The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes (7 page)

‘Sir James, I take it these clothes were tailored to exact measurements?’

‘No expense is spared at the Royal Opera, Mr Holmes. Our agents wired the measurements from Italy and they were immediately forwarded to one of the finest bespoke tailors in Savile Row.’ Sir James replied.

‘Mr Crawford, you can furnish me with the name and address of the tailors, no doubt.’

‘Of course, but why it should be relevant I fail to see.’

‘The relevance, admittedly, has yet to be proved, but nevertheless … In the meantime, however, I should be grateful if you would accompany Doctor Watson and myself to Tordelli’s hotel suite. There is nothing more to be learnt here.’ Holmes said this with obvious disappointment, but as we turned to leave I noticed him paying close attention to a small, empty ashtray on the edge of the dressing-table.

Mercifully, the drive to Tordelli’s hotel was a short one and we soon found ourselves at one of those small,
comfortable
and elegant gentleman’s hotels with which London abounds. Parquet flooring, dark relaxing colours, subdued
lighting, all added to the impression of a club, with
accommodation
. Crawford had chosen well, for the hotel was ideally suited for a young gentleman seeking solitude, quiet and unobtrusive service.

A smart, young under-manager greeted us. He proved only too glad to co-operate provided it expedited the
departure
of the nuisance our investigation represented to him. Tordelli’s suite was on the first floor and we were assured it had remained untouched since the morning of his last departure.

The suite was not particularly well appointed and although the décor was in good order, the furniture was old and worn, despite its undoubted quality.

Disdainfully Holmes observed, ‘I see the bed has been made up, and the room cleaned, and tidied, rendering my search for clues a complete waste of time!’

‘Naturally, Mr Holmes. Since Mr Tordelli’s
disappearance
was in the evening, the maid was merely carrying out her routine morning duties.’

‘Quite so.’ Holmes grunted as he began his search of the wardrobe. A few moments of rummaging through the clothes seemed to satisfy him and then he turned suddenly, ‘I should like to interview this maid, if she is on duty,’ he announced.

‘Certainly, Mr Holmes, I believe she is cleaning the rooms on the second floor.’ The under-manager replied.

‘Excellent! I shall meet you all in the lobby in five minutes.’ He said speeding from the room and rushing up the stairs, leaving us all as bemused as before.

Once again I found myself shut out of Holmes’s
innermost
thoughts, my feelings apparently weighing as lightly in his mind as those of our clients or the other observers.
My grasp of the case was as inadequate as theirs and Holmes obviously had no intention of enlightening me, even to a small degree. Feeling somewhat put-out and hurt, I left the others waiting in the stuffiness of the lobby and smoked in the relative coolness of the street outside.

So consumed was Holmes by his current problem, that all lethargy had been cast aside. His energy now knew no bounds and he was racing down the hotel stairs before I had even finished my cigarette.

In no time at all another hansom was conveying us back to Covent Garden to deposit Mr Crawford.

Before alighting he asked, ‘Is there any real progress that I can report to Sir James, Mr Holmes? I am sure he will be most surprised to discover that you have not, so far, requested an interview with Tordelli’s fiancée!’

‘I should be glad if you would have her at the hotel no later than six o’clock tomorrow evening. By then, I think your most singular problem will be close to resolution. Cabby!’ Holmes rapped the roof of our cab with the top of his cane.

Our driver responded immediately, so drowning out Crawford’s increasingly distant protestations.

‘Really Holmes! You cannot continually ride roughshod over everyone. Crawford was barely clear of the cab, when you dismissed it and could well have been injured.’ I protested.

Holmes was totally oblivious, however, for he was now transfixed by the poster advertising ‘Don Giovanni’ at the front of the Opera House.

‘I am a witless amateur, Watson, not fit to share your cab. I should have noticed the beard before. Now then, a visit to Savile Row, two wires from the nearest office and
the rest of the evening shall be our own. I trust you would not object to dinner at Simpson’s,’ he proposed, knowing full well that Simpson’s was one of my favourite eateries.

‘Yes, that would be most agreeable,’ I enthusiastically replied. ‘I trust however, you will share some of your
theories
with me before then. I freely admit that I am no more enlightened than I was before we arrived at Convent Garden.’

‘You know my method well, Watson,’ Holmes began. ‘I suggest you now apply it to these few known and relevant facts. A brilliant young baritone disappears from his dressing room after two outstanding performances. He knows no one in this country save the two Covent Garden officials, so both personal and professional reasons for his disappearance can be disregarded. However, his fiancée announces her
imminent
arrival just hours before he absconds.’

‘Obviously he was trying to avoid meeting his fiancée, if you discount the kidnapping theory.’ I responded.

‘My dear Watson, you surpass yourself! There can be no other explanation. The evidence of the young man at the stage-door totally dismisses any thought of kidnapping. You see, our well-intentioned constabulary continually question the wrong people. Whilst they are wasting time trying to locate an Italian interpreter in order to
communicate
with Tordelli’s fiancée, I already know she can shed no more light on the matter than that news vendor by the corner. Furthermore, whilst they chose to interview the rather pompous stage-door commissionaire, I prefer to chat to his somewhat younger and far more informative
assistant
. This assistant just happened to hail a cab for a bearded gentleman at the stage-door around the time of Tordelli’s supposed disappearance.’

‘Supposed?!’ I exclaimed, now totally bemused. ‘Now Holmes, whatever …’

‘I used the word “supposed”, Watson, for I am now almost certain of his present whereabouts, and am equally sure he will remain there until tomorrow evening.’

At this moment our hansom pulled up at the northern end of Savile Row and Holmes immediately alighted.

‘Be a good fellow,’ he said, handing me two sheets of paper, ‘send off these wires and make your way to Baker Street where I will meet you in time for dinner.’

Holmes was as good as his word and we both enjoyed an excellent meal. The only blemish on the evening, as far as I was concerned, was Holmes’s absolute refusal to discuss the case and especially his work of that afternoon.

The fact that I knew the contents of his wires did nothing to enlighten me, indeed, the inmost singular lines of enquiry served only to intensify my sense of frustration. The first was to an operatic festival in Bavaria, which merely required an affirmation of the presence of the two gentlemen from Covent Garden. The second requested a list of any unsolved murders and disappearances that had occurred recently in or around Milan.

Despite all my pleas, Holmes refused to be drawn onto the subject but eventually I found myself being calmed by his most eloquent and informative analysis of recent Bruch and Brahms violin concertos. Despite my ignorance of the finer points of violin works, I found my future appreciation of these particular pieces was greatly enhanced as a result of Holmes’s analysis.

At the evening’s close, my last attempt at extracting information from Holmes met the same fate as my earlier ones.

‘I think, my dear Watson, an early night will be of greater benefit to us, for I am sure by morning the game will, most certainly, be afoot.’ The faint trace of a smile played briefly on his thin lips, as he perceived my failed attempt at concealing my annoyance and with a shrug, I bade him a curt goodnight and returned to my room.

Despite Holmes’s sound advice, I found myself unable to sleep and I soon realized that Holmes was in a similar predicament, for a glimmer of light continued to creep under my door and the faint aroma of tobacco played at my nostrils.

When I eventually surfaced in the morning, Holmes still sat as I had left him the night before and his haggard face bore every sign of a night totally bereft of sleep.

‘Holmes!’ I exclaimed, ‘I must protest at this flagrant and, as far as I can tell, unnecessary abuse you have subjected yourself to. All your plans are well in hand, so why the all night vigil?’

His tired eyes looked up at me, his head moving slightly and unnervingly slowly. ‘You are quite right Watson, as far as I was concerned all the pieces were coming together splendidly and yet, it occurred to me as I was about to retire, that all my theories will either stand or fall on the results of the replies to my wires. If they should now prove contrary to my expectations I may well have put lives at risk. I have instructed Mrs Hudson to bring up the replies as soon as they arrive. I shall have only coffee for
breakfast
.’

I realized that any protest about his non-partaking of food would fall on deaf ears and reluctantly I went on my errand.

After we had breakfasted, Holmes on coffee, I on toast,
marmalade and tea, we spent some of the most torturous hours that I have yet experienced.

The lines of frustration and impatience contorted, still further, his already tired and exhausted features and his consumption of cigarettes was almost incessant as he continually paced up and down the room.

I sat in anguish watching the inner turmoil of Holmes reveal itself as it ate away at him. Again and again, as he passed the bureau, I saw him fingering the handle of the drawer, the one I knew to contain his syringe and cocaine bottle. Yet on each occasion his stronger, professional intent prevented him from feeding his terrible habit and dulling the faculties he knew would soon be needed at their sharpest.

The vigil finally ended at about half-past-one when Mrs Hudson arrived, somewhat breathlessly, in our rooms. With a bound Holmes was across the room to meet her, snatching the telegram from her hand as he hustled her out. Over the years Mrs Hudson’s tolerance of such
behaviour
and abuse had never ceased to amaze me.

‘Watson, quickly, see here, how my line of enquiry is at last bearing fruit. Ha!’ He exclaimed, ‘it is exactly as I thought.’

Yet by the time I had reached his side he had already crumpled the paper in his hand and nonchalantly deposited it in the waste-paper basket.

‘Now really Holmes, you go too far!’ I exclaimed.

Holmes looked at me furtively from the corner of one eye.

‘Very well Watson, you are quite right. We may have yet, I think, a little time before my second reply arrives. Time perhaps for a pipe and a chance for me to air my thoughts on this affair, such as they are.’

Holmes reached for his Persian slipper containing his tobacco, and we each took our customary chairs as he began.

‘As you know, Watson, at the start I was somewhat
reluctant
to take up this challenge. Sir James’s arrogant manner and the apparent tedium of a missing person case had almost caused me to choose the boredom of total inactivity to the drudgery of such an undertaking. One most singular point and none other, brought about my change of mind.’

‘It was when Sir James mentioned Tordelli’s fiancée,’ I interrupted excitedly, ‘the more so when he mentioned that her imminent arrival had been announced before Tordelli’s disappearance. However, I fail to see …’

Holmes gave a long draw on his pipe, and then pointed his left finger as he spoke, as if conducting one of his beloved violin concertos! ‘Two things occurred to me at once. The fiancée was convinced her arrival would be most welcome; why else should she announce it by telegram. Obviously there were no difficulties between them when she left Italy and obviously none occurred in this country for they had still to meet.

‘No, without doubt the problem lies within Tordelli. His reluctance to greet his fiancée is so great that he has put at risk a potentially brilliant career. The reason for this aversion to his fiancée is the one aspect of the case that raises it above the distinctly ordinary. In such a situation, bathed in the warm glow of triumph, yet amongst strangers and away from home, there was no feasible explanation for Tordelli’s avoidance of her. So, therefore, having discounted all impossible and improbable theories, I was left, finally, with the truth. The man we are searching for is not Roberto Tordelli!’

I sat bolt upright at this statement and became conscious of my mouth gaping open. ‘Then who,’ I began, admittedly with a trace of sarcasm in my voice, ‘has been singing Don
Giovanni these past two nights, at Covent Garden. I am sure Sir James is aware of the identity of his stars.’

‘Ah, but that is the point Watson, neither Sir James nor Crawford had ever laid eyes on Tordelli and merely assumed the young baritone with the brilliant voice was who he claimed to be. The reply to my first telegram confirms that only one of Sir James’s agents arrived at the festival in Bavaria, the other has, I fancy, been bribed rather
handsomely
. I must admit I became curious as to the true identity of Tordelli when I examined the trousers from his theatrical costume. You may not have noticed, but around the
waistband
were deep and pronounced creases of the type usually associated with an over-tight fit. As a rule, these are produced over a long period of time, as with your own.’

I peered down with some embarrassment at a waistline, which, although quite trim, had increased by some half an inch, since the suit had been tailored for me. Unsuccessfully hiding his amusement at my obvious discomfort, Holmes continued …

‘These lines were produced in only two nights, therefore, Tordelli’s trousers must have been most uncomfortable, to say the least. Curious when you consider they were tailored from the exact measurements wired from Italy. To confirm my theory, I examined the trousers in Tordelli’s hotel wardrobe. They all had perfectly flat waistbands. My visit to Savile Row this afternoon, confirmed that no mistakes had been made with the measurements.’