Dr. Watson

I suggested to the great man that a short holiday would be good for us before returning to England.

And so we spent some happy days browsing among the architectural treasures of old Rome.

The Colosseum, the Baths of Caracalla, the Forum, the wonderful ruins on the Palatine Hill.

I couldn't drag Holmes away from the Mr. Bartell.

And at night time he was able to indulge to his heart's content his great love of music.

Finally, it was two nights before we were to sail for England, I remember.

We went to the Opera House to hear the famous Italian soprano Gina Valchese singing Verdi's Immortal La Traviata.

I can hear that explicit voice now, Mr. Bartell.

As Holmes and I, seated in a box, listened spellbound to the great Valkyrie singing her last act aria.

What a voice, Watson.

What a magnificent voice.

Yes, it is, Holmes.

A pity, though, that most opera stars who sing Nightingale seem to have the figures of unusually well-fed powder pigeons.

Poor woman, she must weigh at least 20 stone.

I must ask you, gentlemen, not to stand outside Lavalcase's dressing room.

We permit to no strangers, particularly foreigners.

The signora has requested our presence.

Permit me to introduce myself, gentlemen.

I am Armando Bellini, Inspector of Police.

Sherlock Holmes.