The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes by Paul D. Gilbert

room. Then he became most agitated, jumping up from his chair and, evidently, calling for his incapacitated associate. Then, upon realizing that the giant would not be coming to his rescue and that his situation was a hopeless one, the young man dropped back down into his chair with an air of resignation.
    Despite my efforts at restraining her, Signora Calvinni insisted on approaching the young man.
    She spoke quickly and with passion. I think the interpreter used some licence in his translation for the number of words she seemed to use far exceeded those translated.
    ‘But where is he? Where is my beloved Roberto?’
    ‘Yes Holmes,’ said Sir James, who had also entered the room, ‘what is all this tomfoolery, where is Tordelli?’
    ‘Still in Italy, I rather fancy, but we are here this evening to find your missing Don Giovanni!’ Holmes exclaimed.
    By this time the bearded gentleman, whom Holmes had assailed, had regained his composure and not a little confidence . He was complaining, through his interpreter, to Bradstreet, of his treatment and the intrusion.
    Bradstreet, in common with most of his colleagues, was not averse to a situation whereby my friend might be brought down a peg or two and decided to intervene.
    ‘Now see here, Mr Holmes, this here Italian gentleman claims he and his companion are two very wealthy andrespected businessmen. He claims that he only assaulted the young woman out of fear and desperation. He objects most strongly to this treatment and demands the police be sent for. He was most perplexed when I identified myself as one and is somewhat confused.’
    ‘His confusion I can well understand, I am hard pushed myself at times, in identifying you with detection.’ Holmes sharply rebutted. As he was speaking, Holmes slowly approached the young Italian, who, by now, was backing away from Signora Calvinni. Holmes was on him in an instant, despite Bradstreet’s ardent protestations, however Holmes’s back prevented us from seeing the nature of the ensuing struggle. When he next turned to us he was holding a wig or fake beard in his hand, which he held high in triumph.
    The clean-shaven young man, whom Holmes had revealed, was clearly distraught.
    ‘Tordelli!’ Sir James exclaimed. ‘Really Mr Holmes, it would seem that your abilities even outweigh your considerable reputation. I congratulate you, and offer a thousand apologies for my disparaging attitude of before.’
    Holmes waved this casually aside, yet stood there for a minute, barely suppressing a smile, enjoying to the full the drama of the moment and Sir James’s marked and sudden change in attitude. Bradstreet was visibly crestfallen, but soon decided to regain some authority by withdrawing his notebook and demanding that Holmes relate, in full, his line of enquiry.
    This he was only too happy to do, as his questioning of the assistant porter at Covent Garden, which led him to this conclusion, again highlighted the inefficiency of the London police force.
    I heard Bradstreet exclaim. ‘Two men with beards! Both asking for cabs to take them to the hotel. Well of course, that’s straightforward enough.’
    Then in the midst of the confusion and noise, we all remembered the unfortunate fiancée of Tordelli. She stood shocked and silent in the centre of the room, tears running down her lightly rouged cheeks. Her interpreter stepped forward.
    ‘Signora Calvinni would like to know the whereabouts of her beloved Roberto.’ He said quietly.
    ‘Good heavens!’ Sir James exclaimed. ‘Is she mad? Why, he stands before her.’
    Not for the first time in our association, Holmes’s kindness and consideration towards a grief-stricken lady surprised me. For one so averse to associating with women, a situation such as this showed a side to his nature that was rarely seen, even by me.
    With a gentle smile, he took her by the hand and led her to an easy chair. Once he was satisfied that she was comfortably seated, he said:
    ‘I very much