The Three Locks Bonnie MacBird (best non fiction books to read .TXT) 📖

a token for a locker at Victoria. Will we find your packed valise in there, Madame?’

She stared at him in apparent confusion.

‘I wager we will,’ said Lestrade. He turned to Holmes triumphantly. ‘Two can play at your game, Mr Holmes. Sometimes, you see, things are best left to the professionals.’

‘Bravo, Lestrade. A remarkable chain of inferences, all based on solid evidence,’ said Holmes quietly. Lestrade beamed and nodded to his two men.

‘Except that you are entirely wrong,’ added my friend.

The room went silent. I became aware of the soft sobbing of Annie Duggan’s friend near the entrance.

‘Do you think so, Holmes? Let us see you prove it,’ said Lestrade, folding his arms across his chest.

‘This lady is in distress. Allow her to sit,’ I demanded.

Lestrade waved at his to men to comply. Madame was returned to the chair. I moved to the lady’s side and patted her shoulder.

‘Try if you must,’ said Lestrade, ‘but you know you are beaten this time, Holmes.’

Holmes knelt down before the lady, taking both her hands in his. ‘Madame,’ he said gently, ‘what was your errand when you left the hotel?’

‘Dario sent me to pick up a velvet jacket he had had made on Jermyn Street.’

‘Expensive tastes, as I said, Lestrade. What then, Madame Borelli?’

‘I returned to our hotel room. I stepped inside and it looked like a tornado had passed through. Then from behind someone put a cloth on my face, pressing, pressing. I could not breathe … a terrible smell—’

‘You smelled the petrochemical and the gin, but missed the third odour which lingers under the gin, Lestrade. The lady was chloroformed. The gin was applied to her lips later.’ He gestured politely towards the woman’s face.

Lestrade hesitated, then leaned in for a sniff.

‘Ah, well, possibly. But to what purpose?’ sneered Lestrade.

‘Obvious. She is being framed for a murder,’ said Holmes.

‘By whom? Who would want Borelli dead and his wife in gaol?’

‘Well, that’s the other little problem with your theory.’

Holmes strode over to the cauldron and opened the front hatch wide, so we all had a clear view of the blackened remains inside.

‘This body is not Dario Borelli,’ said Holmes.

Even I was surprised at this revelation.

Oblivious to the lady’s extreme distress, the two detectives faced each other. But Madame Borelli was transfixed on the body. I stepped in front of her to block the grisly sight.

But Lestrade was not swayed. ‘Of course it is Borelli, Holmes,’ said he. ‘Smith, bring out what you found.’

A young policeman with thinning blond hair and drooping eyes came forward with something wrapped in a handkerchief. He drew back the covering to reveal a ring and two shiny buckles, married by ash.

‘Recognize these, Madame Borelli?’ asked Lestrade.

She turned away, repelled, and did not answer.

‘Of course you do. Your husband’s ring, and the buckles from your husband’s shoes. All part of his stage costume, confirmed by his crew. And removed from the corpse earlier by Smith here.’

I glanced at Hamilton, who shrugged.

‘You withheld evidence from me, Lestrade. Hardly sporting.’ Holmes smiled ruefully. ‘I will admit Borelli wore both the ring and buckles in the show I saw.’

‘Exactly! And there is more,’ crowed Lestrade. ‘Two hundred people witnessed Borelli climb into the cauldron. Normally, he would simply escape through the secret hatch in the back right away, according to Mr Fricano, the stage manager. But he did not come out … because he could not! Take a look, Mr Holmes.’

Lestrade shut the front hatch on the corpse and spun the cauldron on its chain to the back. He pointed to the tiny, hidden latch.

‘A new latch. Recently welded on, look at the solder here – pewter-coloured, when everything else is copper and brass,’ said the policeman.

‘Very observant, Lestrade. You improve.’

‘I found it because I was looking for it,’ announced Lestrade, ‘as you like to say. Trapped in his own trick. As he nearly was last week.’

‘Dario!’ wailed Madame. I patted her shoulder.

Holmes simply smiled at Lestrade. ‘There is a similar new one on the front, as well.’

Lestrade shrugged this off. ‘And so there was no escape! Few people in the world are familiar enough with this stage contraption to hide a little latch like this—’

‘Two latches.’

‘Fine. Madame was familiar with both,’ said Lestrade. ‘And she had motive. They had been heard arguing. Mr Fricano himself said he felt that the couple was on the verge of separating.’

‘Yes, where is Mr Fricano now?’ asked Holmes innocently. Next to me, Hamilton started, remembering that Holmes had asked him to keep an eye on the fellow. ‘He might be able to shed some light.’

‘He is a witness, to be sure,’ said Lestrade. ‘Hamilton, find the fellow, would you?’ Hamilton moved off, rounding up two more policemen.

‘Madame Borelli, is it true that you fought with your husband earlier today?’ asked Holmes.

‘Yes,’ said the lady, ‘but I welded no latch.’ She rose shakily to her feet. ‘I must see inside,’ she said, nodding towards the cauldron.

‘Madame, perhaps not,’ I suggested. ‘It is pitiable sight.’

But Lestrade nodded to his remaining man, who took the lady’s arm and conveyed her to the front of the cauldron.

Madame Borelli looked inside, went white and turned away. She steeled herself and looked again.

‘That is not Dario.’

‘As I said,’ remarked Holmes.

‘Of course it is,’ sneered Lestrade. ‘The man is burnt to a crisp.’

‘No,’ said she, wiping her tears.

‘Why do you think not, Madame?’ asked Holmes.

She shrugged. ‘Too fat maybe. But it is not him.’

Holmes stepped up and took one of her hands and led her back to the chair.

‘Madame, I believe you are correct. But if your husband went to such trouble to frame you, where would he be now?’

She hesitated and looked stricken. Tears coursed down her face. She said something in a voice so low I could not catch the words.

‘Speak up,’ said Lestrade.

‘He would be on a train.’

‘To where? asked Holmes.

‘To Berlin.’

No one said anything, but she was not forthcoming.

‘Madame?’ prompted Holmes.

The woman took a deep breath and sat very straight. ‘Gertrude Aufenbach,’ said she.

‘The German soprano?’ said Holmes,