The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes by Paul D. Gilbert

nothing, so Holmes turned his attention to the clothes on the floor. He picked up every item, slowly examining each one in turn. I heard him mumble the words, ‘strange’ and ‘unusual’ to himself a couple of times and he turned the clothes over in his hands, oblivious to Sir James’s undisguised impatience.
    ‘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, subduedlighting, 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