The Three Locks by Bonnie MacBird (learn to read books txt) 📕

to see a charismatic and darkly handsome young man in his late twenties, with a swath of thick dark hair and the chiselled features of a theatre performer. ‘I am Cosimo Fortuny. We do not allow visitors in this laboratory, for the very reason you have just witnessed. Who are you and what is your business here?’ He had a mellifluous, cultured voice.

‘Ah, Mr Fortuny!’ exclaimed Holmes. ‘I have read of your work on the effects of rapidly alternating currents on various gases! A pleasure to meet you. I see you are trying Geissler tubes of various shapes and diameters. Why, I wonder?’

If Fortuny was impressed, it was not apparent. ‘What is your business, sir?’ he asked coldly.

Holmes gave our names again. ‘We are up from London on personal business that concerns Mr Vitale. Nothing to do with your research.’

‘Then how do you know of it?’

‘Mr Holmes follows such things,’ I said. ‘Much as other men follow football. Those Hiburnians, quite something, eh?’

Fortuny laughed. ‘Ah, all right! An amateur scientist. I know your kind. You doubtless have some arcane specimens of something in a glass case. Perhaps even a small Bunsen burner in your sitting-room. Go ahead, Leo. Remove yourselves to the hall, please.’

I sensed Holmes about to make a stinging retort and pulled him through the door.

In a moment, we stood facing Leo Vitale in the hallway. There was something awkward about the thin young man, something not at ease. It was as if he had only newly inhabited this body and still didn’t know how it worked. His gestures were stilted, self-conscious. But when he smiled, which was rare, this awkwardness melted away and the fellow did, I suppose, have a certain uncultivated charm.

‘How can I be of help, Mr Holmes?’ he asked.

‘Mr Vitale, I have been called in by Miss Wyndham’s family,’ said Holmes. ‘They are worried about her disappearance. May I see the bottom of your left shoe?’

I looked down at Vitale’s shoes. They were of good quality but worn. What on earth was Holmes on about?

The fellow hesitated, then raised and twisted his foot to display the sole, on which a large patch was evident. Holmes smiled at this.

Vitale frowned, then understanding dawned. ‘My footprint?’ he mused. ‘You are a detective. But where …?’ His eyes flicked back and forth, and he put a hand to his forehead. ‘Oh, the tree! Her house!’ He coloured violently. ‘How careless of me,’ he mumbled. ‘But she hasn’t truly disappeared.’

Holmes smiled at the boy’s quickness. ‘I am aware. We have just come from her. I am not here to censure, Mr Vitale. Rather to understand who might have sent a threatening letter to Miss Wyndham.’

‘What? Someone has threatened Dillie? Sir, I must know more!’ He brushed the hair out of his eyes nervously. ‘What is the nature of these threats? Enough to call in a man from London? Who called you, sir? And why have you come to me?’

‘Are you not seeing the young lady? I believe you have also visited Miss Dillie at her hideaway?’

‘Er …’

‘No use prevaricating. She said so herself.’

‘If you know of this place, and I know that she hasn’t disappeared, then you know that I have been there.’

‘Did you threaten Miss Wyndham?’

‘No, sir! You confound me!’

‘Do you know the Jesus Lock footbridge? Do you go there often?’ Holmes studied the young man closely for a reaction.

‘Yes, I know it, and no, not often. What is this about?’

‘Did you find Miss Odelia’s doll there, the one that looks like her, and throw it in the river after tearing off its arm?’ Holmes did not take his eyes off the boy’s face.

The young man went white, and he tried to speak but couldn’t. ‘Has that happened?’ he finally asked.

Holmes said nothing but kept his eyes on the boy.

‘By God – if there were a God, I’d ask Him to protect her,’ said Vitale. ‘We must go to the police!’

‘The police know of it. It is why I have been called in.’

‘But why you are questioning me? You cannot think I would threaten Miss Odelia Wyndham? I … I have feelings for her.’ He followed this with a nervous glance back at the laboratory door. ‘Sir, I hope to make her my wife. Now you know, and I hope that you will retain this confidence. My position here is hard won. Science requires a devotion that, well—’

‘Devotion to science can be all-consuming, Mr Vitale,’ said my friend.

‘With all respect, sir, how would you possibly know about that?’

‘Because Mr Holmes has made a science of his own work,’ said I.

Vitale shrugged dismissively. ‘You can know nothing of real science, sir. Nor of my feelings!’

Holmes paused, evaluating. ‘Watson, come. I am satisfied.’ He turned on his heel and marched away in his precipitous manner, leaving me to face the young scientist.

Vitale called out, ‘But Mr Holmes, what of this threat?’

Holmes was already halfway down the hall.

‘Don’t worry, Mr Vitale. Miss Wyndham is in good hands,’ I said. ‘Sherlock Holmes will ensure it.’

In retrospect, I wish with all my heart that I had not said those words.

CHAPTER 20

The Mind Reader

An hour later, our train steamed south towards London. Outside, a white haze of rain softened our view of the green fields, hedges and trees speeding by. We were alone in our first-class compartment. Holmes tried several times to read a newspaper, but finally flung it down in frustration and stared out of the window at the passing scenery.

‘That arm,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t like the dismembered doll. I do not like it at all, Watson.’

‘Any further thoughts on the perpetrator?’

‘That is what troubles me. It could be either of her obvious suitors, one arrogant and entitled, the other strange and secretive. Or it could be our mendacious deacon, who has his own agenda. I suppose it could also be someone unknown to us at present. Dillie is both an attractive and a highly inflammatory young person. She is the flame to which many moths