I was surprised to see Holmes back from his trip to Mexico a week early. If his brief messages to me had been any indication, the investigation had been brought to a successful conclusion. However, looking at Holmes's face, I had to wonder if the case had taken an unexpected turn for the worst at the end.
"No," he said in response to my concern. "The case ended well, as I expected. I simply could not tolerate the atmosphere any longer."
"The heat?"
"The society," snarled Holmes, grabbing his pipe and tobacco and flinging himself into his chair. I offered him a light and waiting until his mood had improved slightly to question him further.
"I have no quarrel with the Mexican nation as a whole," he admitted at last. "I found the Latin Americans stimulating company in most respects. However, the president's wife took a personal interest in my health that I found most wearying. That I was forced to endure her opinions on the shortcomings of English cuisine and lifestyle in addition to the tedium of societal engagements was more than I could tolerate. Even upon my departure she pressed upon me these."
I looked into the tin he passed me and beheld what appeared to be some sort of biscuit. "What are they?"
"The lady's specialty – homemade bizcochitos."
This chapter is dedicated to KCS . . . she knows why. ; )