Watson looked at his friend, horrified. "But why do they want to hurt Lestrade?" he asked.

"Any number of reasons, Watson," Holmes answered, "Fortunately we can narrow down the possibilities. First of all, we know that someone was supposed to kidnap her from her brother's house. After that failed, she was attacked."

He paused and shook his head. "Until we get more information I can offer no theories," he continued, "And the first thing I need to find out is what Thomas Lestrade's role in this is. I have a feeling that once that is known, the rest will fall into place."

"But how are you going to find that out?" Watson asked, "You heard what he said about staying out of this. I doubt he would tell you."

"Ah, Watson," Holmes said, "There are other ways of getting information than the direct way." He smiled.

Two hours later, back at their Baker Street lodgings, Holmes came out of his room. Only it didn't look like Holmes. He had raven-black hair, grey eyes, and he sported a moustache. In place of the Victorian-style clothes, he wore a white polo shirt, khaki jeans, and black boots.

"Where are you going in that getup, Holmes?" Watson queried. Holmes just smiled and walked out the door.

Waiting on the corner for a cab, Holmes pulled out a small white card. On it was the address of an exclusive restaurant, so exclusive that it was known only as The Restaurant, and only by members. The members consisted of Americans who had businesses in New London or other parts of England.

Two hours earlier, Holmes had found out that Thomas Lestrade was a member, and that The Restaurant was the one Lestrade had been asked to meet her brother at. After getting this bit of information, it was a simple matter of forging a membership card. He already had forged papers showing that he owned a business. All he had to do was change it a bit to show that he was an American.

When he arrived at the restaurant, a burly guard said in a gruff voice, "Members only."

Holmes grinned in a disarming manner. "I am a member," he said, with an American accent, and pulled out his forged card. The guard took it suspiciously and studied it.

"All right, Mr. Baker," he allowed, "Everything seems to be in order. Sorry for the inconvenience. Enjoy your meal, drink, or whatever it is you decide to do."

He stepped aside and pulled open the door. As Holmes passed, he noticed that the boots that the guard was wearing were the same size and shape as one of the sets of footprints.