The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes (8 page)

‘As usual, your chain of logic is flawless, Holmes, but at the beginning you mentioned two singular items which were drawn to your attention. I recall your examination of the trousers and seem to remember your mentioning further evidence in the dressing room.’

‘I must confess, I nearly missed it myself, yet as we were leaving …’

‘Of course!’ I interrupted, ‘the ash tray. I presumed there must have been signs of its recent use. Smoking, of course, is unheard of in an opera singer.’

‘Excellent Watson, your powers of observation will soon be surpassing my own.’

For a brief moment these words filled me with
overwhelming
pride, until I realized there were traces of sarcasm in that familiar voice.

‘Someone had taken some care in removing any traces of ash, but they were not entirely successful. I found the faint remnants of a cigarette tobacco unique to Southern Italy. This discovery soon led me down two separate lines of thought, which eventually converged in a most
illuminating
and yet sinister manner.

‘My interview with the lad at the stage-door and the maid at the hotel, together with the question of the beard all point to one final and clear conclusion, do they not?’

‘Well,’ I began, ‘I am not sure, Holmes. There are still one or two points that need clarification.’

‘Once again, Watson, you have demonstrated, with great effect, your talent for stating the obvious, but any further enlightenment will have to await our meeting with Sir James and Bradstreet at Tordelli’s hotel. For unless I am very much mistaken Mrs Hudson is hastening up the stairs with my second reply.’

Such was his eagerness, that Holmes had already opened the door before Mrs Hudson had reached our landing.

‘A cab, if you please, Mrs Hudson and some cold supper for seven o’clock, if that is agreeable to you, Watson?’

I merely shook my head in disbelief, ‘I am still no closer to solving the problem in my own mind, yet you are already planning the time of your first meal after its conclusion.’

I turned to see that Holmes was oblivious to my words. He read through his telegram, and then screwed it into the pocket of his jacket, which he was already pulling on.

‘It seems my worst fears are confirmed, Watson, please make haste and I think your revolver may be of use this evening.’

At these words my heart skipped a beat and the thrill of adventure was upon me once again.

In a moment, we were down the stairs, into a cab and careering down Baker Street towards the great
thoroughfare
of London.

We reached the hotel lobby a few minutes before six, our appointed time, yet found Bradstreet, Crawford and Sir James already present.

‘Gentlemen!’ Holmes called loudly, as he raced ahead and up the central stairs, ‘to the second floor!’

‘Second floor?’ Bradstreet muttered and we all exchanged questioning glances. Then, not wanting to appear ignorant of my friend’s motives, I confirmed the order. ‘To the second floor then!’ And led the way for the rest of them.

We found Holmes and the young assistant manager at the door of suite number twenty-four.

‘Bradstreet, you and Watson follow closely behind me with your firearms at the ready.’ Then turning to the
assistant
manager, ‘I trust you have the pass key? Surprise is crucial if we are to avoid bloodshed.’

With a shaking hand the young man nervously produced the key from an inside pocket and handed this to Holmes
before slowly backing away. Holmes motioned to Bradstreet and myself to close ranks behind him as he silently inserted the key and for Sir James, Crawford and the assistant manager to hold back until the room was rendered secure.

No sound was audible from within, as we waited for Holmes to open the door and for one awful, but
inconceivable
moment I feared Holmes had miscalculated and that his prey had flown the coop. For what seemed an
interminable
length of time, though it was in fact little more than five minutes, Holmes stood there listening, with his left ear pressed firmly to the door. Bradstreet and I stood as statues, weapons at the ready and prepared to answer Holmes’s bidding. However, I overheard from our
companions
, positioned further along the corridor, a few peppery, and impatient mutterings that threatened the success of our mission. I motioned them to silence as I saw Holmes finally turn the key.

Suddenly, upon noticing the open door, one of the room’s occupants shouted excitedly to his companion in Italian. Holmes’s next movement was as rapid as it was direct. Bradstreet and I barely had time to draw breath, let alone take action, before Holmes had leapt into the room and into a tackle with a large, bearded man on his way to the door.

The surprise as much as the force of Holmes’s attack, floored the bearded man with ease, but the man was both large and strong and was soon back on his feet. Then the two men began circling each other, the large bearded Italian assuming the pose of a bare-knuckle boxer, while Holmes readied himself in the time honoured position of the Baritsu wrestler. As these two prepared for combat,
Bradstreet and I were deciding on how best to intervene, when events took a further, unexpected turn. A most singular looking couple now appeared at the door to the suite.

The man’s appearance was decidedly continental, bedecked as he was in an uncomfortably tight-looking grey suit and a dapper light grey bowler perched on top of his tiny head. A huge black moustache completed the bizarre appearance of the man, I was soon to discover, was his companion’s interpreter. His companion was most striking indeed. She was tall and slim, in fact, she towered over the interpreter and her facial beauty was almost classical in its intensity. Her most striking feature, however, was her wondrous jet-black hair, which framed this beauty; her full red lips completed her marvellous countenance. She was flushed with fear and excitement at the events now unfolding before her and gabbled incessantly in her native Italian.

Then to my great surprise and horror, Holmes turned his gaze from his opponent for an instant, to ascertain the source of this new drama. With an agility, astonishing in so large a man, the bearded Italian was upon Holmes at once, felling and momentarily winding him with a single kick to the stomach. I cursed myself for failing to react as quickly as I should have, so shocked was I at seeing Holmes so incommoded. The Italian, however, lost no time in
wrapping
his huge arm around the fragile neck of the young girl and he backed away from us screaming unintelligibly in the most threatening of tones. By now Holmes had
struggled
to his feet, still nursing his abdomen, but was rooted to the spot as any action on his part would surely have jeopardised the girl’s life. The interpreter explained that if
we let him flee with the girl as hostage he would release her once he was safely away. To emphasise the point, the large Italian applied a firmer grip to the girl’s neck to the point where she was struggling for breath.

A quick glance at Holmes confirmed that he was now fully recovered and I gestured towards the pocket, which held my revolver. Holmes shot me a half smile before letting out a most violent scream. Then, clutching his stomach, as if still in much pain, he staggered towards the Italian and his struggling captive. The Italian turned to look at Holmes affording me the opportunity to steal up behind the huge man and then bring my revolver crashing down upon the back of his skull. Whilst emitting the anguished roar of a wounded tiger, the large Italian clutched at his bleeding head, and his eyes started to roll back, as he crashed onto the parquet floor, unconscious.

The much relieved girl then spun away from him and into my arms. I helped her to a chair and poured her some water from a carafe on the side table.

‘A smart bit of work there, Doctor.’ Bradstreet
acknowledged
, whilst slapping me heartily on the back. ‘Your action certainly averted a potentially dangerous situation.

I turned to find Holmes standing beside me, smiling proudly. ‘Bravo Watson!’ He exclaimed, shaking my hand energetically. ‘Your timing, as always, was impeccable.’

I felt overcome whilst savouring every moment of so rare an event … a compliment from Mr Sherlock Holmes! I acknowledged this with the briefest of bows, and he turned his attention, once more, to the matter in hand.

Seeing that all was now secure in the ante-room, Holmes immediately dived into the inner suite, only to find his second, would-be opponent sitting passively in a chair. This
individual was also bearded, but there any similarity between him and his companion ended. Although he was seated with his back to us, facing the window, he was evidently much younger and slimmer than the boarish giant I had just felled. Upon hearing us unceremoniously enter his room, the man turned round briefly, displaying a surprising lack of interest until the young beauty, Signora Calvinni joined us in the room. Then he became most agitated, jumping up from his chair and, evidently, calling for his incapacitated associate. Then, upon realizing that the giant would not be coming to his rescue and that his situation was a hopeless one, the young man dropped back down into his chair with an air of resignation.

Despite my efforts at restraining her, Signora Calvinni insisted on approaching the young man.

She spoke quickly and with passion. I think the
interpreter
used some licence in his translation for the number of words she seemed to use far exceeded those translated.

‘But where is he? Where is my beloved Roberto?’

‘Yes Holmes,’ said Sir James, who had also entered the room, ‘what is all this tomfoolery, where is Tordelli?’

‘Still in Italy, I rather fancy, but we are here this evening to find your missing Don Giovanni!’ Holmes exclaimed.

By this time the bearded gentleman, whom Holmes had assailed, had regained his composure and not a little
confidence
. He was complaining, through his interpreter, to Bradstreet, of his treatment and the intrusion.

Bradstreet, in common with most of his colleagues, was not averse to a situation whereby my friend might be brought down a peg or two and decided to intervene.

‘Now see here, Mr Holmes, this here Italian gentleman claims he and his companion are two very wealthy and
respected businessmen. He claims that he only assaulted the young woman out of fear and desperation. He objects most strongly to this treatment and demands the police be sent for. He was most perplexed when I identified myself as one and is somewhat confused.’

‘His confusion I can well understand, I am hard pushed myself at times, in identifying you with detection.’ Holmes sharply rebutted. As he was speaking, Holmes slowly approached the young Italian, who, by now, was backing away from Signora Calvinni. Holmes was on him in an instant, despite Bradstreet’s ardent protestations, however Holmes’s back prevented us from seeing the nature of the ensuing struggle. When he next turned to us he was holding a wig or fake beard in his hand, which he held high in triumph.

The clean-shaven young man, whom Holmes had revealed, was clearly distraught.

‘Tordelli!’ Sir James exclaimed. ‘Really Mr Holmes, it would seem that your abilities even outweigh your
considerable
reputation. I congratulate you, and offer a thousand apologies for my disparaging attitude of before.’

Holmes waved this casually aside, yet stood there for a minute, barely suppressing a smile, enjoying to the full the drama of the moment and Sir James’s marked and sudden change in attitude. Bradstreet was visibly crestfallen, but soon decided to regain some authority by withdrawing his notebook and demanding that Holmes relate, in full, his line of enquiry.

This he was only too happy to do, as his questioning of the assistant porter at Covent Garden, which led him to this conclusion, again highlighted the inefficiency of the London police force.

I heard Bradstreet exclaim. ‘Two men with beards! Both asking for cabs to take them to the hotel. Well of course, that’s straightforward enough.’

Then in the midst of the confusion and noise, we all remembered the unfortunate fiancée of Tordelli. She stood shocked and silent in the centre of the room, tears running down her lightly rouged cheeks. Her interpreter stepped forward.

‘Signora Calvinni would like to know the whereabouts of her beloved Roberto.’ He said quietly.

‘Good heavens!’ Sir James exclaimed. ‘Is she mad? Why, he stands before her.’

Not for the first time in our association, Holmes’s
kindness
and consideration towards a grief-stricken lady surprised me. For one so averse to associating with women, a situation such as this showed a side to his nature that was rarely seen, even by me.

With a gentle smile, he took her by the hand and led her to an easy chair. Once he was satisfied that she was comfortably seated, he said:

‘I very much regret, Signora, that your fiancé has fallen prey to an odious band of organised criminals, commonly known in your country as the Cosa Nostra. The young gentleman here, who has taken his identity, is not entirely to blame however, for his was a simple ambition to be an opera star and he took whatever opportunity the influence of his family might present to him. He felt that crimes of bribery and deception were relatively minor.

‘I must point out, however, that even so evil an
organisation
as the Cosa Nostra would not carry out murder merely to advance the operatic career of one of their family. My reports indicate that Tordelli had been a witness to a
murder that they had committed and they are not people who deal lightly with such matters.’

Sir James followed Holmes out, shaking his head at the loss, once again, of his opera star. It was explained to him that Tordelli or rather the impostor Guiseppe Analdo, whilst not being the murderer, would have to stand trial in Milan as an accessory to the fact.

Bradstreet also shook his head, in disbelief.

‘It is incredible, Tordelli wasn’t missing at all, and his own hotel was the perfect hiding place.’

‘I must, again, thank and congratulate you, Mr Holmes.’