‘Oh, but Holmes,’ I protested as he bundled me from the room. ‘I have always understood that you do not believe in the existence of coincidence.’
Holmes paused for an instant and afforded me his steeliest of glares. ‘Believe me, my friend, I do not!’ He then continued to bound down the stairs.
Mercifully the afternoon traffic was light and we were able to arrive at our destination a full five minutes before our appointed time. A diminutive young bellboy led us to the lady’s suite on the seventh floor and quietly announced us, before hurrying away with a few bronze coins clutched in his tiny, grateful fingers.
To our surprise the room that we had been shown into was not shrouded in the melancholy darkness that we had been expecting. Neither, indeed, was the startling vision of a woman that stood before us. Doña Dolores de Cassales was tall and elegant, indeed she stood at no less than two inches shorter than Holmes did. Her dark velvet hair cascaded in waves down to her shoulders and she wore a dress of lustrous dark-green chiffon ornamented by a profusion of ruby jewellery. I could sense that even the stoic Holmes was taken aback by this vision. The lady strode purposefully towards us and offered her hand towards Holmes.
To her amusement, Holmes gently shook her hand rather than planting a kiss upon its reverse as a lady from her culture might otherwise have expected. In any event, she soon dismissed this display of British diffidence and addressed us in a gentle Hispanic accent that modulated her perfect use of English.
‘Welcome, gentlemen. You must be the illustrious Sherlock Holmes! And this …’ She turned condescendingly toward me for the first time since we had entered the room.
‘This, Doña Dolores, is my good friend and colleague, Doctor Watson, a man whose discretion and honour you can rely upon as assuredly as you can upon my own!’ Holmes announced this with a fervour that filled me with great pride and certainly left Doña Dolores with a manner that was decidedly less haughty. With a rustle of her gown she waved us towards a brace of elegant chairs whilst she arranged herself upon a chaise-longue. She then rang a small golden bell and in an instant a young maid came scuttling into the room, wearing an expression of one who was used to obeying through fear, but with no respect.
The poor girl stuttered her request for instructions and when she received them, in Spanish, they were delivered in a tone that was cold and harsh.
To our surprise the girl placed a long, dark cheroot between the lips of her mistress and then proceeded to light it from a slim candle.
‘The girl will now bring us refreshments, but before then please feel free to smoke, gentlemen.’ We bowed by way of acknowledgement and immediately produced cigarettes of our own. By the time we had smoked these the maid had returned, bearing a tray containing a carafe of red wine, three elegant gilded wineglasses and an abundantly laden silver fruit-bowl.
Once she had filled our glasses the girl was dismissed: ‘Do not return for a full thirty minutes,’ Doña Dolores instructed her. Holmes and myself were left with the impression that we had been informed of the precise time that had been allocated to us and to emphasize his recognition of this Holmes took a long, deliberate look at his pocket-watch.
‘Doña Dolores, I am most anxious to obtain from you as much information as you might possess regarding your acquaintance, Isadora Persano, and his present plight.’
‘You seem to regard this as such a simple thing that you ask of me. Mr Holmes,’ the lady replied with a sardonic laugh.
‘It is not my intention to cause you any distress, Doña Dolores, however my agent observed you visiting Persano at his hotel on more than one occasion, and you appear to be the only person of his acquaintance available to me.’
Doña Dolores caressed her wineglass as if it were a precious jewel before taking a long drink from it, all the while staring into Holmes’s eyes as if by doing so she were able to discover his intentions. Evidently satisfied that Holmes had no malicious intent, she set down her glass and Holmes indicated that I should now bring out my notebook.
‘I first came to Señor Persano’s acquaintance when my husband took up his post at the Spanish consulate in the capital city of Guahanna, a small Central American republic. This appointment was viewed by many as a great honour. However, these are very volatile and dangerous days for Guahanna and my husband was convinced that he had been manoeuvred by his enemies, into a position from which he could not possibly emerge with any credit.’
‘Which enemies would these be, Doña Dolores?’ I asked quietly.
She glanced keenly towards me, as if deciding whether I was worthy of a reply. Evidently I was.
‘Doctor Watson, every ambitious politician creates enemies as he builds his career, very often unwittingly, and my dear husband Francisco was no different, in that respect, from any other. Whether or not he was correct in his assumption, Francisco gradually convinced himself that this was so. Consequently, as the People’s Revolution gathered pace his conviction transformed into paranoia and he saw a personal enemy behind the barrel of every musket. He began drinking wine most heavily and he barricaded himself in his room, while the flames of revolution erupted on every street corner.
‘It was at this time that Isadora Persano arrived in Guahanna, and he soon presented himself at our door. As a freelance journalist it was his duty to establish what steps my husband had taken to safeguard the lives and security of expatriate Spanish citizens who still lived in Guahanna City.
‘My first thought was to close the door in his face, for I was convinced that any article he might write concerning Francisco and his current condition would damage his career beyond redemption. Yet there was something in his presence and manner that evoked a feeling of trust within me. Although he was not much older than I, perhaps forty-five years of age at most, his years of travelling and the witnessing of the many harrowing events that he had reported upon had wearied his dark taut features.
‘His eyes told of a great knowledge and wisdom and the soft tones of his voice had a strangely calming effect upon both me and, subsequently, upon Francisco. Oh yes, Señores, despite the brevity of this meeting, I took a leap of faith and allowed Persano access to my husband’s room. Francisco panicked at first and refused to unlock the door. However, after a few moments of patient persuasion Persano’s voice had the same effect upon Francisco as it had done upon myself, and Francisco turned the key.
‘The transformation upon my husband, within but a half-hour of their first meeting, was nothing less than miraculous. I had not seen him for several days and throughout that time he had neither eaten nor slept. His hair was unkempt, his features had become haggard and gaunt and his eyes were painfully bloodshot. I broke down and wept at the sorry sight of him and would surely have fainted had it not been for Persano’s intervention.
‘He assumed control of the situation and immediately instructed my maid to help me to my room while he sent down for a plate of food and a barber. By the time I had returned, but an hour later, Francisco resembled his old self. Alert, assured and extremely handsome, and I saw with pleasure that the large tray, which was being removed, carried only a few remains and that the wine carafe had been replaced with one of water.’
Doña Dolores paused for a moment and smiled fondly to herself as she dwelt upon these recollections. At this juncture Holmes and I allowed ourselves another cigarette and I could sense that Holmes’s patience was thinning somewhat.