“You lost money in Schmidt’s scheme?” queried Holmes. “This is the connection between you?”

“I lost a little,” said she. “No one in Brandenburg at that time escaped unscathed from Schmidt’s foul and dishonest schemes. But that is not what makes me bitter. I tell you these things only so you know the type of man he is. My own unfortunate connection with that evil devil is a more personal one.

“Some years ago, my younger sister Krystina and I had a riding act together. You may have heard of the Buclevska Sisters. We performed in Warsaw, Vienna, Budapest and many other places, and had, I may say, a considerable renown. One summer we had been performing in Berlin and were taking a short holiday near Potsdam. This was at the time that Jakob Schmidt’s local celebrity was at its height, before the smash came. We met socially, and Herr Schmidt’s silver tongue turned Krystina’s head. I warned her against him, for even then I did not trust him, but she would not listen. Soon he had persuaded her to go away with him to his summer home in the south, and she became estranged from her family and from her friends. All were shocked and distressed at this, but what could be done? So much had he twisted her to his wishes that she would not even speak to me, Vera, her sister.

“Of course, you can imagine the rest. When the financial smash came, Schmidt left the district, and cast Krystina off without a thought, like an old shoe. All the promises he had made to her proved as worthless as the promises he had made to the people of Potsdam. Presently, my sister crept back home, but something within her had died. We welcomed her back without a word of censure, but her own heartbreak and shame were destroying her. She did not last six months, gentlemen. If anyone tells you that a broken heart cannot kill, do not believe them, for I have seen it happen. Krystina pined away, became very ill and, one fine spring morning, passed beyond all mortal help. That is the connection between Herr Schmidt and myself about which you enquired.”

Vera Buclevska finished speaking and stood facing us defiantly, her cheeks flushed and her lip trembling.

“You wished to see Schmidt, then,” said Holmes after a moment.

She nodded her head and passed her hand across her brow. “That is so,” she replied. “I learned that he was living in London. I wrote to him twice, but received no reply. Then my friends here, knowing how the matter was distressing me and affecting my performance, took it upon themselves to bring him forcibly to see me. Alas! They knew nothing of Schmidt other than what I had told them, and they seized the wrong man, as you know.”

“Where is Schmidt now?” asked Holmes.

“Now?” the lady repeated. “I do not know, and nor do I care!”

Holmes frowned. “But you called upon him this morning. We had your description from his housekeeper.”

“That is so. The miserable coward sat trembling as we spoke. I accused him of the evil he had done to Krystina and to the poor people of Brandenburg. To all my remarks he said nothing, expressing neither sorrow nor remorse. On his face was only fear. Eventually Tadeusz pressed upon me that I was wasting my time, and was succeeding only in making myself more miserable. Besides, I could see for myself that Schmidt was ill – he had declined dreadfully since the last time I saw him – and it was clear that all his dishonesty and scheming had brought him no happiness. We therefore withdrew. My only hope now is that I never see that odious reptile again as long as God permits me to live.”

“You did not force him to go anywhere with you?”

“Certainly not. I could not bear to remain in his company a moment longer.”

“But he has disappeared.”

Miss Buclevska’s mouth fell open in surprise, and it was clear that this news was unexpected.

“It was feared that some harm had befallen him,” continued Holmes.

“Not at our hands,” said she.

Bradstreet cleared his throat again. “This makes it rather difficult,” said he. “I shall have to wire to London for further enquiries to be made. In the meantime—”

He was interrupted by a knock at the door, and a uniformed official entered.

“I’m to tell you that the boat must leave in ten minutes,” said he, “with or without the Ostralici party. There is also a message for Inspector Bradstreet,” he added, holding out a thin sheet of paper.

The policeman took the sheet and read it, then he looked up with a smile.

“It is from one of my colleagues,” said he. “He considered it would be of interest to me. Jakob Schmidt walked into Paddington Green Police Station this afternoon at three o’clock, demanding protection against a gang of foreigners who he said were terrorizing him. Apparently he had been hiding in the British Museum all day!”

There was perceptible relief on every face there. We had all, I think, been moved by Vera Buclevska’s story and were glad to have her statement confirmed.

Captain Ostralici smiled wearily. “So,” said he. “Matters are resolved. Are we permitted to leave now?”

Inspector Bradstreet hesitated and looked at Mr Townsend. “A serious criminal offence has been committed,” said he at length, “whatever the reasons for it may have been. Mr Townsend was forcibly kidnapped yesterday morning and held against his will.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Townsend abruptly in a quiet voice, looking a little embarrassed to be the centre of attention as we turned to hear what he would say. “I wasn’t harmed,” he continued after a moment. “I understand what lay behind it now, and I accept the apology that has been made to me. I would rather not press charges, Inspector.”

Bradstreet raised his eyebrow. “Very well, then,” said he, addressing Captain Ostralici and his friends. “The matter is closed, and you are free to go.”

“I’ll arrange to have your luggage put aboard at once,” said the harbour official, and hurried from the room.

Captain Ostralici stepped forward, clicked his heels and shook Townsend’s hand. “Sir, you are a gentleman,” said he with a little bow. “You may like to know that Miss Buclevska has lately done me the honour of consenting to be my wife. We are to be married in Warsaw next month. Your generosity in this matter has removed the one dark cloud that hung over our preparations.” Vigor and Tadeusz then shook hands with Townsend, and finally Miss Buclevska took his hand in hers.

“You are a very kind and generous man, Mr Townsend,” said she softly, “and deserve happiness. We return in the spring,” she added after a moment, “and I hope to see you at the circus then.” Townsend, who appeared to have stopped breathing, merely smiled and nodded as she released his hand and turned to follow her companions from the room.

“Capital!” cried Holmes in a gay tone, clapping his hands together. “This calls for a celebration, and as we appear to have missed a meal today, I suggest we take advantage of our situation and sample the fare at one of the local fish restaurants!”

There was general assent to this suggestion and, five minutes later, Holmes, Bradstreet, Townsend and I found ourselves on the upper floor of a large restaurant near the harbour, where a balcony looked out across the sea. The clouds were beginning to break up again and blue sky was showing through.

“There goes the ship!” cried Holmes all at once, and we watched as the channel packet slipped slowly out of the harbour, carrying those singular circus folk upon their long journey to the east. Slowly the vessel drew away from the shore, until it was a mere dot upon the broad expanse of sea.

“What a very strange affair!” remarked Bradstreet in a thoughtful voice as our meal was served.

“A singular business, indeed!” concurred Holmes with a chuckle. “I should not have missed it for the world! For you and me, Bradstreet, it has meant an afternoon at the seaside, away from the smoky city, for Mr Townsend, the return of his precious cigar case, and a story his friends will scarcely credit, and for Dr Watson, another entry in that catalogue of the mysterious and recherché, which he so delights in compiling!”