‘I invited them,’ Madame Borelli intervened. ‘This is Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson. Mr Holmes, he solves crimes. A famous detective, very good. I called him about the finger you received, about Santo Colangelo. It is especially important, Dario, now that someone else is trying to kill you.’

‘Simple! Is Colangelo,’ cried Borelli.

‘Darling,’ said Madame, ‘Maybe not Santo. He has not the skills.’

‘But perhaps an agent of his?’ said Holmes.

‘You have spoken before, you two,’ said Borelli, his eyes darting between Holmes and his wife. His face grew red with rage. ‘Why do you two speak without me?’

‘Dario, caro mio,’ began the lady in a soothing tone. ‘I wanted his help. I read in the paper, and Scotland Yard recommended.’

Borelli stared at Holmes, considering this.

‘I am a great appreciator of your skills, Mr Borelli,’ said Holmes.

‘A detective? Who tries to flatter me? Who meets in secret with my wife?’ Borelli eyed Holmes from head to toe and snorted. ‘No. For you I have no use.’ He said something in Italian to his wife, who flushed.

Holmes smiled. ‘I am not Madame’s “type”, apparently, Watson,’ said he.

I did not realize my friend spoke Italian. Six years into our partnership, he continued to surprise me.

Borelli turned to me. ‘But you? You are a medical doctor?’

I nodded.

‘Where is your bag?’

‘At home. We came to see your show,’ I said. ‘May I have a look at that ankle?’

‘He is an army surgeon,’ said Holmes. ‘That is a very nice dressing gown, by the way.’

The magician paused only for a moment, then nodded. ‘Look, then.’

I pulled up a chair and leaned in to examine the injury. I had barely touched him when Borelli leaned over his leg, thrusting his face towards mine. He took me by the arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. ‘Ah!’ I said.

‘You will be very careful, no?’ His dark marble eyes bored into mine.

‘Of course.’

‘You make like new.’

‘I will know after I have examined you.’

‘I must perform. Important shows. Make right very fast.’

‘I will do my best,’ I said.

‘Grazie, grazie.’ Still leaning forward, he released my arm and patted me on the back with his other hand. He remained uncomfortably close.

‘Sit back, sir, and try to relax. It will go easier for you. Is there any brandy about?’ I had uncharacteristically left my own flask at home.

‘No, no! I no need,’ said Borelli, waving a hand dismissively.

‘Sit back, please, sir!’ I said.

The magician paused, took a deep breath, then finally relaxed back into the chair, giving me room. As he did, he noted Holmes examining the contraption that had held his ankles.

‘Interesting,’ said Holmes.

‘Put that down!’ ordered Borelli.