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papers on my table at Baker Street. The ones you stole!’ He turned to me. ‘Sorry, Watson, I accused you of burning them.’

The lady smiled.

‘What papers?’ I asked. I had no idea about any of this.

She nodded. ‘Always the good ideas, Mr Holmes. Good fortune for me, as it turns out.’

‘Cosimo! What is happening here with these people? What of our work?’ Vitale nearly shouted with frustration.

‘Patience, Leo,’ said Cosimo. ‘I have loved stage magic since I was a small child. Many scientists do. I proposed to Madame and her husband that we use Geissler tubes in their act. But I was not sure how, precisely …’

‘A magic act for the music halls!’ cried Leo Vitale. ‘You trivialize our work, Cosimo!’

Holmes turned to me. ‘The monograph I was writing – remember Watson, I have recently become interested in stage illusions – explained it all. The Geissler tubes are filled with various gases. When an electrical current passes through them, they light up and glow in the most ethereal and glorious manner! Pass your hand near these and the lights will move! Over there, that Ruhmkorff coil—’ he pointed to that strange black tube of about three feet long and one foot in diameter, set with a series of switches and wires ‘—it creates the spark and generates the current. A smaller one was at Baker Street, Watson. I jotted some notes on this!’

I nodded.

‘I find it remarkable that I did not see you pocket those notes, Madame,’ said Holmes.

She patted the front of her dress. ‘To fool the fooler is an art you know well.’ She smiled. ‘Watson’s keys?’

He laughed.

‘I struggle for such an idea when I see Cosimo’s work. But I see instantly that your ideas complete the circle,’ said the lady. ‘I call this ‘Lucifer’s Lights’.

To my view, this was all beside the point. I glanced over at Leo Vitale. He had gone white and was staring at the floor, supporting himself against one of the laboratory tables. The girl he loved had been murdered, and here was Holmes babbling about a magic act. I pulled out a wooden stool nearby and gently sat Vitale on it, fearing a collapse.

‘Good thinking, Watson. I am sorry, Mr Vitale,’ said Holmes.

‘I was right about you, Mr Sherlock Holmes,’ said Fortuny. ‘The Bunsen burner in your sitting-room …’ He laughed.

Leo Vitale groaned. I turned to attend him but even the younger scientist seemed now to have ventured down this rabbit hole. ‘Oh, Cosimo!’ he exclaimed. ‘You debase, you subvert, you prostitute our efforts!’

‘No, Leo. Madame Borelli donates to the Cavendish Laboratory,’ said Fortuny. ‘I do this for funding.’

Vitale looked from Fortuny to Madame and back again. ‘No, Cosimo. You do this for a woman!’

Fortuny grinned at his younger associate. ‘You are in love yourself, Leo. Did you think I did not notice?’

At this, Leo Vitale seemed to crumple, and he covered his face with his hands.

‘Gentlemen, please,’ I said. ‘The lady in question has met a violent end. We are in the midst of investigating, and the police will surely come here. Holmes!’

I became aware of noises coming down the hall. As did my friend.

‘They are here!’ he cried. ‘We have wasted valuable time. Fortuny, be quick. Fire those up and create a diversion! We must hide.’

Fortuny hesitated.

‘Do it for your friend. I will explain later,’ said Holmes, and he dashed to the cupboard door and opened it, but it was filled to bursting with glass retorts, tubing and other equipment. No room to hide!

‘That one!’ cried Fortuny, pointing to a second cupboard at the back of the lab near the sink. Holmes ran to it and threw open the door. There was room inside, in front of some crowded shelves.

At the same time, the senior scientist dashed to the end of the lab near the door, to fire up the Ruhmkorff coil.

‘Down here!’ I heard a familiar, gruff voice in the hall outside.

‘Holmes! It is Pickering,’ I whispered.

Holmes grabbed my arm, pulling me into the cupboard. ‘Mr Vitale, you too – inside! Mr Fortuny, work your magic. Not a word, Madame! Hurry!’

But Leo Vitale pulled away.

‘Vitale! Come!’ Holmes grabbed Leo Vitale’s cuff, but the young man yanked his arm free.

‘No! I am innocent. I will face the police!’ he cried.

‘They will not believe you,’ said Holmes. But the young man moved out of reach.

We heard noises at the door of the laboratory, and Holmes and I ducked back into the darkness, closing the cupboard door in front of us, leaving only a crack. We were concealed but could see what was going on in most of the room.

Fortuny, down at the end near the door, doused the lights. In the dimness I saw him pull a large-handled lever near the Ruhmkorff coil. There was a hum, then a sudden loud crack as a bolt of miniature lightning arced between two metal poles adjacent to the black tube. A sizzle sounded, then a hiss of gas as the tubes slowly swayed gently in their wire cradles fastened to the wall.

Fortuny threw another switch. All along the walls the small sausage-like tubes suddenly lit up in glowing, ethereal greens, reds and blues. He ran past us and took up a position with Leo Vitale behind us, at the darkest end of the room.

‘Fantastic!’ whispered Holmes. It was indeed a strange and marvellous effect.

Just then the door burst open and silhouetted against the light in the hall were Pickering and two constables. The flicker of the glowing coloured lights danced in patterns across their surprised faces.

‘What the devil is all this?’ boomed Pickering. ‘Light the lights, someone!’

Madame Borelli now emerged into our view as she walked past our hiding place and the glowing tubes, slowly towards the door where the police stood. Her arms were outstretched, as if in a trance. She spoke in a deep, otherworldly monotone.

‘Welcome to the humans. Beware, beware! I summon the spirits,’ she intoned. ‘I call forth here, the powers of the dead – to come, to come

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