“After her return from India, my sister decided to take it on and redeem it first from disease and then dedicate it to the longer goal of farming and horticulture. In searching for the suitable experts, she met in Florence one Jaswant Singh, who told her of his early experience as a medical researcher in malaria before he became a banker. It was through him that she found the help to redeem the land, which is now a thriving enterprise, and a husband for her sister. I shall let her fill in the story for you since you already know each other. Perhaps we might all meet tonight. Jenny is due to arrive in an hour at the hotel in Positano, and will come to the convent. Perhaps we could all meet at your albergo since the evening views are so lovely.”
We took our leave of Lady Singh and returned to our rooms. On the way back, Holmes was filled with talk of Jennifer Maxwell.
“A woman of the greatest intelligence and beauty, Watson, someone who has impressed even me, who has little time for the more tender emotions.”
On one of the rare occasions that I had observed, he seemed happy to jest about himself and the attitudes that he had publicly displayed for so long.
“I am most anxious to meet her, Holmes,” said I.
“But please, Watson, keep your well-known charms hidden. You have benefited from our adventures with the acquisition of at least one wife.”
“All right,” said I joining his laugh, “tonight at least I shall be an old doorstop.”
“Good, dear doctor, so be it. And Watson, pack your revolver, as I shall mine. It will be an evening of danger as well as good company.”
Two hours later, we received word that Lady Singh and her sister awaited us in the garden. As we descended, we could see the sisters sitting on the veranda. I followed Holmes’s quick step.
“Lady Maxwell, I presume?” said Holmes.
“Indeed,” she replied with a laugh. “Mr. Roger Lytton-Smith, I presume?” she asked, “or is it really Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”
“It is he, with no disguise whatever this time. And Dr. Watson,” said Holmes, looking in my direction, “the chronicler, nay, the inventor of the great detective.”
And so it began, a long conversation in which Holmes did his best to concentrate on the case at hand, until his interest in Lady Maxwell took charge.
“Have you any idea what the wild beast is that has invaded the villa?” she asked.
“Let us say that I have several ideas, none of which is certain. I need more evidence, which I expect to come quickly.”
The conversations stretched over an hour. I am not privy to Holmes’s, for he and Lady Maxwell early on began to stroll alone together in the garden. My words with Lady Singh, as I recall, were stilted and hers not particularly memorable. We were reduced to pleasantries and then a polite silence.
As darkness fell, Holmes returned to us and said that he would walk Lady Maxwell back to the hotel and that he and I should meet at our quarters. I was surprised that Holmes would wish to walk the lady home in the dark considering the incidents that had taken place. I nodded to him, however, and accompanying Lady Singh back to her hotel in a cab, I rode back to our hotel.
By eleven, Holmes had not returned and I grew concerned. I noted belatedly that I had not seen him or Lady Maxwell on the road when I accompanied Lady Singh to her hotel. This fed my fears that something had happened. It being a short distance to the hotel and the cab driver Salvatore having retired for the night, I decided to walk down the road to see if I would meet Holmes on his return.
It was dark, but I could see the lights from Positano as I walked down the steep hill. For some reason, I began to feel uneasy and I remember shivering in the mist. I clutched my revolver to make sure that it was there. That was the last conscious thought I had, for I suddenly felt something almost feathery touch my ear. A sharp pain in the neck followed and I went into a dead faint.
I know nothing of what intervened for the next thing of which I was aware was that I had awakened in a hospital room in Positano. I tried to move, but my neck caused me unbearable pain.
“Do not try to move, Watson,” said Holmes in his familiar voice. “You are out of any danger, but I must say you gave us quite a fright. And had I kept to the business at hand, it would not have happened. Too long a talk with a beautiful woman.”
He was pale and fatigued and I could see nothing but relief in his eyes.
“What happened, Holmes? The last thing I remember is a prick like pain in the neck and then . . . I must have lost consciousness.”
“You did indeed, Watson, and did not see your assailant in the dark. But I did.”
“And what was it?”
“All in due time. You have been here for almost three days, in and out of consciousness. At times I feared the worst, for the attack on you was far more serious than that on old Amendola. Take rest for a short while longer, dear Watson. I shall tell all when we reach our quarters. I have arranged a special cab to take us back.”
It was late morning the following day when, with the consent of the doctors in Positano, I was allowed to leave the hospital. I was as weak as a kitten and was grateful for Holmes’ strong shoulder as he almost carried me to and from the cab. At the hotel, new quarters on the ground floor awaited us. Once ensconced in a comfortable rocking chair and given a hot cup of tea, I began to feel considerably better. My impatience to hear what had happened must have filled my expression, for without my saying a word Holmes began his intense account of what had transpired.
“Let us return to the moment when I left you to walk Lady Maxwell back to the hotel,” he began. “In order to have a bit more time with her, I suggested that rather than take the road back that we walk down the path through the olive groves. You may have wondered why you did not see us from the cab you had taken. But we heard you pass and continued on our chosen path. It took us far longer than I thought it would, for the groves were fenced off into small plots and every few feet we had to jump a fence or scale a wall. We reached the hotel around ten thirty. It was then that I realised that you might come in search of me, but I dallied a bit longer with the lady, finally leaving her around eleven, precisely the time that I judge you to have left our hotel.”
“Quite right, Holmes, it was exactly eleven by my watch.”
“In a few minutes I heard your step and then a groan. It was your voice in pain that I heard and I cursed my own weakness and inattention. I ran towards you and saw you there bleeding on the road when suddenly I was grAbbéd from the rear and thrown down. I wrestled the creature to the ground—my baritsu is still serviceable despite the passing years—and found myself staring into the malignant face of an almost naked but hideous dwarf. He tried to throw me, but neither of us could best the other. His grip around my chest was so great that I could barely breathe. Finally, he tired and I knocked him out with a blow to the head. I raced to you. You were unconscious and bleeding steadily, but fortunately slowly, from a small but sharp puncture in the neck. I stanched it with a piece of my shirt and carried you down to the hotel. There, with a quick explanation, I left you with Lady Maxwell and her sister, who sent for the doctors. I raced back up the hill in the hope that I had sufficiently injured the beast for him to be there still. But it was not to be. He had recovered and was gone. I decided then that in the dark a search was almost impossible. There was one place to look, however, and I went there: to Habib’s quarters. As I approached his hut, I heard the growling that must have terrified Lady Singh. With revolver in hand, I threw open the door. There sat a very calm Habib, with the dwarf collared, the leash in Habib’s firm hand.”