"I cannot create embroidery anymore," Florence Nightingale remarks with nostalgia but no self-pity as she fingers a quantity of blue ribbon, winsomely stitched with five-petalled daisies and little round roses, that her visitor has deposited upon the counterpane of her bed. "My hands can no longer manage a needle." Indeed, they are misshapen from constant writing, which is far more important. Needlecraft is a frivolous pursuit. Such are the thoughts of the once-famous Lady with the Lamp as she turns her placid attention to her visitor. "You say Lord Rodney Whimbrel wishes me to have these. Why?"

Standing over her -- for he has not been invited to have a seat; even though she has engaged Sherlock Holmes to help her, still, his intrusion must not last long -- the famous detective responds, "Lord Whimbrel hopes in this way to convey that the matter is ended completely, and that he remains your most loyal admirer."

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