‘But you know Falco, caro mio,’ she said before turning to Holmes and me. ‘Falco likes the cards and wine. He is very good for organizing the travel but not for the long, boring jobs like sitting backstage and watching all the equipment. I think he is not there all the time.’ To her husband, she added, ‘I tell you this before.’

A tall, handsome man with the flushed countenance of someone who indeed was a fan of the grape poked his head in the door.

‘Falco!’ cried Borelli.

Fricano smiled and nodded at us. ‘Si, Dario?’ he said.

Borelli said something in rapid Italian to the fellow, who responded with a short, conciliatory burst of words. Borelli replied with a sharp retort, then waved him away. Fricano saluted us with a smirk and disappeared.

‘Falco, he admits,’ said Borelli. ‘Maybe he stepped away for an hour. After five p.m. Maybe after six. He is not sure.’

Madame Borelli turned back to Holmes. ‘You see.’

‘Was he unsure of the hour, or the length of his absence?’ asked Holmes.

‘He says he was gone only one hour,’ she said. ‘But I think it was more.’

‘Whoever did this obviously came between six when you checked and seven-thirty, then,’ said Holmes. ‘I wonder that you put your faith in this Falco Fricano, Mr Borelli.’

‘He is family. He never will cross me,’ said Borelli. ‘Maybe make mistake – he will not make again.’

‘Do you have any theories about who might have tampered with the lock tonight?’ Holmes asked. ‘Anyone with a long-standing grudge, perhaps?’

‘Many people are jealous of the Great Borelli,’ said the magician with another wave of his hand. ‘Could be one of a hundred. Ah! Do not poke at ankle so.’

‘I am palpating to find the exact break,’ I said. ‘You have fractured the lateral malleolus – the area where the fibula joins the foot. Not an uncommon break for a sportsman. You will have to immobilize this for a while. It will require a splint,’ I announced. Spotting a stagehand at the door, I called him over and described what I needed. As he departed, strident voices floated in from the hall. The word ‘officer’ was clearly in the mix.

‘Ah, the police are here. Wife!’ said Borelli. ‘Send them away!’

Madame Borelli stepped outside and closed the door. I could hear her conferring with several male voices.

‘Have you had any recent threats by post, or directly? Any suspects from this list of a hundred who seem more likely than others?’ persisted Holmes.

Borelli glanced at Holmes. ‘I do not need you. Are you still here? Go, go!’

‘Fine, then,’ said Holmes, taking up his hat. ‘Watson, I will find you in Baker Street.’ I remained seated next to Borelli’s afflicted ankle.

Madame Borelli returned. ‘I told them we know it was an accident. They go away.’ Noting Holmes was about to leave, she attached herself to his arm. ‘Mr Holmes, please stay.’