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‘Hardly the face of a new country,’ he said, trying to disguise his feelings. ‘I can see why you have to wear the mask.’

‘All medical procedures have side-effects,’ Balthassar said quietly. ‘Mercury used to treat syphilis, drives men mad. I consider myself fortunate that my own side-effects are limited to the purely cosmetic’

‘But what are they?’ Matty whispered.

It was Virginia who replied. ‘They’re leeches,’ she said. ‘Bloodsucking leeches. They live in streams and ponds in hot climates.’

‘Bloodsucking leeches,’ Matty repeated. And you’re letting them suck your blood? You’re insane!’

At least I’m alive,’ Balthassar replied, unperturbed.‘My family has an inherited disease. My father died of it, as did his father. The blood flows sluggishly in our veins. Without treatment our bodies simply start shutting down, bit by bit.’ He raised a hand and looked at the obviously missing finger. ‘There wasn’t a lot left of my father when he died.’

‘And the leeches help?’ Sherlock asked, fascinated.

‘They have a substance in their saliva that stops the blood from clotting. They have to, otherwise they would not be able to feed. With enough leeches attached to my skin, all of them feeding, all of them secreting that substance, my circulation is quicker. The blood rushes through my veins.’

‘But – don’t they suck your blood out?’ Matty asked.

Balthassar shrugged. ‘A thimbleful each, perhaps. A small price to pay for good health, and one I do not begrudge them. Which reminds me . . .’ He turned to Dr Berle. ‘I believe you have something for me?’

Berle had a disturbed look on his face. He took the box from his lap and put it on the table, then flicked a catch on top and opened a lid. From inside he took a glass jar with a lid made of waxed paper which was fastened on with string.

Inside the jar was something horrifying.

The leeches on Duke Balthassar’s face and hands – and presumably on the rest of his body as well – were small, barely larger than Sherlock’s little finger. The one in the jar was the size of his clenched fist, and it was a bright, glistening red. It lay curled around the bottom of the jar, its tiny head waving blindly in the air, seeking sustenance.

Virginia clutched her hand to her mouth and turned away. The cougars, lying on the veranda nearby, tried to edge back even further. Their teeth were exposed and their eyes looked wild and scared, but their fear of Balthassar seemed to exceed their fear of the leech, and they didn’t try to run.

‘An impressive specimen,’ Balthassar said, taking the jar from the table. ‘When did it last feed?’

‘A month or so ago,’ Berle replied. ‘Or so I’m told.’ He paused, and swallowed, before continuing. ‘Duke, as a doctor – as your doctor – I have to tell you that this . . . treatment. . . isn’t something I recommend. In fact, I’m not even convinced it works. The things you’re doing to your body . . . they’re monstrous!’

‘I’m still alive, Doctor, and I still have all of my extremities, minus two fingers and some toes,’ Balthassar replied. ‘That is all the proof I need.’ He pulled at a loose strand of string, and the knot holding the waxed paper on undid itself. And with this beautiful creature I will be able to think even more clearly and my stamina will be unbounded.’

He reached into the jar and carefully picked the leech out. It hung bonelessly from his fingers. He smoothed a strand of his fine white hair back from his face, then placed the leech behind his right ear.

The cougars made a mewing sound. They were terrified.

As Sherlock watched, the creature’s head moved around, searching for a vein, he presumed, then fastened itself on to Balthassar’s skin. Its rear end manoeuvred for a moment, wriggling around, and then it too fastened itself down firmly.

Balthassar closed his eyes and smiled blissfully. ‘That’s it,’ he whispered. ‘That’s right, my beauty. Feed. Feed away’

‘How . . . how long do they stay attached?’ Sherlock asked.

‘Days,’ Balthassar replied dreamily, eyes