‘How so?’ asked Colangelo, his irritation evident.

‘The cuff of my left sleeve has the slightest coffee stain, but dark, with no milk. You are lucky in that one. I did not notice this, or I would have changed shirts before coming.’

‘It is surprising, as I see from the rest of your clothes that you are very – what is the word? – fastidious.’

‘I was in a hurry. I am thin, although this could be from illness—’

‘There is no sign of ill health.’

‘Therefore, I am a light eater. Obvious. And I have calluses on the fingers of my left hand, but not the right, from which you infer a stringed instrument. That, at least, indicates keen observation. They are not terribly noticeable, but you are looking for such clues.’

Colangelo smiled broadly and shook his head. ‘No. It is all magic.’

‘I do not believe in magic.’

‘You are one of few. So you think number four is wrong? That you do not care—’

‘There is no magic, Mr Colangelo. But how, then, do I know that you are a hypochondriac, have recently gained weight, hide sweets in your humidor, and are currently seeing not one but two young ladies?’

Colangelo froze. His jaw twitched.

Holmes waved his arms in a flourish. ‘Magic!’

‘You have been spying on me!’

‘No. We met for the first time just now.’

Colangelo’s eyes darted around the room. ‘You are guessing!’

‘Not at all. You look perfectly healthy, if perhaps overfed, but you have more medicines than six consumptives, and these are visible in the small cabinet above your sink with the door slightly ajar. That, coupled with your copy of Gunn’s Home Book of Health marked with dozens of bookmarks by your bed over there, reveal without a doubt your hypochondria.’

‘Sir!’

‘There is more. Your humidor is nowhere near your smoking paraphernalia – but instead sits next to your collection of biscuits and teas. And wrappings from several horehound candies I recognize by their distinctive red stripes are visible in this small bin nearby, and two more under the bed, there. Also, there is no indication of any cigar smoking nor odour of it, either. Why, then, a humidor? Your consumption of sweets explains the minute holes in the waist of the trousers you are wearing, which indicates they have been let out, and very recently, as several threads are still hanging from the last hole.’

‘That is simple observation, not mind-reading!’

‘This can hardly surprise you.’

‘But what of the two young ladies, Holmes?’ I asked. ‘If I may be so indiscreet?’

Holmes turned to me with a smile. ‘There is a dressing gown, I have noted: pink, in Mr Colangelo’s closet there, Watson. And it is of petite proportions – you really should be careful to close your cabinet doors, Mr Colangelo. I also note a hairbrush, over here, which I suppose could be yours, except for the long blonde hair entangled in it.’