(a hovercar pulls up beside it)

(Mycroft and Sir Regis exit)

Mycroft Holmes: (recovering from amazement) It seems Da Vinci was correct, and man is capable of flying in a manner such as he suggested. (looks at the white-washed mansions) In comparison to the steel construction I've witnessed thus far, a remarkable job has been done in preserving the old place.

Sir Regis Mansbridge: So I've heard. (closes and locks the hovercar)

(they enter the building)

Desk Clerk: (looks up) Hello. Who might you be?

Mycroft: Mr. Mycroft Holmes, my good man. This is Sor Regis Mansbridge. (motions towards him)

Sir Regis: (weak wave)

Desk Clerk: (eyes widen and he opens his mouth but stops) I'll, uh, fetch the manager. (strides briskly off)

Mycroft: (smiles) My name has not been lost among the annals of British history.

Sir Regis: Yeah, I, uh, guess not.

(Desk clerk arrives with medium-sized man with a hooked nose and ears that stick out)

Manager: (glances at them) These are the fellows?

Desk Clerk: They are, sir.

Manager: Very well. Follow me. (glances for a moment at Mycroft, looking him directly in his watery grey eyes, before leading them to a back room, a fashionable office of sorts) Have a seat, gentleman.

Sir Regis: (has obvious discomfort in sitting down in the easy chair in comparison to his seat at the Diognes Club but manages a polite smile) Thank you. (Mycroft sits down)

Manager: Mr. Holmes, you were the former owner of one of our mansions.

Mycroft: Correct.

Manager: According to our records, one Reginald Winchester came to us on September 13, 1946, and informed us that you would be leaving indefinately and that we were not to allow anyone to purchase your estate until then.

Mycroft Holmes: (chuckle, knowing glance at Sir Regis) Pray continue, my good man.

Manager: (a little confused as to what to do) Well, sir, if you are who you claim, you must be centuries old..

Mycroft Holmes: And I am. (smile at Sir Regis) Perhaps my friend here will explain.

Manager: (arcs a brow at Sir Regis)

Sir Regis Mansbridge: Ah, yes, well, you know those stories about Sherlock Holmes being revived about two years ago? Preserved in honey and all that?

Manager: (slow nod)

Sir Regis Mansbridge: Well, it appears that the same thing happened to his elder brother here, in 1946, under my club. (hastily) On Pall Mall.....

Manager: I, uh, see.

Mycroft: So who has been occupying my mansion since?

Manager: (repressing shock) No one, sir.

Mycroft: Oh, fiddle-faddle. It's obvious that my absence has become a folk legend among your staff, and some fear that I will prove something of a threat once I've discovered that someone has been living in my manor.

Manager and Sir Regis: (astonished looks)

Mycroft: You see, gentleman, September 13 in 1946 fell on Friday the 13, as anyone who studies astronomy knows. I noticed traces of salt on our clerk's left shoulder the second time I saw him which wasn't there before, and you've both been rather edgy around me.

Manager: Go... on.

Mycroft: You were nervous because it's long been suspected by superstitious employees that it was an ill-fated omen. But why would they be nervous? A true superstitious believer would be frightened by my arrival, not just edgy. Why the neurotic approach? Because you violated the pact. The clerk was nervous because he may lose his job, but no harm will fall directly on him; you are nervous because the suspisions of those who previously deemed insane are coming true.

Manager: (long pause) You certainly display the fabled deductive ability of our former resident. I won't attempt to delve into an explination; I'll just show you to your rooms. Mr. Guthrie- the current owner- should be there.

Mycroft: (amused) Guthrie, eh...