The Three Locks by Bonnie MacBird (books for 8th graders .TXT) 📗

well be convenient for you, given that your interests look to the future.’

Holmes stared at the woman in a fashion that I had seen unnerve the sternest barrister and the most violent street thug.

Madame Borelli met the challenge. ‘Mr Holmes, why you look at me so?’ she demanded.

‘If that lock was rigged tonight, and I could not spot it, then it took a real expert to do so.’

‘Yes.’

‘I expect you could name more than one suspect with the skills needed to sabotage that one lock tonight.’

‘I … I am not sure.’

‘Madame, I believe you have one or even more definite ideas.’

‘I do not wish to point the finger.’

The finger. A lot of fingers involved in this case!

‘For example, if not Santo Colangelo, it might be your new lover?’ asked Holmes.

‘What? How do you know I have a—’

‘It is your pattern. As I said, you are looking to the future. You are out of love with your husband. We have covered this ground. And he treats you badly. Also, you brought me his secret files. That was not a loving act. Rather a self-serving one. You perhaps wish for your own recognition eventually? And his arrogance was on clear display tonight. Is the Great Borelli’s replacement in view?’

‘You overstep, sir, attempting to work your magic—’

‘Not magic, simple observation. Is your new lover a stage conjurer?’

‘All right. You are too smart for me. Well, he is not exactly a conjuror but he has ideas for the magic. A young professor of the science. There is a future.’

‘I see. The pattern again. And you will make him a star?’

She was taken aback by this. ‘We have some interesting ideas, he and I. He is no performer. Yet. But very handsome, Mr Holmes. A bit young. But … why you look at me this way? You disapprove, I see.’

‘Madame, I have no opinion on your personal life. However, you must realize that with your young professor on the horizon, this makes you a prime suspect in tonight’s dramatic events?’

The lady laughed. ‘Mr Holmes,’ she said quietly. ‘If I wanted Dario to die, you can believe me that he would be dead already, and no one would know how, why or who. Even you.’

Holmes was silent.

‘Sir – mi Dario, I can handle. I wish him no harm. Nor Santo Colangelo. Please, Mr Holmes, clear both men of this vendetta, if indeed they are innocent, then I can leave knowing one will not destroy the other. I leave each man better than he was before we met. That is my pattern. Do you see, sir?’

Holmes considered this. ‘Of course, there is a third possibility. The “Great Borelli” might have engineered his own mishap, tonight? Perhaps with the help of that Falco Fricano?’

‘Possible.’

‘If so, it went a little bit wrong?’

‘Yes, went a little wrong.’

‘But why would your husband do such a thing?’

‘Dario maybe want attention and sympathy and to point finger at Santo Colangelo, make him go to gaol. But I do not know. You will make clear, no? All will be resolved.’

‘Madame, I have already agreed to visit Santo Colangelo. You said there could be one or two other suspects. Give me those names, please.’

‘Later. But first, I hire you to clear Santo. Then Dario and Santo will stop trying to harm the other.’

‘This is highly unusual, Madame. No promises. Watson? Shall we?’

We were shortly in a hansom cab on the way back to Baker Street. As the cab pulled away from Wilton’s Music Hall, the faint, intermittent gaslights of Whitechapel washed dimly across Holmes’s keen, ascetic features.

‘A strange woman,’ remarked my friend. ‘I am not entirely convinced she is not the culprit tonight. What do you think, Watson?’

‘I suppose it is possible.’

‘But you do not think so, Doctor?’

‘No. I rather like her.’

Holmes did not reply but looked out of the window. The few trees lining the streets drooped from the day’s heat, their parched leaves lit faintly by the streetlamps. Even at this late hour the temperature was oppressive, and I could feel a drop of sweat making its way down my back.

Holmes closed his eyes. ‘Unlikely, perhaps. I do believe her when she says that she could have dispatched her boorish husband earlier and without clues, if she so chose. She is more than capable.’ He paused, then opened his eyes. ‘If he did not engineer his own mishap tonight, Borelli is a fool to keep performing with this mystery hanging over him.’

‘Don’t you find Madame sympathetic, though, Holmes?’

He looked out of the window again. ‘No. Intriguing, perhaps. But I will admit I am mildly curious about this case of warring magicians. I shall give it more consideration tomorrow. In the meantime, I hope Mrs Hudson has replenished the ice. I would appreciate something chilled after tonight’s little adventure.’

‘Indeed!’ I said, with sudden visions of a lemonade and perhaps a splash of gin, and a long sleep following.

But it was not to be.

PART THREE

THE DOLL

‘I am turned into a sort of machine for observing facts and grinding out conclusions.’

—Charles Darwin

CHAPTER 11

The Floating Doll

After midnight, Holmes and I sat together near the fireplace in shirtsleeves over our last drink. The cold hearth was filled with ash from the disposal of Holmes’s papers earlier in the day. The windows were wide open to catch the faintest cooling breezes. Outside, the tumult of Baker Street had settled into a calmer rhythm—the night soil men attending to those very few near us still without plumbing, the policeman making rounds, the dairy carts, a few late revellers.

Both of us had difficulty sleeping in this heat. At least the floor had been cleared, and stacks of papers in the corners were all that remained of Holmes’s recent flurry. The straitjacket had been taken down, and I noted a few other touches that indicated Mrs Hudson had followed our efforts with a few of her own.

We had continued to discuss the mysterious Borellis. Holmes was unwilling to drop the subject.