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

small bin nearby, and two more under the bed, there. Also, there is no indication of any cigar smoking nor odour of it, either. Why, then, a humidor? Your consumption of sweets explains the minute holes in the waist of the trousers you are wearing, which indicates they have been let out, and very recently, as several threads are still hanging from the last hole.’

‘That is simple observation, not mind-reading!’

‘This can hardly surprise you.’

‘But what of the two young ladies, Holmes?’ I asked. ‘If I may be so indiscreet?’

Holmes turned to me with a smile. ‘There is a dressing gown, I have noted: pink, in Mr Colangelo’s closet there, Watson. And it is of petite proportions – you really should be careful to close your cabinet doors, Mr Colangelo. I also note a hairbrush, over here, which I suppose could be yours, except for the long blonde hair entangled in it.’

‘I have already told you I am seeing a young lady!’

‘But two?’ I persisted.

‘Well, Watson, at this very moment, a tall brunette young lady is pacing across the street, staring at these windows in considerable pique.’

Colangelo ran to the window and peered carefully through the narrowest of openings in the sheer curtains. ‘Clara!’ he cried. ‘Damnation!’

‘So, two young ladies, then,’ said Holmes.

Colangelo turned from the window, quivering with rage. ‘Get out!’

‘Mr Colangelo, I have no doubt that your new trade is not really so very different from my own. Fear not, I have no intention of revealing your secrets. Before we go, let me simply examine the device which caused your accident.’

‘No!’

‘You still have it, I presume. Is that it on the table over there?’ At the magician’s hesitation, Holmes continued. ‘Do you not want to get to the bottom of this mystery? Surely you wish to know how this harm befell you?’

Holmes stood, retrieved the device, and sat back down, examining it.

‘Careful, Holmes,’ I said.

Colangelo hesitated, his face working to disguise his fury, and something else. Guilt, I thought.

‘Or perhaps you already know how it happened?’ said Holmes.

The magician looked down at his feet, ashamed.

Holmes said nothing, staring at the man. ‘You did it yourself.’

Colangelo looked around him as if imploring help from unseen beings. His eyes glistened. ‘I am not sure,’ he said. ‘I thought to improve the trick. Make faster. Make a loud sound. More dramatic. I try to adjust the mechanism.’

‘And Madame Borelli?’ prompted Holmes. ‘You accused her husband—’

A tear coursed down the man’s cheek which he wiped away quickly with his right hand. I got a glimpse of the ruined index finger, mangled and missing its tip. He thrust his hand into his pocket. ‘Honestly I do not know. Dario Borelli visited me the day before my accident. He picked up the guillotine. I think maybe he did something. Or maybe it was me. But if Madame thinks it was him, she might—’

‘—feel guilty and return to you? You love her still,’ said Holmes. ‘Understandable. She is a magnificent woman.’ He peered into the small device. ‘I take it you are unskilled with mechanical things.’

‘Yes. I have help when I can afford it. And Ilaria, she is very, very good.’

‘I believe you were not the person behind Borelli’s accident. But carry on, sir, I am sure you will profit by your “mind-reading”.’

Holmes set down the little guillotine, rose, and with a polite goodbye exited the room. I took my leave and followed, Colangelo right behind me. I caught a brief glimpse of the morose magician just before he closed the door with a click.

Out in the hallway I said, ‘Holmes, there is something I do not understand. Why on earth did he draw that silly conclusion about—?’

The door flew open and Colangelo peered out at me. ‘Ah, Dr Watson! That fourth observation? Correct, as were the others. You did not see the expression on Mr Holmes’s face when I struck you on the side of the head.’

He slammed the door shut.

Presumptuous fellow, I thought. Utterly ridiculous.

I turned to say something to Holmes, but he was already at the end of the hall, disappearing down the stairwell.

‘Holmes!’ I called and dashed after him.

CHAPTER 22

Danger in the Doldrums

Upon returning to Baker Street, Holmes informed Madame Borelli via a brief letter that Santo Colangelo may have mangled his own finger accidentally, although Dario Borelli was not entirely in the clear. Colangelo had not engineered her husband’s near drowning, however, neither was he jealous (having two paramours himself) nor handy enough. Holmes suggested the culprit in Borelli’s accident was closer to home, naming both Falco Fricano, the stagehand, and Borelli himself as the likely culprits. In this missive, he offered to continue along those paths in the investigation, should she wish.

By return post, and within the hour, Madame curtly dismissed both the theory and Holmes from the case. The letter enclosed a cheque for a modest sum.

‘And that is the end of that saga,’ he remarked wryly. ‘I think it most likely to be her husband, and by now she has figured it out.’

‘Well, that is her problem then, isn’t it?’ I was secretly sorry, as the arcane elements and the colourful client herself were at least a welcome distraction.

Holmes retired to his bedroom with a book about physics, closed the door and did not emerge for supper.

Three days passed. We heard nothing from Cambridge, and neither Dillie nor her parents communicated with Holmes. Holmes cabled once or twice to Inspector Hadley, but, receiving no response there, was forced to let that case moulder as well.

Two fascinating cases, at least to my mind, had stagnated. What I did not realize at the time was that both were sleeping monsters. But of course I was keenly aware that another danger lurked in our very rooms. Torpor bred peril of its own kind for my friend.

While London continued to suffer under relentless, oppressive heat, no fresh cases presented themselves. For days he never once left our rooms, nor did he dress, but spent hour after hour sprawled on