The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes by Paul D. Gilbert Page A

singular problem will be close to resolution. Cabby!’ Holmes rapped the roof of our cab with the top of his cane.
    Our driver responded immediately, so drowning out Crawford’s increasingly distant protestations.
    ‘Really Holmes! You cannot continually ride roughshod over everyone. Crawford was barely clear of the cab, when you dismissed it and could well have been injured.’ I protested.
    Holmes was totally oblivious, however, for he was now transfixed by the poster advertising ‘Don Giovanni’ at the front of the Opera House.
    ‘I am a witless amateur, Watson, not fit to share your cab. I should have noticed the beard before. Now then, a visit to Savile Row, two wires from the nearest office andthe rest of the evening shall be our own. I trust you would not object to dinner at Simpson’s,’ he proposed, knowing full well that Simpson’s was one of my favourite eateries.
    ‘Yes, that would be most agreeable,’ I enthusiastically replied. ‘I trust however, you will share some of your theories with me before then. I freely admit that I am no more enlightened than I was before we arrived at Convent Garden.’
    ‘You know my method well, Watson,’ Holmes began. ‘I suggest you now apply it to these few known and relevant facts. A brilliant young baritone disappears from his dressing room after two outstanding performances. He knows no one in this country save the two Covent Garden officials, so both personal and professional reasons for his disappearance can be disregarded. However, his fiancée announces her imminent arrival just hours before he absconds.’
    ‘Obviously he was trying to avoid meeting his fiancée, if you discount the kidnapping theory.’ I responded.
    ‘My dear Watson, you surpass yourself! There can be no other explanation. The evidence of the young man at the stage-door totally dismisses any thought of kidnapping. You see, our well-intentioned constabulary continually question the wrong people. Whilst they are wasting time trying to locate an Italian interpreter in order to communicate with Tordelli’s fiancée, I already know she can shed no more light on the matter than that news vendor by the corner. Furthermore, whilst they chose to interview the rather pompous stage-door commissionaire, I prefer to chat to his somewhat younger and far more informative assistant . This assistant just happened to hail a cab for a bearded gentleman at the stage-door around the time of Tordelli’s supposed disappearance.’
    ‘Supposed?!’ I exclaimed, now totally bemused. ‘Now Holmes, whatever …’
    ‘I used the word “supposed”, Watson, for I am now almost certain of his present whereabouts, and am equally sure he will remain there until tomorrow evening.’
    At this moment our hansom pulled up at the northern end of Savile Row and Holmes immediately alighted.
    ‘Be a good fellow,’ he said, handing me two sheets of paper, ‘send off these wires and make your way to Baker Street where I will meet you in time for dinner.’
    Holmes was as good as his word and we both enjoyed an excellent meal. The only blemish on the evening, as far as I was concerned, was Holmes’s absolute refusal to discuss the case and especially his work of that afternoon.
    The fact that I knew the contents of his wires did nothing to enlighten me, indeed, the inmost singular lines of enquiry served only to intensify my sense of frustration. The first was to an operatic festival in Bavaria, which merely required an affirmation of the presence of the two gentlemen from Covent Garden. The second requested a list of any unsolved murders and disappearances that had occurred recently in or around Milan.
    Despite all my pleas, Holmes refused to be drawn onto the subject but eventually I found myself being calmed by his most eloquent and informative analysis of recent Bruch and Brahms violin concertos. Despite my ignorance of the finer points of violin works, I found my future appreciation of these particular pieces was