Marcia Wilson 
Peaceful Night Poisonings 
Sherlock Holmes’ London Through the Eyes of Scotland Yard

Lestrade felt his heart fall through his rib-slats and hit the floor. "Bradstreet, please tell me you did not bring Mr. Holmes in while I was stark staring mad." "What do you take me for? He came himself. Needed a clip of your hair." "What in God’s Teeth did he want with a clip of my hair?" Lestrade shouted. All things considered, he was proud of himself for not screaming. Without intending it, he reached up to seek out that offending spot in the back. With horrible clarity he now knew the cause of his earlier hair-dressing dilemma.