The Three Locks

by Bonnie MacBird

  ‘It is not what you think,’ said Vitale. ‘I got into a fight last night.’

  ‘With whom?’

  He did not want to say.

  ‘With whom, Mr Vitale?’ insisted Holmes.

  ‘Freddie Eden-Summers.’

  Holmes and I exchanged a look.

  ‘Where did this take place?’

  The boy looked embarrassed. ‘In the stairway outside his room. Not very wise of me, in retrospect.’

  ‘Which college was that?’ asked Holmes casually, as if he could not remember.

  ‘Trinity.’

  ‘Had you been there before?’ asked Holmes.

  Vitale shook his head.

  ‘How did you find his room, then?’ I asked.

  ‘I knew it was Trinity, Great Court. I arrived with a large box of cakes and biscuits. The porter was happy to direct me.’

  ‘In the middle of the night?’ asked Holmes. ‘Where did you find those?’

  ‘I stole them. A student on my floor is always well provisioned by his parents.’

  ‘Then that student, at least, saw you?’

  ‘No, he was asleep when I took them. He heard nothing.’

  Holmes stared at Vitale for a long moment. ‘You are holding something back, Mr Vitale. I might even say lying. May I suggest you be forthcoming?’

  A noise behind us made all three of us turn to the door. Silhouetted in the doorway, the light behind him, was Cosimo Fortuny.

  ‘Leo!’ cried Fortuny. ‘What are you doing here? I gave you calculations to run and a report to write up.’ He glanced at Holmes and me. ‘Not these two again! I told you – no visitors!’

  I could see the form of a woman hidden behind Fortuny. It appeared that the handsome young scientist had other plans in the laboratory that night.

  ‘Then who is with you, Cosimo?’ said Leo Vitale angrily. ‘There cannot be one rule for you and another for me!’ He waved towards the dangling tubes. ‘And what is all this nonsense?’

  ‘This is not a visitor, this is a donor to our research,’ said Fortuny irritably.

  I grasped Holmes’s arm. ‘Holmes, shouldn’t we be leaving?’ I whispered.

  But my friend’s face was frozen in surprise. I followed his gaze to the door. Cosimo Fortuny had entered, leaving us a clear view of his guest. It was none other than the flamboyant Madame Ilaria Borelli.

  ‘Madame!’ I exclaimed, gaping in astonishment at what I perceived to be an incomprehensible coincidence.

  I turned to Holmes.

  He stared at her, fascinated. A slow smile of understanding crossed his face. He nodded. ‘Madame Borelli, the research. Brava!’

  CHAPTER 32

  Lucifer’s Lights

  ‘It is Mr Holmes! And the doctor!’ exclaimed Madame Borelli. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’ She turned to Fortuny. ‘Cosimo, this man, Mr Holmes, he saved me when I was being accused of murder!’ She gave Fortuny’s arm a squeeze.

  I could not fathom the nature of this coincidence. But my friend clearly did. He continued to nod in understanding.

  ‘I am on the trail of a great new illusion,’ she said, by way of explanation. ‘You are a detective of murder, Mr Holmes. I am a detective of magic. And I perceive the next great stage effect will come from this laboratory. With this man, Cosimo Fortuny.’

  ‘Cosimo!’ exclaimed Vitale. ‘A stage effect? Explain this to me!’ He gestured at the hanging mass of tubing.

  ‘All in good time, Leo,’ said Fortuny.

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Holmes. ‘I can see it.’

  ‘Holmes, should we not all repair to some safer location?’ I said. ‘The police—’

  ‘I will not hide from the police. I am innocent!’ cried Vitale.

  ‘Innocent of what, Leo?’ asked Fortuny.

  ‘How precisely did you arrive in the Cavendish Laboratory, Madame?’ asked Holmes, his eyes fixed on the glamorous illusionist.

  ‘You must remember, Mr Holmes, I mentioned to you my friendship with a professor. I was speaking then of Cosimo.’ She took his arm. ‘He came to see our act in Birmingham, two weeks before London. After, he invites me to dinner, and—’ She smiled and took the handsome young scientist’s arm in hers. Cosimo Fortuny seemed to grow taller before our eyes as he beamed with pleasure.

  It became clearer. More than a friendship, then. Cosimo Fortuny was Madame’s next ‘project’, as Holmes had predicted. Though perhaps here was the last place one would expect to find him. For a brief moment I will admit that this new mystery distracted me – distracted us all – from our dire circumstance.

  ‘Dinner with Mr Fortuny in Birmingham? I take it your husband was otherwise occupied,’ said Holmes.

  ‘The soprano,’ said Madame. ‘Remember? Touring there as well.’

  ‘I see.’ Holmes turned to Fortuny with one eyebrow raised. ‘Yet this is a rather fortuitious leap from your work, Mr Fortuny to what I see here. Unless …’ A look of further understanding passed over his sharp features, and he closed his eyes, threw his head back and laughed.

  ‘Of course! Madame Borelli! The papers on my table at Baker Street. The ones you stole!’ He turned to me. ‘Sorry, Watson, I accused you of burning them.’

  The lady smiled.

  ‘What papers?’ I asked. I had no idea about any of this.

  She nodded. ‘Always the good ideas, Mr Holmes. Good fortune for me, as it turns out.’

  ‘Cosimo! What is happening here with these people? What of our work?’ Vitale nearly shouted with frustration.

  ‘Patience, Leo,’ said Cosimo. ‘I have loved stage magic since I was a small child. Many scientists do. I proposed to Madame and her husband that we use Geissler tubes in their act. But I was not sure how, precisely …’

  ‘A magic act for the music halls!’ cried Leo Vitale. ‘You trivialize our work, Cosimo!’

  Holmes turned to me. ‘The monograph I was writing – remember Watson, I have recently become interested in stage illusions – explained it all. The Geissler tubes are filled with various gases. When an electrical current passes through them, they light up and glow in the most ethereal and glorious manner! Pass your hand near these and the lights will move! Over there, that Ruhmkorff coil—’ he pointed to that strange black tube of about three feet long and one foot in diameter, set with a series of switches and wires ‘—it creates the spark and generates the current. A smaller one was at Baker Street, Watson. I jotted some notes on this!’

  I nodded.

  ‘I find it remarkable that I did not see you pocket those notes, Madame,’ said Holmes.

  She patted the front of her dress. ‘To fool the fooler is an art you know well.’ She smiled. ‘Watson’s keys?’

  He laughed.

  ‘I struggle for such an idea when I see Cosimo’s work. But I see instantly that your ideas complete the circle,’ said the lady. ‘I call this ‘Lucifer’s Lights’.

  To my view, this was all beside the point. I glanced over at Leo Vitale. He had gone white and was staring at the floor, supporting himself against one of the laboratory tables. The girl he loved had been murdered, and here was Holmes babbling about a magic act. I pulled out a wooden stool nearby and gently sat Vitale on it, fearing a collapse.

  ‘Good thinking, Watson. I am sorry, Mr Vitale,’ said Holmes.

  ‘I was right about you, Mr Sherlock Holmes,’ said Fortuny. ‘The Bunsen burner in your sitting-room …’ He laughed.

  Leo Vitale groaned. I turned to attend him but even the younger scientist seemed now to have ventured down this rabbit hole. ‘Oh, Cosimo!’ he exclaimed. ‘You debase, you subvert, you prostitute our efforts!’

  ‘No, Leo. Madame Borelli donates to the Cavendish Laboratory,’ said Fortuny. ‘I do this for funding.’

  Vitale looked from Fortuny to Madame and back again. ‘No, Cosimo. You do this for a woman!’

  Fortuny grinned at his younger associate. ‘You are in love yourself, Leo. Did you think I did not notice?’

  At this, Leo Vitale seemed to crumple, an
d he covered his face with his hands.

  ‘Gentlemen, please,’ I said. ‘The lady in question has met a violent end. We are in the midst of investigating, and the police will surely come here. Holmes!’

  I became aware of noises coming down the hall. As did my friend.

  ‘They are here!’ he cried. ‘We have wasted valuable time. Fortuny, be quick. Fire those up and create a diversion! We must hide.’

  Fortuny hesitated.

  ‘Do it for your friend. I will explain later,’ said Holmes, and he dashed to the cupboard door and opened it, but it was filled to bursting with glass retorts, tubing and other equipment. No room to hide!

  ‘That one!’ cried Fortuny, pointing to a second cupboard at the back of the lab near the sink. Holmes ran to it and threw open the door. There was room inside, in front of some crowded shelves.

  At the same time, the senior scientist dashed to the end of the lab near the door, to fire up the Ruhmkorff coil.

  ‘Down here!’ I heard a familiar, gruff voice in the hall outside.

  ‘Holmes! It is Pickering,’ I whispered.

  Holmes grabbed my arm, pulling me into the cupboard. ‘Mr Vitale, you too – inside! Mr Fortuny, work your magic. Not a word, Madame! Hurry!’

  But Leo Vitale pulled away.

  ‘Vitale! Come!’ Holmes grabbed Leo Vitale’s cuff, but the young man yanked his arm free.

  ‘No! I am innocent. I will face the police!’ he cried.

  ‘They will not believe you,’ said Holmes. But the young man moved out of reach.

  We heard noises at the door of the laboratory, and Holmes and I ducked back into the darkness, closing the cupboard door in front of us, leaving only a crack. We were concealed but could see what was going on in most of the room.

  Fortuny, down at the end near the door, doused the lights. In the dimness I saw him pull a large-handled lever near the Ruhmkorff coil. There was a hum, then a sudden loud crack as a bolt of miniature lightning arced between two metal poles adjacent to the black tube. A sizzle sounded, then a hiss of gas as the tubes slowly swayed gently in their wire cradles fastened to the wall.

  Fortuny threw another switch. All along the walls the small sausage-like tubes suddenly lit up in glowing, ethereal greens, reds and blues. He ran past us and took up a position with Leo Vitale behind us, at the darkest end of the room.

  ‘Fantastic!’ whispered Holmes. It was indeed a strange and marvellous effect.

  Just then the door burst open and silhouetted against the light in the hall were Pickering and two constables. The flicker of the glowing coloured lights danced in patterns across their surprised faces.

  ‘What the devil is all this?’ boomed Pickering. ‘Light the lights, someone!’

  Madame Borelli now emerged into our view as she walked past our hiding place and the glowing tubes, slowly towards the door where the police stood. Her arms were outstretched, as if in a trance. She spoke in a deep, otherworldly monotone.

  ‘Welcome to the humans. Beware, beware! I summon the spirits,’ she intoned. ‘I call forth here, the powers of the dead – to come, to come … and to change the energy of this room …’

  Pickering and his two men backed up in alarm but held open the door. As Madame drew closer to them, she gently passed her hands near the largest of the tubes. As she did so, the glowing substance inside danced strangely in response! Off to one side, but still in near darkness, Fortuny worked some gas valves then retreated behind us again.

  ‘Come, spirits, come!’ The red, then the blue, then the green—all glowing substances—snaked and writhed with the touch of her fingers.

  It was indeed unearthly, weird and beautiful – truly magical, as if Madame Borelli were a real-life sorceress. For a moment, I forgot where we were and what we were doing.

  ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Pickering. His two constables backed into the hall.

  ‘Sir, can we go, please?’ begged one.

  ‘Ha ha, yes!’ whispered Holmes.

  Just on the other side of the cupboard door, I heard Leo Vitale’s voice. ‘Oh, Cosimo, I despair!’

  ‘But isn’t it magnificent?’ returned Fortuny.

  ‘Who’s there?’ shouted Pickering. ‘Holmes? Vitale?’ He turned to his men. ‘Find the lights and turn them on!’

  But his men hesitated. Neither dared enter the room.

  Cosimo Fortuny stepped forward through the murk and into our view. The glowing lights cast coloured patterns on his face.

  ‘It is I, Dr Fortuny. You interrupt my experiments. What do you want?’

  ‘We are looking for Leo Vitale,’ boomed the sergeant, squinting into the dark. ‘This is his laboratory, isn’t it? What is all this … this fairyland nonsense? Turn it off and light the lights. The normal lights.’

  ‘This is Mr J.J. Thomson’s laboratory. It is also my laboratory, and Leo Vitale is sometimes here,’ said Fortuny.

  ‘I am here now,’ cried Leo in a shaking voice. ‘I am here, and I am innocent.’

  ‘The young fool!’ Holmes hissed.

  At this point, one of the policemen found a master switch. The electrified illumination came on brightly, and the glow of the tubes seemed suddenly pale and weak.

  Vitale stepped forward, passing into our line of sight. ‘I am the one you want,’ he said. ‘I am innocent, and I will prove it.’ I wondered if the boy, in his frenzy of valour, would expose us as well.

  Pickering grinned. ‘Leo Vitale, I am arresting you for the murder of Miss Odelia Wyndham. You were heard arguing with her at two in the morning last night and she died not long after that. Come forward and make no sudden moves. Extend your hands before you.’

  Fortuny gasped. ‘What the devil?’

  Vitale reached Pickering and held his hands out. Pickering snapped the cuffs on him roughly. ‘Take him in to the station,’ he said.

  ‘I had nothing to do with her death, sir,’ said Vitale as he was hurried out the door. Pickering paused, scanning the room.

  ‘Good day, Officer,’ said Fortuny dismissively.

  ‘I am not done,’ snarled Pickering. ‘I am looking for a Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson. They were spotted not far from here. Holmes is a tall man, built like a lamp post, dark hair, full of himself. The other fellow is shorter, fair, moustache, heavier build. Quite ordinary.’

  I did not wish this man well.

  ‘And who might they be?’ asked Fortuny.

  ‘Wanted in connection with this same murder,’ said Pickering. ‘I’d like to have a look around.’

  ‘No one else is here, Mr Pickering,’ said Fortuny. ‘But this equipment is very delicate. Displace one small thing and the entire apparatus could collapse. You and your police department would then be liable to the University for hundreds of pounds. Hundreds. But by all means, come in and have a look, if you must.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said the sergeant. ‘But … who is that woman who playacts at magic like a loon?’

  I heard what sounded like a growl from Madame.

  ‘She was joking with you, Officer. Madame Borelli is a student of my work.’ Fortuny approached the policeman and now stood by Madame.

  Pickering stayed on the offensive. ‘No student dresses like that!’

  Indeed, Madame Borelli was perhaps a bit outstanding in her signature black and red.

  Fortuny shrugged. ‘Ask, if you do not believe me. It is true.’

  ‘Yes? Well, I cannot imagine that ladies are allowed in these labs,’ said Pickering. ‘Perhaps I will report you.’

  ‘Well, Mr – er, I am sorry, but you did not give me your name,’ said Fortuny.

  ‘Pickering.’

  ‘Well, Mr Pickering, the late Mr James Clerk Maxwell – he is the founder of our laboratory, in case you did not know – was progressive in this matter. Ladies study and even work here.’ He smiled. ‘But strangers – that is another matter. Trespassing without invitation here is strictly regulated. Perhaps I will report you.’

  Pickering hesitated only a moment, then gr
unted and departed.

  Holmes and I exhaled in relief and exited the cupboard. Holmes quickly thanked Madame Borelli and Fortuny.

  ‘Is it true, then, about Maxwell admitting ladies?’ I asked.

  ‘It is,’ said Fortuny. ‘What is going to happen to poor Leo?’

  ‘Nothing, if he is innocent,’ said Holmes. ‘And Madame Borelli … you do land on your feet like a cat. Watson, come, we have two more places to search. The trail grows cold.’

  Landing on her feet? Madame, I thought, had a way of landing dead centre in luck. I wondered when and where she might next appear.

  PART SEVEN

  ILLUSIONS

  ‘Atoms can swerve so there’s always the small possibility even for air molecules of not being forced to follow the determined laws.’

  —James Clerk Maxwell

  CHAPTER 33

  A Palpable Hit

  In moments, we were on the run through Cambridge once again. Ducking into alleys, turning to look in shop windows, we flitted anxiously through the ancient city like desperadoes. We were heading, per Holmes’s direction, back to the Cross and Anchor and Dillie’s abandoned bolt-hole. Holmes was certain that he had missed something in our earlier visit and was determined to take a closer look.

  ‘But the place has been cleared,’ I said as we raced up the stairs at the back of the Cross and Anchor.

  ‘I did not spend the time I needed, Watson. There is something there that will help us, I feel sure of it.’

  The waning sun slanted in through the sheer linen curtains, lighting up the room with a yellow glow. It was nearly seven, but the Indian summer hours were still long. The room, abandoned and stripped of possessions by her angry father and jealous sister, appeared just as it had that morning. It felt like a lifetime ago. The family had made quick work of removing all traces of Miss Odelia Wyndham.

  The furniture and few remaining items were in disarray. Holmes began what he had hoped to do earlier, which was a detailed inspection of the empty closet, the empty drawers, the windowsill and the floor.

  He turned to look at me where I was seated on the blue velvet sofa in front of the window. ‘Up, Watson,’ he directed. ‘I need to look underneath.’ Together, we pushed it aside.