He pushed the top free! Borelli surfaced, gave a huge gasp, and then shook his head violently, sending a spray of water into the air.

The musicians played a triumphant flourish. The audience burst into applause.

The top was taken in hand by the two assistants who had scrambled up two ladders on either side. One assistant held a hand down to pull him out of the tank. Borelli waved the man away and stayed in the tank, perched on the edge and leaning on his two arms. He gave a salute to the audience, who continued to applaud wildly.

The assistants looked a bit confused. I glanced at Holmes. He was staring at Borelli, his forehead creased in a frown. What had just happened?

Borelli waved to the two assistants. They clambered down the ladders, and with the help of two more stagehands wheeled the giant tank off the stage, Borelli still within. Madame Borelli came to the front of the stage. She bowed deeply.

‘On behalf of the Great Borelli and myself, we thank you for coming today. Grazie. Grazie.’ She bowed again, blew kisses as the music played, and the curtains closed.

I looked at Holmes.

‘Backstage, Watson,’ he said. ‘I am curious about what just happened.’

CHAPTER 9

Misdirection

We pushed past a large crowd of fans and well-wishers to a guardian at the stage door who turned all away. Not to be thwarted, my friend led us to the side of the building to another entrance, a plain locked door which he handily picked with a small tool from his pocket.

In a moment we were greeted by Madame Borelli at the door to their dressing room. The Great Borelli sat on a chair by his cluttered dressing table, still wet and in his bathing costume but royal in demeanor, with a luxurious, embroidered silk robe thrown over all. One leg was elevated, his foot resting on a chair. His foot angled oddly, and I saw in an instant that the ankle was broken. It was swollen and tinged blue. He grimaced in pain as he issued sharp commands in Italian to two stagehands and his wife.

One assistant held the top bar of the tank as Madame Borelli examined the cuffs embedded in it. One was open, but the closed one held her focus. She was frowning and said something in Italian to her husband and their voices rose.

A stagehand pushed through to interrupt urgently. I made out the words ‘il dottore’ and stepped forward. ‘I am a doctor,’ I said. ‘May I assist you?’

The Great Borelli looked up and took us in. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded. ‘And how you get in here?’

His accent was thick. The magician eyed the two of us with scorn.