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“Who is the bitch?” Cynthia screeched.
“I shall reveal all to Mr Fergus Alexander tomorrow,” the great detective declared.
“Why not now?” she pleaded.
“You must allow me my moment, Miss La Crème. I enjoy a bit of theatricality.”
“He's really nothing but an old ham,” I explained to her.
I must confess that I did not sleep well that night. The thought that the great detective had the answer to this perplexing mystery of the missing footballer, yet would not reveal it till the morrow, tormented me. I ran through the events over and over again in mind. Everything he had seen, I had seen. Everything he had learned, I had learned. Yet his amazing powers had led him to a conclusion, whereas my own sad faculties led me only to confusion. Eventually I drifted off but was up early and passed the morning with the newspapers, awaiting the arrival of the football manager and clarity. When he appeared it was obvious he was still in some panic.
“I came at once, Mr Holms,” he cried. “You have news? The Liverpool game is tomorrow.”
Holms waved him to a seat. “I shall produce your Mr Henderson for you, Mr Alexander, but whether he plays is down to you.”
That did not seem to faze the Scotsman. “We're willing to offer him a new contract. A bonus every time he kicks the ball. But where is he?”
“All in good time,” Holms said, lighting his pipe. “First I must tell you that you are indirectly responsible for the disappearance of this young man.”
Alexander was obviously shocked by this attack. “I?”
“You and your football club,” Holms explained, taking a long puff at his favourite calabash.
“You are a City man!” Alexander responded fiercely.
“Not at all, I have no allegiances where football is concerned. I do this not for you, not for your club and not even for our country. I do this for a young man who has been ill used..”
Alexander jumped to his feet. “But how can you accuse United of …”
Holms beckoned him back down and held a finger to his lips. “Please, be silent, all will be revealed. But be aware, this may take some time.”
“But I've got a press conference this afternoon,” Alexander protested.
“Where, with any luck, you will present your Captain. Have no fears. Wilson, a drink for our guest.”
I was as eager as the Scotsman to get to the heart of the matter, but I jumped up and poured whiskies all round. Alexander swallowed his in one draught. “Get on with it, Holms, where's Jimmy? And what do you mean by suggesting United are responsible. Are you implying that we drove him away?”
“Not quite drove him away, Alexander, but rather that you created the conditions which, almost inevitably, led to him leaving you.”
“I reserve the right to take legal advice,” Alexander uttered meekly.