The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

We knew that our allotted thirty minutes had been reached because the maid suddenly reappeared. However, she was soon dispatched again, with as much ‘charm’ as when she had been originally summoned. The maid bustled nervously from the room and Dona Dolores turned to us once more.

‘Your information is correct, Senor and, to my eternal shame, it is true that twice I visited his room and twice I found this once magnificent man now so consumed with guilt and remorse that he could barely bring himself even to look upon me. Guilt for having betrayed the trust of a man to whom he had pledged and given his support, remorse for having slain this same man so callously, by a means masquerading as a duel. Only his misguided code of honour could have induced him to perform such a deed and this, he swore, he would now renounce. He would, henceforth, pledge himself to a life of abstinence, devoting his gift of literacy to promote goodly deeds.

‘Twice I beseeched him to reconsider his pledge, attempting to rekindle memories of the special time that we had been granted and twice he gently pushed me aside. It was not that he blamed me for that which had occurred, although all the saints know that he should have done, but because his new life held no place for a woman such as I. He spoke with such clarity and sincerity that on my second visit I promised never to return. Even now I am packed and ready to return to Cordoba, although I will not embark until I am certain that Isadora has been restored to health.’

I could sense that Holmes deplored the wretched role that Dona Dolores had played in the tragic events unfolded in her narrative. Nevertheless, when he next addressed her it was in his gentlest of tones.

‘Dona Dolores, you have already mentioned Persano’s guilt-ridden state of mind, yet he also appears to have spoken with remarkable clarity. Was there anything in his manner or appearance that left you feeling anxious for his mental well-being?’

‘Senor Holmes, although his words were not those of my Isadora of old, they were spoken with a calm serenity. I left his rooms feeling distraught and disappointed, but I did not feel anxious for him.’

‘One final question then, if you would permit, Dona Dolores?’ Holmes asked as I was closing my book. ‘Please think back carefully before you give your answer. Were there any unusual objects or artefacts in Persano’s room, that seemed out of place or inexplicable?’

A look of annoyance flashed across the lady’s face at the mere suggestion that her answer would be anything other than accurate. However she did Holmes’s bidding and certainly took her time before replying. Sadly, though her answer was in the negative. She shook her head emphatically and rang her small bell once more, indicating that our time with her was at an end.

‘I cannot assist you any further, gentlemen. I implore you, however to inform me of any news that you may be able to gather. Adios!’ She turned away from us suddenly and immediately began to scold the poor maid who had just responded to the summons of the bell. We made a hurried, unceremonious exit and a few moments later were seated in a cab bound for Scotland Yard.

Despite the unsatisfactory conclusion to the interview Holmes appeared to be surprisingly animated once we got under way. He rubbed his hands together excitedly and inclined towards me whilst leaning upon his bony knees.

‘So, Watson, you are certainly the undoubted expert when it comes to the behaviour of the fairer sex. Would you say that the intimidating Senora was telling the truth?’

‘Well, judging by your description of her it would seem to indicate that you have already drawn your own conclusions!’ I chuckled. ‘However, I would say that I have yet to hear of a more honest and heartrending account of an illicit affair than that of the Dona Dolores Cassales. Which aspect of her story do you find so hard to believe?’

Holmes stared at me in silence for a moment, and then slowly leant back in his seat once more whilst he lit his pipe. ‘All of it and none of it,’ he whispered, almost to himself.

‘Oh, come along Holmes, surely this time you go too far?!’ I cajoled.

Without replying and when we were close to our destination, Holmes suddenly rapped on the roof of the cab with his cane and asked the driver to pull over next to the Embankment.

I asked the driver to wait when Holmes leapt from the cab and then made his way to the river. He lit his pipe and gazed over the broad expanse of the Thames.

‘I had hoped that the tidal breeze might clear my head of that woman’s conundrums,’ Holmes replied to my questioning glances. I did not pursue his earlier inscrutable mutterings, for I knew that once his present state of mind came upon him a few moments of silence would be more conducive to extracting an answer from him.

‘You thought my earlier reply to be both evasive and unnecessarily enigmatic, did you not?’ Holmes asked suddenly while he was emptying his pipe against the embankment wall.

‘I cannot deny it.’

‘Well then, I shall attempt to unravel it.’ He smiled. ‘I found it impossible to doubt the validity of everything that the lady told us. It all rang true and besides, what type of mind and wild imagination could have contrived such a tale? However, her story contains nothing that can aid us in our quest for the truth. Her behaviour, upon reaching London, contradicts everything about her character that we have learnt so far. As for Persano’s transformation from a world-weary adventurer and duellist to a man devoted to abstinence and philanthropy, well that certainly beggars belief!

‘But then why should she lie, having just bared her very soul to us? Perhaps their experiences in Guahanna had proved to be an epiphany for them both? No!’ Holmes shrieked and then slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand, in frustration. ‘This affair is not yet clear to me and why is there no poison in the worm?’ Holmes’s voice tailed away to a whisper and he gestured for me to follow him whilst he made his way slowly back to the cab.

Upon arriving at the Yard a short while later, we were not a bit surprised to find Inspector Morrison seated at his desk. Inspector Morrison was not a detective whose path we had not crossed very often in the past. Indeed, as he now approached his late middle age, the reputation that he had acquired for preferring his desk-bound duties to those of a more active role, was gaining more credence. However, I see from my notes that on the one occasion on which we had collaborated, a tale that I have christened the Callous Chorister, he had proved to be a most willing and able associate, if a little stolid in his approach.

He pushed back his chair and rose to attention the instant that we had entered the room and shook us both warmly by the hand. It was only when he stood up that one could observe just how disproportionately long his legs were. For when he was seated he appeared almost tiny from behind his desk, yet now he was revealed as the giant he truly was. An absurdly thin ring of red hair circled his bald pate, although this was more than compensated for by the copious amount of hair that adorned various parts of his face. The smile with which he greeted us was warm and welcoming.

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen!’ his voice boomed. ‘To what do I owe the honour of such a visit?’

‘Ha! Honour indeed, Inspector Morrison. We come regarding the Isadora Persano affair,’ Holmes cheerfully responded.

‘A tragic business, that,’ Morrison murmured, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘Although I am surprised at your involvement. I was under the impression that the fate of Mr Persano had been a matter only for the staff of Browne’s and Scotland Yard.’

‘My involvement comes as a result of information from another source, one that I am not at liberty to divulge at present. However, with your trust and co-operation, I feel certain that a solution might be found to relieve the plight of the tragic duellist.’

‘Duellist, you say? I had no idea that such a thing existed in this day and age.’ Morrison exclaimed.

‘Ah, so you see there are ways in which we can help each other in solving this little mystery.’ Holmes smiled.

‘I was not aware of any mystery. The man obviously had a disturbing experience, while reporting on that Central American business, and undoubtedly this has unhinged his mind. I am certain that this is not a unique occurrence.’

‘You do not regard it as unique that an intelligent man of letters and one who has experienced so much around the globe, should be suddenly reduced to a mumbling wreck within the confines of a sedate London hotel? Surely the presence of so remarkable a worm renders this affair unique? Was there any attempt made to examine the creature?’ Holmes asked.

‘Indeed there was, sir, and it was pronounced that the creature was unknown to science!’ the inspector replied with an air of sadly misplaced pride in his voice.