was just as happy with later and stood to pace the small room again.

It was four hours later before Harry saw the double doors swing open. Branowski had left after the first hour or so; he told Houdini he needed to check in with the President and let him know what had happened.

Adelaide had fallen asleep lying across a couple of the chairs, but Harry couldn't sit still. He paced the room or stood watching the sunrise out the windows. When the doors swung open to allow a large, balding man in the room, Harry nudged Adelaide awake and moved to stand in front of the surgeon. Adelaide stood beside him and Harry felt her take his hand as the surgeon motioned them over to the chairs.

"I understand you are here with Mr. Doyle?" the surgeon questioned as he glanced from Harry to Adelaide. "My name is Park."

"Doctor Doyle," Harry corrected. "How is he?" he asked and braced himself to hear the worst.

"He's very lucky," Park replied. "He lost a great deal of blood, but the bullet only nicked a kidney before it buried itself in the muscle of his back. We removed the bullet, sewed up the organ and closed the wound in his belly without complications."

Harry let out the breath he was holding and dared to hope. "So he's going to be all right?" he asked and studied the doctor, he didn't need platitudes, he wanted the truth.

Park smiled and stood up, "The biggest fear with these types of wounds is infection. We've packed the wound according to Lister's method of using carbolic acid. He's going to be in a fair bit of pain for awhile, but if we can prevent any infection he should recover fully."

"Where is he and when can we see him?" Harry asked impatiently. He needed to see for himself Doyle was still among the living and he wanted to make sure the other man knew to stay that way.

"He is still recovering from the surgery and not awake yet," Park said and Harry saw the doctor look him over. "I suggest you both find a hotel and get some rest. You can see him in a few hours."

Houdini was about to protest when Adelaide said, "Thank you, Doctor Park. We'll be back in a few hours. Can you make sure the nursing staff is aware we have your permission to stay with him?"

Park smiled at Adelaide and nodded. "I think that can be arranged. Someone told me the three of you saved President McKinley last night; I think some exceptions can be made regarding visitors."

Park and Harry shook hands and the doctor left back through the double doors.

"Come on, Harry. I think we need to do as he says," Adelaide said and glanced down at Harry's bloodied clothes.

They wandered back up the hall and toward the entrance to the hospital. Just as Harry reached for the outside door, it was opened by a police officer.

"Mr. Houdini? Constable Stratton?" the officer asked as they exited the hospital.

"Yes," Harry answered warily.

The officer touched his cap and said, "My name is Simmons. Agent Branowski sent me. I'm to escort you both back to the King Edward Hotel." Simmons looked at Houdini's bloody shirt and Harry was painfully aware of his appearance. "If you'll follow me." The officer turned and headed toward the curb and a waiting police wagon.

Branowski was waiting for them in the lobby of the King Edward Hotel when Simmons dropped them off. "Mr. Houdini, Constable Stratton," Branowski greeted them. "President McKinley wanted me to extend his sincere gratitude for what you both did last night -"

"He should say this to Doyle, he's the one that got shot," Harry muttered to Adelaide. "I wasn't kidding about giving him a medal."

"How is Doctor Doyle," Branowski asked as he led them to the elevator.

"He should make a full recovery," Adelaide replied. "The surgeon, Dr. Park, says he was very lucky."

Brnaowski nodded and followed them into the elevator and told the attendant a floor number.

Harry and Adelaide traded a questioning look. "Umm, we aren't staying here, Branowski," Harry said as the elevator stopped and the attendant opened the doors. "We aren't actually staying anywhere," he muttered to Adelaide. "We forgot that part of the plan."

"The day manager found your baggage this morning, still waiting at the call desk. One of my men overheard him asking what to do with the bags and I took the liberty of requesting rooms for you," Branowski explained as he opened the door to a suite.

"So what happened with the President's speech," Harry asked as Adelaide wandered around the spacious sitting room.

"It was rescheduled for today," Branowski replied. "Then there is a short reception tomorrow at the Temple of Music on the Expo grounds. We return to Washington tomorrow evening."

Branowski handed Harry the keys for the suite and turned to leave. "There are some questions I need to ask you about this incident," Branowski said as he stood at the door.

"I'm sure there are, are we'll be happy to answer them for you," Harry glanced at Adelaide as she collapsed on the sofa. "Later."

The Secret Service agent followed Houdini's glance and nodded. Harry closed the door firmly behind the agent.

Harry picked up Adelaide's travel case and satchel looked through the doors leading off the sitting room. One of the bedrooms had two beds the other a single. He placed her case in the room on the right side with the single bed and went back to the sitting room and helped Adelaide to her feet.

"You need to rest," he told her.

"We both do," she reminded him, and glanced at Houdini's clothes. "And a bath."

Harry looked down at himself and saw the dried blood smeared across his clothes. "And a new suit," he added with a wry smile.

H&DH&DH&DH&D

Harry took a bath and changed his clothes, but sleep was out of the question. He was worried about Doyle, certainly, but he also didn't want to dream about his mother. The dreams were too vivid and scared him more than a little. He was looking at the little square of paper with his dream test on it more and more just to make sure he really was awake.

After an hour he gave up on the bed and wandered around the suite. He read the newspaper account of the attempted assassination; it was an early report and their names weren't mentioned, instead the report called them unnamed sources. He knew the press would find out the truth sooner or later and decided he'd deal with that fallout when he had to. He pushed the newspaper aside and stared around the room.

"I can't wait any longer," he said aloud to the empty room.

He tapped at Adelaide's door and when he got no response, cracked the door open enough to see she was soundly asleep. He left a note for her in the sitting room telling her he'd gone back to the hospital then left.

He marched through the hospital until he met the same nurse from the night before and asked her where Doyle was. She checked her files and directed Harry down a different corridor from the small waiting room, and up the stairs to the wards. Harry opened the door to the private room and found Doyle asleep in the bed. A tube ran from Arthur's arm to a bag hanging next to the bed. Doyle looked pale and his face was pinched in pain, but Harry was just happy to see Arthur was breathing and alive.

The room had a desk in one corner under a window. The table by the bed held a lamp as well as pitcher and glass, but nothing else. Harry pulled the desk chair out and carried it over to the bed. He sat beside the bed and watched Doyle sleep for a moment before saying, "You have to stop doing this to me, Doc. I can't handle any more of you and hospitals."

Doyle, of course, said nothing.

Harry leant back in the chair, and propped his feet on the edge of Doyle's bed. He fought off sleep as best he could, but found himself nodding off several times only to jerk awake from an unfamiliar sound in the hospital or a nurse that entered to check the patient or change the bandaging around his middle. Each time the nurse came to check on Arthur, Harry shifted in the chair and watched intently for any sign Doyle was waking up, but he remained stubbornly insensate.

Several hours later, Adelaide joined him; she looked better for the sleep she'd managed and Harry found another chair for her. They waited together for Arthur to regain consciousness.

Doyle woke slowly. He opened his eyes on an unfamiliar room and his mind was a blank as to why he was there. The light was dim and he couldn't see much beyond the circle of lamplight by the bed. He looked down at himself and noted the IV line as well as the institutional bedcovering. As he glanced back up around the right side of the room he decided it was a hospital, but he still couldn't piece together what happened. Until the pain made itself known.

He gasped and looked back down at his side. He carefully felt the padding and the bandaging wrapped around his middle and memory slammed back into place. Benjamin, the President, getting shot. He remembered Harry frantically pushing his, Arthur's, hands away to see the wound and Houdini yelling for someone to help him.

Doyle glanced to his left and wasn't very surprised to see Houdini slumped in a chair at the end of the bed, feet up on the mattress and his suit coat used as a makeshift blanket. Haven't we been here before, Arthur thought as he watched Harry sleep. Unlike a few months ago after the ergot poisoning, Doyle could tell Houdini was not sleeping sound, instead Harry was restless and mumbling denials softly. Doyle wondered if he was reliving the assassination attempt or if it was something else.

"Houdini," Doyle said aloud and was surprised at how weak his voice sounded.

Weak or not it was enough as Harry woke with a start and nearly fell out of the chair. He glanced around for a moment, and when he saw Doyle was awake a broad smile lit up his otherwise haggard face.

"Hey, you're awake," Harry said in a whisper and scooted the chair closer to the head of the bed. "Adelaide will be mad she missed this." Houdini reached for the pitcher and poured a glass of water and handed it to Doyle

Doyle looked around as he sipped at the water and realised the other member of their trio was nowhere in sight.

"She needed to sleep in a real bed after every that happened," Harry explained. "She'll be back in a few hours."

Doyle tried to give Harry a disapproving look but he was too tired. "You should be in a real bed, too," he mumbled as he handed back the glass and closed his eyes.

He heard Harry shift in the chair. "It wouldn't matter, I'm not sleeping that much anyway."

Before he drifted off again, Doyle felt the bed covers rearranged around him and then a weight at the foot of the bed. In his mind's eye, he saw Houdini with his feet up on the end of the bed and the suit coat wrapped around his front.

H&DH&DH&DH&D

The next time Doyle woke up the room was flooded with late afternoon light and Adelaide sat near the head of the bed reading a book. Harry stared out a window, a crumpled telegraph form on the table beside him.

"Hello, you," Adelaide said and smiled as she put down the book and squeezed his hand. "I'm so glad to see you awake."

He smiled at her and Arthur noticed she looked rested and she was wearing a different dress than he remembered from the hotel. Harry, looked terrible. He had dark circles under his eyes, from lack of sleep, and was still wearing the trousers and waistcoat he recalled from his brief moment of wakefulness before. How long have I been here, he wondered.

"Two days," Harry answered and walked over to the side of the bed to stand behind Adelaide.

Doyle looked at him quizzically. "When did you become a mind reader?" Arthur asked and tried to sit up further in the bed. The pain hit him the same time Harry's hands landed on his shoulders. "You really don't want to do that, Doc," he said and eased Doyle back down in the bed.

Arthur silently agreed and waited for the pain to ebb.

"The doctor says you're going to be fine," Adelaide said as Doyle carefully felt around the bandage on his side.

Harry had moved back to the window and Doyle studied the other man. He's angry about something, Doyle realised. "Something's happened," he said and Harry's posture changed again, this time to something resembling defeat.

Adelaide turned toward Harry, but Houdini refused to elaborate. "Agent Branowski sent a telegram a little while ago," Adelaide started to explain. "There was another attempt on the President's life," she finished in a whisper.

"Someone named Leon Czolgosz shot him," Harry said angrily as he stalked back to the bed and sat in the other chair. "All of what we did, all of this," Harry waved an arm at Doyle. "Was for nothing. You almost died and they still won."

Adelaide laid a hand on Harry's arm. Doyle was glad to see he accepted the offer of comfort and didn't shake off her hand.

"Is he … ," Doyle started to ask.

"No," Adelaide replied. "He was shot in the stomach, however he was still alive last we heard."

Doyle ran a hand over his own wound once again and sighed. "Medicine can do amazing things. I survived, he could very well live through this as well."

"Maybe," Harry mumbled.

The conversation was interrupted as a doctor and nurse entered the room.

"Ahh, Doctor Doyle, you're awake I see," the doctor said as he came to stand near the bed. "My name is Doctor Lawrence Barton. Doctor Park, who performed your surgery, was called away to Niagara Falls for an emergency."

Harry stood and he and Adelaide moved over toward the window. The doctor glanced at them, then at the nurse as she shook her head.

"We aren't leaving," Harry said from the window. "Just do what you need to do and ignore us."

"It's all right," Doyle confirmed and the doctor set about examining Arthur.

He hmm'ed and ahh'ed and dictated notes to the nurse as he removed the bandages. "No signs of infection," the doctor said and Doyle heaved a sigh of relief. He'd seen enough wounds during the Boer War to know gangrene and infection killed far more often than the lead bullets.

"When can he leave," Harry asked and Adelaide shushed him.

The doctor smiled at Doyle. "If you continue to heal this well, I don't see why you can't be released in a week or so."

"Good, I'll see what ships are sailing then," Harry said decisively from the window.

"Oh, no," the doctor held up his hands. "He can be released from the hospital. But long distance travel is still out of the question." He turned to Doyle. "There was muscle and organ damage we had to repair. You need time to heal and regain your strength."

Doyle nodded. "I understand. Don't worry I'll follow doctor's orders." The doctor gave instructions for the nurse to re-bandage the wound and left.

Once the nurse finished and was gone as well, Doyle turned to Harry and said, "You need to follow doctor's orders, too."

Harry grunted but said nothing as he sat back down by the bed.

Doyle smiled. "Then follow a friend's advice," he said gently. "You need to sleep, Harry, in an actual bed not that chair."

Harry shook his head and refused to look at Doyle.

"Hey," Doyle said and grasped Harry's arm. "You heard the doctor. I'm going to be fine. Whatever else is bothering you, we will deal with it. All right?"

"Come on, Harry," Adelaide said from behind Houdini. "Let's let Doctor Doyle get some rest. We'll come back in the morning." She glanced at Arthur and Doyle nodded.

Houdini sighed and looked at Doyle. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Now who's hovering?" Doyle asked and was glad to see Harry smile at the reminder.

"Fine. We'll go," Harry said and stood up. "No promises on the sleep though."

H&DH&DH&DH&D

Doyle was making notes in a small pocket book when Harry arrived early the next afternoon. He would resurrect Holmes he'd decided, but he'd do it in such a way as to keep the detective dead as well; everyone won. The Strand and its readers got one last Holmes story, and he could maybe finally put the detective to rest for good.

He's spent the morning thinking about a lot of things, mostly about Touie and the children, but also the new additions to his life in the form of Harry and Adelaide. As he thought about their cases and their unexpected close friendship, several different things clicked in his imagination and he asked a nurse for some paper and a pen.

There were the stories of the Cù Sìth mixed in with the yeth dog. He remembered his feelings about the Devonshire moor and the isolation of the area. The glowing paint and other effects Vladimir Palinov used in his portrayal of Spring Heel'd Jack swirled around in his mind and he had the beginnings of a ghost story with a spectral dog on the moor.

"Holmes needs a mystery," Doyle muttered to himself.

He thought again about the vision, hallucination? of Holmes after he was shot and remembered the patient at Bethlem Royal who also fancied himself as Sherlock Holmes. There could be an interesting twist with an escaped mental patient, he thought and jotted down a few more notes.

Harry came through the door and Doyle quickly closed the book. He wasn't sure why he hid what he was doing, and told himself he didn't want Harry pestering him about the story.

Houdini didn't seem to notice as he sat in the chair by the bed. "You're sitting up," Harry stated the obvious.

That's not like him, Doyle noted. What's happened now? Doyle nodded and smiled "Nothing gets by you does it? Doctor Barton is satisfied with how I'm healing."

"Any chance he will let you out of here early?" Harry asked glancing around the room as if the doctor would pop out of a corner with Doyle's discharge papers.

"Not for another few days, the stitches still need time to take," Doyle answered with a frown. Something is bothering him, he realised. Did the President …

"Have you heard anything from Agent Barnowski about the President?" Doyle asked.

Harry snorted and stood to pace the room. "Oh, yeah, we've heard plenty," he said cryptically.

Doyle gave him a quizzical look and Harry sighed. "According to the papers, the President seems on the mend," he said and Doyle relaxed. "Branowski, however is at the hotel daily wanting to question me and Adelaide about Benjamin, the anarchists, and anything else he can think of."

"He hasn't been to see me, yet," Doyle said.

"That's because I told him he could deal with me if he had something to ask," Harry said heatedly.

"It's his job -" Doyle started to say.

"He thinks Adelaide was somehow a part of this," Harry retorted. "He can't believe she thought Benjamin was dead all this time and instead he thinks she just had a last minute change of heart." Harry paced the corner of the room and clenched his fists.

Doyle watched from the bed, but wasn't sure what he could do.

"Harry sit down and tell me what's happened," Doyle said and gestured at the chair near the bed.

Harry shook his head, but came back to the bed and sat down. "Yesterday, after we left you, Branowski was waiting at the hotel. I didn't think anything of it and left Adelaide with him to go take care of a few things." Harry sighed. "When I got back, Branowski was accusing Addy of being part of the plot and the two of us were somehow helping her."

"What did she tell him?"

"I didn't have a chance to say anything before Harry swooped down on him," Adelaide said as she came in the room. Harry offered her his chair, and she sat at the bed and squeezed Doyle's hand. "I'm glad you're feeling better," she told him with a smile.

Doyle smiled at her then cocked a questioning eyebrow as he glanced from one to the other.

"I may have said a few things to Branowski about leaving you and Addy alone, and he could talk to me if he had anything else to ask us," Harry admitted from where he stood at the end of the bed. "I told him everything we knew about the group and the code we discovered. I think he understands now we really did figure the plot out and were only trying to help."

"I showed him the newspaper with the Walbridge advertisement and luckily Benjamin had the Tom Sawyer book in his coat pocket, so the Secret Service could confirm what we told them," Adelaide added.

"I told him to give that back to you, by the way," Harry said. "Like you said, it's the last thing of Benjamin's you have."

They were interrupted by a nurse bringing a lunch tray for Doyle. Harry glanced at the bland food on the tray and made a face. Doyle had to admit he agreed with the sentiment as he toyed with the thin oatmeal in the bowl.

Harry helped Adelaide to her feet as they prepared to leave Doyle to his meal.

"I'll try to sneak in some real food for your dinner," Harry said with a cheeky grin as he followed Adelaide out the door.

H&DH&DH&DH&D

Over the next few days, Doyle continued to improve and was released from the hospital by the end of the week with instructions on changing the bandages and a promise to take things slow.

Harry stood at Doyle's left side as they entered the suite at the King Edward Hotel ready to help if the cane in Arthur's right hand wasn't enough support. "Our room is through there," he said and pointed to the left. "Adelaide has the room on the other side."

"Our room?" Doyle asked as Harry started them moving in the direction of the bedroom.

"Yeah. The doctor said you would need help still, so sharing a room is just easier."

Doyle hobbled into the room and saw two beds and a door off to the right, presumably a bathroom. He sat on one of the beds and was surprised how tired he felt after the short walk through the hotel and up to the suite. He heard a knock at the outside door and glanced out into the sitting room.

Adelaide tapped at the open bedroom door a moment later and walked in. "Agent Branowski is here," she said. "He wants to talk to us. He says it's important."

Harry turned to the door and Doyle caught a glimpse of irritation on Houdini's face. "Tell him I'll be there in a minute," Harry requested in a neutral voice and turned back to Doyle.

"No," Doyle said slowing standing again. "I want to hear what he has to say as well."

Harry started to protest, but Arthur ignored it and started for the sitting room at a slow shuffle.

Branowski was standing by the windows when the trio entered the sitting room and Doyle saw immediately that whatever he had to say wouldn't be good news. Arthur sat in the chair from the desk and Harry stood beside him, arms crossed stiffly across his chest. Adelaide took the nearby sofa as Branowski walked over to Doyle.

"Doctor Doyle," Branowski greeted and shook Doyle's hand. "I'm happy to see you are recovering from your wound."

Doyle thought he looked anything but happy, but accepted the sentiment graciously. "Thank you, Agent Branowski, I should be back to my old self in no time."

"Good. That's good," Branowski said absently and wandered around the room.

"What did you need to see us about," Harry prompted and the Secret Service agent sighed.

"You're going to read it in the papers in a few hours, but after everything that's happened, I thought you should hear the news in person." Branowski took a deep breath. "President McKinley died, a few hours ago."

Adelaide gasped and Doyle heard her whisper, "No." as she glanced over at Branowski.

Arthur bowed his head for a moment but Harry moved away from all of them and paced the space by the bedroom door.

"What happened?" Harry finally asked. "I thought he was recovering."

"Infection," the agent replied. "He was doing all right for a day or so then …"

"It's not that uncommon," Doyle said quietly.

Branowski nodded and turned to the door. "I wanted you to hear it from me," he said, then stopped in front of Adelaide, Harry took a few steps closer to her and stood with his hands held loosely at his sides. "Constable, I owe you an apology. I checked into your story and I realised I was out-of-line accusing you," he glanced over at Harry and took something from his coat pocket. "Accusing any of you of playing any role other than that of stepping in to help." He handed her Benjamin's copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

Adelaide took the book and nodded her acknowledgment. Harry took a step back.

Branowski picked up his hat from the table near the door. "Thank you again," he said and opened the door. "Scotland Yard is lucky to have the three of you." He left the room and closed the door.

Harry slumped to the sofa, sat next to Adelaide, and stared across the room at nothing. "I want to go home," Doyle heard him mumble.

Doyle and Adelaide traded a worried look and Adelaide asked, "You want to go to New York City?"

Harry glanced at her then over at Doyle. "No." He shook his head. "I want to go back to London. Get away from here and everything that's happened."

"I would agree with that," Doyle said. "I miss the children."

Harry smiled crookedly. "Oh yes, how are we going to explain this to them?" Harry asked, waving a hand in Doyle's direction. "You come to America with me and get shot. They'll never speak to me again."

"Somehow I doubt that," Doyle replied with a smile. He started to stand and Harry jumped up to help. "I think my children have grown rather fond of you. Though if the words 'Uncle Houdini' pass either of their lips I may reconsider how often you are at my house."

Harry booked passage on the S.S. Teutonic for the return trip to London. He made sure he booked one of the new first class suites with adjoining bedrooms. Doyle was doing remarkably well, but still needed help with the bandages and getting dressed. He also knew Adelaide would spend at least the first few days prostrated in bed with seasickness so it would just be easier for everyone if the three of them were together.

They arrived in New York City a few days before the sailing and booked into the same hotel Harry used a few weeks previous as it was close to the port.

Harry stood at the window late the next morning, a glass of brown liquid in his hand; a half empty bottle and a telegram sat on the table behind him. He drank from the glass and looked out at the bustle in the street below.

He heard the tap-step, tap-step as Doyle limped into the room and Harry glanced over at him and noted Arthur moved almost normally as long as he used the cane.

"What are you drinking," Doyle asked curiously as he came around the table and stood next to Houdini. The brown liquid in the glass fizzed slightly as he took another drink.

"A kid downstairs was selling it," Harry said and showed Arthur the bottle. He watched as Doyle read the company's name in the flowing script on the bottle.

"What is it?"

Harry shrugged. "Not sure, kid called it soda water. It tastes OK, though. Here." Harry handed him the glass and Doyle took a cautionary sniff at the contents then a sip and made a face.

"I think I'll stick with scotch," Doyle said and handed the glass back.

"Suit yourself. Maybe I'll find the kid and take some back to London with us."

They watched the people far below in silence for a few minutes.

"Are you going to visit your mother before we leave?" Doyle asked quietly and looked at Houdini.

Harry sighed. "Yes." Harry nodded to the telegram on the table behind them. "Theo sent that to tell me the stone unveiling is this afternoon. Good timing for me, right?" Harry tried to smile and stared back out at the street.

He felt Arthur rest a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe it is," he said. "Will you be all right?"

Houdini huffed out a small laugh. "I promise not to start any fights with my brother this time."

"That's not what I meant."

Harry glanced over at Doyle and said, "I know. And thanks, but I'll be fine."

Doyle clapped his hand on Harry's shoulder once then moved over to a chair and sat down.

"Where's Adelaide?" he asked and picked up the newspaper Harry had left on the side table, President McKinley's funeral was front page news.

"She said something about needing a dress for the trip home," Harry said as he walked back into the bedroom for his suit coat.

He came back out a few minutes later in a black suit coat and grabbed his top coat from the stand by the door. "I should be back later this evening," he said.

Doyle glanced up from the paper. "Do what you need to do, we'll be here."

Harry nodded his thanks and left.

H&DH&DH&DH&D

Harry stood at the entrance to the cemetery and hesitated. He could see the gathering of people down below and wasn't sure what Theo would do when he saw Harry was there.

When Houdini had left a month ago, Theo was angry and hurt Harry refused to stay and play his part in the rituals Theo thought were important. This was another of those rituals today, but Harry hoped if he went through with the formalities his mother would stop haunting his dreams.

Houdini took a deep breath and started to walk down the hill. He saw several heads turn to watch his progress and Theo left the huddle of people near the shrouded stone and met Harry half-way.

"Ehrich," Theo said noncommittally as Harry stopped beside him. "I see you got my telegram."

"Theo." Harry said and waited. He knew Theo would be justified in tossing him out on his ear after what happened at the funeral.

After a moment Theo held out his hand and Harry shook it. As they turned to walk down the hill together, Theo reached into his pocket and pulled out a small square of paper. "I think this is yours," he said and handed Harry the photograph of Cecilia he'd left at the grave a few weeks ago. "I found the picture, and the stones one morning when I went out to visit her."

Harry took the photo and put it in his pocket.

They said the prayers and Harry and Theo removed the shroud from the gravestone. Harry read the words engraved on the stone and nodded to himself with approval. He started to walk away and Theo caught up with him as he started back up the hill. He glanced around a few times and was relieved he didn't see the young woman or his mother watching him.

"I don't suppose you can stay," Theo said as they walked back along the road to the house.

Harry shook his head. "We have passage booked for London," Harry said and looked back at the headstone in the distance.

Theo sighed. "Your family is here," he said quietly. "Why are you running away from us?"

Harry stopped walking and turned to face his brother. "I'm not running," he said heatedly and paused to reign in his temper. "I'm not running," he said again in a neutral tone. "I don't belong here, my life is over there." Harry waved vaguely to the east.

Theo ducked his head for a moment and turned away. As Harry walked away, Theo turned and said, "Goodbye … Harry," he said and held out his hand.

Houdini turned back. He saw Theo standing in the fading October light and shook the outstretched hand. "Goodbye, Theo."

H&DH&DH&DH&D

Harry leant on the rail and watched the New York skyline dwindle in the distance; he watched the city light up as evening fell and thought about the last month. Doyle had been shot, could have died. Adelaide had actually fired a gun and did kill her husband, someone she'd trusted and whom she long-thought was a good man. They'd saved Mrs Reid but couldn't save the President of the United States. And he'd said goodbye to the most important person in his life. All in all, it would be a long time before he had any desire to return to the United States.

He heard the tap-step as Doyle walked up to stand on one side of him while Adelaide stood on his other. He and Doyle shared a look and Harry suspected Doyle knew what he was thinking about. He turned to see how Adelaide was doing and noticed she already looked a bit pale and sweaty; and when a particularly rough wave hit the side of the ship and she grabbed his arm to keep her feet.

"I think we should go back to the suite," Doyle said as he looked at Adelaide.

"Agreed," Harry said. "Nothing left to see out here anyway." He gazed one last time and the lights in the far distance then held on to Adelaide and led the way back down to their first-class cabin.

"I'll be all right," Adelaide said at the door to her room. "I just need a few days."

"Uh huh," Harry replied and opened the door for her. "Go, before you throw up all over my shoes."

"It would only be fair," Adelaide said as she closed the door.

Harry smiled and called through the door, "See if I bring you any dinner later."

She didn't reply and Harry only heard a slight groan as he assumed she crawled into the bed.

Harry returned to the sitting room to see Doyle at the desk paging through a small book. He wandered over to the desk in time to see Doyle quickly close the book and stuff it in his suit coat pocket. "I saw that," he said as Arthur turned to face him. "Secrets, Doc?"

Doyle smiled. "No, not as such, just some notes."

Harry leant against the desk and crossed his arms. "Notes. So does this mean you've finally conquered the worst case of writer's block in history? So what's it about?"

Doyle draped one arm over the back of the chair so he faced Harry and replied, "I'm taking the advice of a friend and," he took a deep breath. "Writing a Holmes story."

Harry's face broke out in a genuine smile. "Excellent! No more Boer War."

Doyle grimaced. "Yes, well, it's not even started yet. There may not be any story."

Harry slapped lightly at Doyle's arm. "Nah, I trust you, Doc. It'll be great."

Two nights later, Doyle sat at the desk and gazed down at the blank sheet of paper and realised he was happy for the first time in a long time. He took the telegram out of his pocket and read it again.

Have reviewed case for Mrs D. Will come to London in the new year for consult.
Dr. H Biggs
PS Houdini

Harry hadn't given up hope. Doyle wondered for a moment how Houdini had managed to get one of the best respiratory specialists in the country to agree with see Touie, and decided he didn't really care. Once again, Houdini worked his magic and Doyle was grateful. He glanced at the post-script and laughed lightly. Apparently Doctor Biggs wanted him to know how the meeting had been arranged in case Harry forgot to mention it on his own.

Doyle set the telegram aside, took up the pen and started to write with an ease he'd feared lost.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left behind him the night before.

As he covered page after page with the beginning of the story, he heard Adelaide return to her room. He paused for a moment to reflect on another bit of good news. He was happy she had decided to stay at Scotland Yard and wondered what new adventures they would have together.

He had just finished a rough description of the Baskerville Curse when he heard the door slam open and Houdini staggered into the room. He was clearly afraid of something, and was only barely managing to hold himself together.

"Harry!" Doyle exclaimed as the other man sank onto the sofa.

Doyle limped over and found Harry curled on his side, bow tie undone, waistcoat half unbuttoned and he was pale and sweating. "Harry? Can you hear me?" Doyle asked as he painfully sat on the edge of the sofa next to Houdini and checked the other man's pulse and looked at his eyes.

"Doctor Doyle?" Adelaide asked coming out of her room. "What's the mat - oh."

"Adelaide, pour some brandy," Doyle requested as he focused again on Houdini. "Harry? Talk to me. What happened?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and took another shuddering breath.

Adelaide handed him a glass with a finger of brandy in it and Doyle wrapped an arm around Harry to get him sat up. He pushed the tumbler against Harry's lips and tipped the glass slightly. He pulled the glass back when Houdini swallowed and started to choke, but kept one arm braced around Harry so he didn't fall over.

Harry slowly met Doyle's gaze and said in a whisper, "It wasn't a dream." He opened his hand and Doyle took a crumpled piece of paper from him. He opened it and saw it was Harry's dream test. "I'm really going insane."

Doyle put the paper aside and said, "You are not insane Harry, I promise you."

Harry just shook his head in denial. "I could read the paper. I saw her and I could read the paper."

It didn't take a genius to know who the 'her' was Harry referred to and Doyle sucked in a breath, his face creased with worry.

Adelaide started to ask a question and Doyle shook his head at her. He kept one hand on Harry's arm and mouthed 'Paper and pen'. She hurried to the desk and found a scrap of paper.

Doyle scribbled a note and said, "Find the steward. I don't care who he has to wake up, but I need this now."

Adelaide glanced at the note and nodded before she left the room.

Doyle turned back to Houdini and asked, "Harry, do you trust me?"

Harry looked at Doyle and nodded. "Of course."

"I think I know what's going on and how to fix it, but you won't like it."

"I'm going insane," Harry said again and his eyes drifted to the corner of the room; Doyle suspected he knew what it was Harry saw as the other man shuddered and looked away again.

Doyle pressed the back of his fingers to Harry's forehead and felt the beginnings of a fever. This needs to stop, Doyle thought and glanced at the door wondering where Adelaide was with the medicine he'd requested.

A few minutes later there was a tap at the door and Adelaide returned with a stoppered bottle and the steward. "I thought we would need some help moving him," Adelaide explained as the steward stepped around to the sofa.

"Good thinking," Doyle told her and slowly got to his feet. "We need to get him in bed, through here," Doyle directed to the steward.

The steward bent down to take Harry's arm, and jumped back when Houdini jerked away from him. "Harry, I need his help to get you in bed," Doyle said in a low voice.

Harry glowered at the steward and tried to stand. "I can walk." As soon as he was up, however, his legs started to buckle and the steward grabbed for him and half-carried Houdini into the room he and Doyle shared.

Arthur followed and once Harry was situated on the bed, he thanked the steward and dismissed him. Adelaide set the glass of brandy on the bedside table and helped him get Harry out of his tuxedo jacket and waistcoat. "I'll wait outside," she whispered to Doyle before she left.

Harry eyed the medicine bottle blearily as Doyle set it on the bedside table finished helping Harry get undressed and into the bed. "I don't want that, Doc," Harry said quietly.

Doyle sat on the bed beside Harry and said, "I told you I didn't think you'd like it." Doyle picked up the bottle and squeezed the rubber stopper before removing it from the bottle. "You are beyond exhausted, Harry. You've been existing on a couple of hours of sleep a night since you mother died. You need sleep. What you saw, or what you think you saw, is your brain playing tricks, that's all."

"But the paper," Harry argued.

Doyle carefully measured the dose of laudanum into the tumbler of brandy and handed the glass to Houdini. "How often do you look at that piece of paper?" Doyle asked.

Harry looked away. "A lot," he finally admitted.

"Exactly. You've looked at it so often you've memorized it. You can read it because your brain knows what it says. Didn't you read that part in the book?"

Houdini shook his head, but Doyle noticed he was distracted. Harry sat thinking for a moment then said, "You don't think it's a ghost. You always think it's a ghost."

Doyle's lips twitched in a tiny smile. "I may be willing to look at more options than you, but that doesn't mean everything has to be supernatural. I believe there's something else out there for us after we die, but what you're experiencing right now is sleep deprivation, which is very serious. If you don't get enough sleep, the brain can't cope, the result is hallucinations. If you still see your mother after you've been well-rested for a time, then I'll tell you you're seeing her ghost."

Harry glanced up at Arthur and Doyle was amazed to see the level of trust Houdini had in him.

"You still need to drink that," Doyle reminded him and nudged the glass.

"I'm afraid to sleep," Harry mumbled. "I always see … her. She wants something from me and I don't know what."

"It may be easier to solve it once you've had enough rest. We'll figure it out, we always do."

Harry studied Arthur's face for a long moment. Then downed the contents of the glass in a gulp and made a face.

Doyle took back the glass and watched as Harry's eyes slowly closed. As Houdini's breathing evened out, Doyle slowly levered himself to his feet, pulled the bed covers around him and left the room.

Adelaide was curled on the sofa waiting for him. Doyle pulled the door almost closed and limped over to the sofa and sat next to her.

"Will he be all right?" Adelaide asked after a few minutes silence and glanced back at the bedroom door.

Doyle nodded. "The laudanum will help him sleep and that's what he needs the most. Everything else we can take as it comes."

They sat in silence for a moment, then Doyle said, "Come on, we should be in bed as well."

Arthur re-entered the bedroom quietly and checked Houdini. He placed his hand on the magician's forehead and noted the fever seemed less. He was also pleased to see Houdini seemed to be sleeping peacefully, none of the twitching or muttering he'd observed over the past few weeks.

He put the laudanum bottle out of sight and told himself to give it back to the steward in the morning. Hopefully, after one good night's rest, Harry would be able to fall asleep without the drug. It was far too easy to become addicted to it, and while Doyle didn't think Harry would take it any longer than Arthur felt was necessary, he didn't want to risk it.

H&DH&DH&DH&D

It was close to noon before Doyle heard noises coming from their room and a few minutes later a bedraggled Houdini appeared in the sitting room wearing a dressing gown over the clothes he slept in.

"How are you feeling," Doyle asked as he joined Harry on the sofa and looked the other man over.

"How long was I out?" Harry asked and glanced around the room.

"Almost twelve hours," Doyle replied and checked Harry's pulse. "How do you feel?" he asked again.

"Oh, umm, better actually," Harry admitted and rested his head on the back of the sofa while Doyle checked him over.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Harry rolled his head toward Arthur. "You mean did I have any more visions of my mother."

Doyle waited patiently.

Harry huffed a breath and said, "No. No weird dreams and I'm not seeing … her now."

"Good," Arthur said and stood up. "Adelaide went for a walk on deck a little while ago and will probably be back soon. You might consider getting cleaned up and dressed. Then we'll round off your cure with a proper meal."

Harry smiled and wandered back to the bedroom. At the door he hesitated. "Is it that simple?" he asked.

Doyle sat at the desk and turned to face Houdini. "It's not simple at all. Everyone grieves differently, Harry. You have to let yourself. In the meantime, you need to take things easier and generally make sure you're taking care of yourself."

"You're sure I'm not going insane?"

Arthur smiled. "You're no more insane now than you were when I first met you."

"I think I was just insulted," Harry retorted with a smile at the door to the bedroom.

Doyle turned back to the desk but looked over when Harry said, "Arthur? Thank you."

Arthur nodded. "You're more than welcome, Harry."

The Private Journal of Adelaide Stratton

Entry 10 (con't)

We dock in Liverpool in just a few hours. So much has changed since we left England a little over a month ago. I joined Scotland Yard to find answers about Benjamin and I've done that. They may not be the answers I wanted to hear, but it is the truth and that's the important part. I've also decided to stay with the police force; I've found something I'm good at and I love what I do, how many people can say that?

I think Doctor Doyle has found his love of writing again as well. He's spent most of the trip home writing when he wasn't looking after Harry. The pages are carefully stacked together in my satchel so they don't get smudged or creased. I look forward to reading it once it's done. Doyle claims it's bad luck for anyone to read a book before it's finished, but I suspect Harry has had a peek or two when Arthur wasn't looking.

Harry is doing better after several nights of actual sleep. I don't think he's seen any more visions of his mother. He wouldn't necessarily tell me, but he would tell Doyle and the doctor has been too relaxed to make me think he's worrying about Harry. Harry plans to return to the theater and resume his shows, he has a contract he says that can't be broken. I'm just happy he's decided to stay in London. The three of us make a great team and I can't wait to see what's in store for us next.

Dialog for The Pall of LaPier written by David Hoselton.
The first lines of The Hound of the Baskervilles written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle