‘Madame, if you don’t mind,’ said he, attempting to disengage.

But the lady clung to his arm. She turned to her husband. ‘Mr Holmes is very good, Dario. Some say he is like magic. In his profession.’

Just then the stagehand returned with some items that could serve as a splint. I chose a wooden ruler and set about breaking it in half. ‘Holmes, I will need your help,’ I said. I did not want to be left here with this explosive fellow. ‘Hold this piece of ruler just here, while I wrap this around.’ I indicated the makeshift splint and a strip of fabric. Reluctantly, Holmes complied.

‘Ha, you are “like magic”, she say?’ Borelli challenged Holmes. ‘Do you know, then, what is the secret of my success? Why I am the Great Borelli? Who next year will be playing in Prince Albert Hall?’

‘Let me suggest it is not due to your diligent stage personnel,’ said Holmes, ‘or your immense personal charm.’

‘One time only, Falco, he leave the tank. This never happen before and will never happen again! Believe me, I make sure. Now, enough. But why am I great? The secret of my success? You will never guess!’

‘That is true. I never guess.’

‘What, then are you a genius?’

Holmes glanced up at Borelli. I recognized that look. There would be trouble.

‘You have six attributes. Three of which, of course, are quite common.’

‘Only six? Ha! Name them.’

‘The first is showmanship – that is, a well-written patter, delivered with a certain panache. Second, custom props: special, pre-rigged equipment, a kind of cheat.’

‘This is no cheat!’

Unruffled, my friend continued. ‘Pre-rigged equipment has not much to do with skill. One can purchase, for example, the floating lady illusion or—’

Borelli shot a quick angry glance at his wife. ‘All my equipment is made by me!’

‘Designed by your wife, I understand.’ Holmes turned to me as though I’d asked for an explanation. ‘Pre-rigged tricks are the kind that creative artists, such as Madame here, sell to lesser magicians, Watson. Special boxes, tables, card decks. Guillotines that seem to cut off fingers.’

At the mention of the guillotine, Borelli glanced again at his wife.

‘Yes, I told you I consult about Santo’s accident,’ she said. ‘I gave him all the details. Mr Holmes will find who sabotaged Santo’s trick, and Santo will stop troubling you.’ When he grimaced, she pleaded, ‘Dario, listen.’

Holmes had warmed to the topic. ‘The table is rather well done, Madame. Flicking the scarf, for example, as he disposes of the teacup and then the rabbit into a hidden pocket.’

The hidden pockets again! I wondered what happened afterwards and looked about the dressing room in concern, until I spotted the baby rabbit in a small cage, happily chewing some greens. Madame Borelli caught my concern.