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

a crack. Another smaller hatch on top was wide open.

Dangling from both of these openings were a variety of ornate padlocks, all hanging open. A grate underneath the cauldron revealed still smouldering coals in a pit below the stage. A ladder with a platform on top stood next to the thing.

And next to this ladder was the first horror of the evening.

Lying on the stage was the body of a slender woman in a sparkling red dress. A cloth had been laid over her face and upper torso. I gasped.

I started towards the body, but a young policeman put a hand on my shoulder. He shook his head sadly. ‘Dead,’ he said.

If Madame Borelli was a suspect on the run, who was in her costume? ‘Who is it?’ I asked.

‘Name’s Annie Durgen. A girl they just hired today.’

‘Watson, examine the girl’s body, please,’ said Holmes, approaching the front hatch of the giant cauldron. He peeked inside and grimaced. I noticed his extreme reaction and he waved a finger at me, coughing at the fumes.

Without preamble, he launched into an inspection of the outside of the cauldron by running his hand over its surface. His face was grim, but I sensed the humming excitement beneath. Near to him stood the stolid figure of Falco Fricano, Borelli’s brother-in-law.

I turned my attention to the corpse, and a stagehand quickly informed me of the means of death. The poor young woman had been up on the ladder and leaning over the cauldron, conversing through the top opening with Borelli, supposedly trapped inside – all part of the planned act.

But an unexpected explosion blew up in her face, and she fell backwards off the ladder to the stage below. My examination confirmed third-degree burns on her face and hands. However, the broken neck from her fall was the apparent cause of death.

I looked up to see Holmes in conversation with Falco Fricano just a few feet away. The muscular Italian stood woodenly, his face pinched in what might be grief, a reaction to the gruesome events. His fists were clenched, and he leaned strangely backwards on his heels, which rather than making him look frightened gave the impression that he was gathering himself to launch at Holmes or to flee. He struck me as someone holding himself back at great cost.

‘Mr Fricano, you hired Miss Durgen just today to go on in place of Madame Borelli?’ asked Holmes.

‘Yes.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Madame refused to perform.’

‘Did she give her reason?’

‘The Great Borelli and she had a big argument, I do not know about what. The hotel said there was much shouting.’

‘Where is Madame now?’ asked Holmes, looking about the stage.

‘No one knows. Mr Borelli told me they were finished.’

‘Mr Lestrade is at their hotel room now,’ said Hamilton as I approached.

I glanced over at the front hatch of the cauldron. I knew I should lean in and take a look, but I hesitated. In due time, I would. I joined Holmes and Hamilton.

‘I see,’ continued Holmes. ‘Describe this act in detail. I need to know precisely what happened. Tell me exactly what the audience saw, and how it works.’

Fricano cleared his throat. He began with great effort. ‘First, the Great Borelli, he comes onstage.’

‘In a wheelchair tonight, I presume. Watson set his broken ankle recently.’

‘No. With a walking stick only. The Great Borelli, he is very strong. He removes the cape. Then the young lady, she spins cauldron to show no door in back.’

‘Like this?’ asked Holmes. He placed one hand on the cauldron and gave it a shove. The thing was set to rotate on the chain hanging from the rafters above the stage, twirling easily so that now the back faced us. Holmes stopped its movement with a hand. ‘Except for this well-disguised hatch, here?’

‘Yes.’

Initially I saw nothing, but I leaned in closer … and could just perceive the outline of another large hatch on the opposite side of the sphere from the front opening. It was well-hidden among the rivets and piping.

‘Go on,’ said Holmes.

‘Then Dario, he gets in from the front and the girl locks it very good, many locks in front here.’ Fricano spun the cauldron, so the front now faced us again. That opening remained ajar and I got another strong whiff of that awful smell. I sneezed. Fricano closed the front hatch.

‘Hmm,’ said Holmes. ‘I suppose Borelli normally slips out the back hatch and makes his exit through the split in the curtain behind this contraption?’ Holmes spun the sphere again, so the back faced him. He opened the secret hatch an inch or so, then closed it. He ran his hand along the edges.

‘Yes. Normally he is out in five seconds through the back.’

Fricano attempted to spin the thing again facing front, but Holmes stopped it from moving.

‘But not this time?’ he said.

‘No.’

‘Why did he not come out?’ asked Holmes.

‘I do not know. Maybe he fainted.’

‘There are fumes, Holmes,’ I offered. ‘Shall I take a closer look now?’

‘It’s bad, doctor,’ said Hamilton, who had shadowed me and now stood behind Fricano.

‘In a moment, Watson. Stay with me. Mr Fricano, do continue. Were you not waiting to help him out?’

‘No, at this part, I am under the stage, tending to the fire. Another man, Paolo, is in back. The girl pretends to light the fire onstage, which I help from below. When Borelli did not come out, Paolo ran to get me.’

‘What then?’

‘Paolo yells at me that Dario is still inside the cauldron. Since I cannot stop the fire, I ran up from backstage and put my hands though the curtain, trying to open. But the hatch will not open.’

Holmes unlatched the secret back hatch easily, opened it and closed it again.

‘Hmm. It seems to work fine now. Ah, but what is this small bolt?’

‘What bolt?’ Fricano’s eyes widened.

Holmes leaned in, pulled out his magnifying glass and said, ‘This bolt here that – yes, if I slide it like so – would secure the hatch shut. Seems to have been