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Holmes beamed. “They were, weren’t they? Someone was rather careless in leaving his calling card on show in the hall. Contrary to Lady Darlington’s opinion, Lord Arthur has rather a doubtful reputation: he is a dissolute fellow whose activities sometimes stray into the realms of criminality. And Scotland Yard have had their eye on the Pandora Club, Beacham’s office of operations, for some time. It is the centre for a number of somewhat nefarious dealings.”

“How naïve of Lady Darlington to consider him a suitable companion for her son.”

“How naïve of you, Watson, to think so.”

I ignored my friend’s riddle. “Do you think Beacham is mixed up with the missing picture?”

“I do. I am not sure yet what he is up to and quite who else is involved, but I have my theory which I will put to the test later today.”

After a simple lunch provided by Mrs Hudson, Holmes busied himself with some malodorous chemical experiments, while I caught up with correspondence and prepared some case notes ready for publication. As dusk was falling, he retired to his room, emerging some forty-five minutes later in disguise. He was attired in evening dress, but he had padded out his lithe shape so that he appeared quite plump. His face was flushed and a large moustache adorned his upper lip, while a monocle twinkled in his left eye. The touches of disguise were light, but at the same time they transformed the familiar figure who was my friend and fellow lodger into a totally different character.

“I am ready for a night at the Pandora Club,” he announced, his own voice seeming unnatural emanating from this stranger standing in our rooms. “After all my admonishments to you about the cavalier manner in which you throw your wound pension away on the guesses of the turf, I shall be very careful not to lose too much.”

“You do not require my services, then?”

“Later, m’boy, but tonight I need to act, or rather observe, alone.”

At this moment, Billy arrived with a telegram. Holmes ripped it open with gusto. “Aha,” he cried, reading the contents and then throwing the missive over to me. It was from Hillary Stallybrass. It read: “de Granville is genuine. Some of the other works are not.”

It was at breakfast the following morning when I next saw Holmes. He emerged, without disguise, clad in a purple dressing gown and beaming brightly.

“I gather from that grin,” said I, tapping the shell of my boiled egg, “that your excursion to the Pandora Club was fruitful.”

“The process of deduction is catching,” he grinned, joining me at the table and pouring himself a cup of coffee. “One day I must pen a monograph on the importance in the art of detection of developing a knowledge of international crime and criminals.”

“Riddles at breakfast? Come now Holmes, speak your mind.”

“Does the name Alfredo Fellini mean anything to you?”

I shook my head.

“You prove my point,” my friend replied smugly. “Now I happen to know that he is the right hand man of Antonio Carreras, one of the biggest gangland chiefs in the New York area. Blackmail and extortion are his methods and he has grown fat on them. So much so that he has been able to build up quite an impressive art collection. So my friend Barnes at Pinkerton’s informs me in his regular reports.”

“Art collection?” I dabbed my chin with the napkin and, pushing my half-eaten egg away, gave Holmes my full attention.

“Yes. Now I observed Fellini last night at the Pandora Club where he spent a great deal of his time deep in conversation with a certain member of the Darlington household.”

“His Lordship’s son, Rupert.”

“Precisely. And the conversation was animated, not to say acrimonious at times. And all the while that sly cove Lord Arthur Beacham hovered in the background like a concerned mother hen.”

“What does it all mean, Holmes?”

“To use a painting metaphor, which in this case is somewhat appropriate, I have sketched the outlines of the composition but I still need more time to fill in the detail and work on the light and shade. However, it is clear that Rupert Darlington is involved in some underhand deal which involves