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

appear so. That body was … soaked with it. Or painted.’

‘Death would have been instantaneous, then,’ remarked the detective.

‘We heard screams,’ said Fricano.

‘Well, very quickly then,’ said Holmes.

I shuddered. ‘Yes.’

Fricano looked aghast at the thought. It seemed the man might pass out. I felt in my pocket for my smelling salts.

‘Excuse me, sir. I must sit down a moment,’ murmured Fricano, seemingly overcome with the emotion of the events. He moved away, offstage.

Holmes turned to the young policeman. ‘Hamilton, stay with Mr Fricano, would you?’ Hamilton, relieved to have something to do, nodded.

At precisely this moment, Lestrade entered at the other end of the hall with two of his men.

‘Lestrade!’ cried Holmes. ‘Have you found Madame?’

Lestrade approached, coughing at the terrible odour. ‘Madame Borelli has fled! Flown the coop. All her things – her clothes, her personal items – packed up and gone.’ He waved a slip of paper in triumph. ‘I found this receipt for a train to Palermo. The Borellis had a huge row earlier today.’

He arrived on the stage to stand near us and gestured towards the cauldron. ‘It is clear that the lady engineered this terrible thing. I’m sure you concur!’

‘Madame is now en route to Italy, then?’ asked Holmes.

‘Ha! I have men on their way to the station and have cabled ahead,’ Lestrade crowed. ‘We will catch this murderous witch!’

‘What of Mr Borelli’s things? Are they still in the hotel room?’

‘Well, they were all still there, of course.’

‘Everything?’

‘So far as we could tell. He expected to return, but obviously she killed him here and escaped.’

‘So it appears,’ murmured Holmes. ‘Were his things of an elegant or expensive nature? A silver hairbrush, jewelled cufflinks, a silver-tipped walking stick – anything like that?’

‘Mr Borelli’s? Why?’

‘Please, just answer the question.’

Lestrade bristled. ‘I can’t say they were. Just … regular, rather ordinary ones.’

‘New or used?’

What was Holmes on about, I wondered.

‘I did not notice,’ the inspector snapped. ‘Well, newish, perhaps. But everything was still there. I don’t think he was a wealthy man.’

‘Perhaps. But Mr Borelli had a taste for fine things,’ remarked Holmes.

‘You digress, Mr Holmes, at a terrible moment!’

I will admit that thought was mine as well. Just then a cry was heard from behind a makeshift wing at stage left. I dashed towards the sound and found Fricano crouched over the floor, looking behind a stack of bulky, fake boulders. Hamilton stood next to him.

Fricano arose with a shout! ‘Come quick! Come quick! It is Madame Borelli!’

And then I recognized the lady’s red scarf. It snaked out across the floor, seeming to ooze from behind the boulders like a bloodstain.

CHAPTER 26

The How and the Why

Holmes and I knelt beside the prostrate form of Madame Borelli. I felt for a pulse. ‘Alive, Holmes!’ I said. He exhaled in relief.

One of her arms cradled an empty bottle of gin, the other was splayed out along the dusty floor. Her flamboyant clothes in her signature red and black were awry and spread out around her. She reeked of alcohol.

I patted her cheek gently and applied smelling salts. She snorted and opened her eyes.

‘Madame Borelli?’ I whispered, leaning in.

She belched and struggled to consciousness. I could smell cheap gin.

‘Where am I?’ she slurred. ‘And what is that smell?’

‘Your own breath,’ snapped Lestrade. ‘Get up.’

‘You are backstage at Wilton’s,’ I said.

She blinked and stared up at Sherlock Holmes.

‘What has happened? How did I get here?’ She sniffed the air. ‘What burned?’

She struggled to sit up, discovered the bottle of gin in her hands, looked at it in surprise, and pushed it away.

‘What is the last thing you remember, Madame Borelli?’ asked Holmes.

‘Let us not waste time, Holmes,’ barked Lestrade. ‘Madame Borelli, I am arresting—’

‘One moment, Lestrade, please!’ said Holmes. ‘Madame?’

‘Our room at the hotel. I entered and I … someone came from behind and—’ She paused, struggling for clarity.

‘… and did what? Were you drugged?’ asked my friend.

‘Stop this, Holmes. You give her ideas!’ cried Lestrade.

‘Someone hit me in the back of my head,’ murmured the lady. ‘Suddenly I was choking. A cloth … I don’t remember what …’ She blinked and shook her head. ‘And now I am here.’ The poor woman remained on the floor.

I felt her pulse. It was racing. ‘Gentlemen, where is your sympathy? Help me lift her to a chair,’ I said. Soon, Madame Borelli was seated, with all of us clustered around her.

‘Take slow, deep breaths, Madame,’ I said.

‘Where had you been,’ asked Holmes, ‘just before this happened?’

‘How is this our concern?’ cried Lestrade. ‘This is clearly a ruse!’ The policeman leaned past Holmes and placed his face inches from Madame Borelli’s. ‘I am not interested in your made-up stories, Madame! It is all too clear what happened here.’ He stood back and gestured for his second man to approach. ‘Madame Ilaria Borelli, I am arresting you on the charge of the wilful and sadistic murder of your husband, Dario Borelli. Boys, take her away.’

‘Murder? Dario?’ Her face went white. ‘Dario? Mi Dario is dead?’

Hamilton and a constable each took Madame under an arm and dragged her roughly to her feet. She moaned as they held her facing Lestrade.

‘Careful there!’ I said. ‘This lady is in shock.’

‘Your husband is dead, and you know it,’ said Lestrade. ‘He was burned to a crisp tonight in that infernal prop over there, which I understand you designed.’

Madame Borelli gagged. She wrenched one arm free and covered her mouth. ‘No!’ she sobbed.

Lestrade leaned in close to Madame, sniffing her breath, then with a pointed look at Holmes, picked up one of her hands and smelled it. He smiled proudly. ‘You have gin on your breath, some kind of chemical on your hands – and your husband was soaked in it. A receipt for a one-way ticket through to Palermo was found in your hotel room, and … here …’ Lestrade leaned into her and plucked out a small white token which protruded from the pocket of her skirt. ‘Aha! Yes, just as I thought! Here is