by Jack Fennell
‘Can you tell me how this goblet came into your possession?’ I asked.
‘Certainly,’ he replied; ‘the legend which is attached to the goblet is this. We are, as you know, descended from an old Italian family, the Pizzis, our present name being merely an Anglicised corruption of the Italian. My children and I still bear Italian Christian names, as you know, and our love for the old country amounts almost to a passion. The Pizzis were great people in Venice in the sixteenth century; at that time the city had an immense fame for its beautiful glass, the manufacturers forming a guild, and the secret being jealously kept. It was during this time that Catherine de Medici by her arbitrary and tyrannical administration roused the opposition of a Catholic party, at whose head was the Duke of Alenon, her own fourth son. Among the Duke’s followers was my ancestor, Giovanni Pizzi. It was discovered that an order had been sent by Catherine de Medici to one of the manufacturers at Venice to construct that very goblet which you see there. After its construction it was for some secret purpose sent to the laboratory of an alchemist in Venice, where it was seized by Giovanni Pizzi, and has been handed down in our family ever since.’
‘But what is the meaning of the seven crowns on the stem?’ I asked.
‘That I cannot tell. They have probably no special significance.’
I thought otherwise, but kept my ideas to myself.
We turned away. A beautiful young voice was filling the old drawing-room with sweetness. I went up to the piano to listen to Antonia Pitsey, while she sang an Italian song as only one who had Italian blood in her veins could.
Antonia was a beautiful girl, dark, with luminous eyes and an air of distinction about her.
‘I wish you would tell me something about your friend Vivien,’ I said, as she rose from the piano.
‘Oh, Mr Head, I am so unhappy about her,’ was the low reply. ‘I see her very often – she is altogether changed; and as to Mrs Delacour, the shock has been so sudden, so terrible, that I doubt if she will ever recover. Mr Head, I am so glad you have come. Vivien constantly speaks of you. She wants to see you tomorrow.’
‘Is she coming here?’
‘No, but you can meet her in the park. She has sent you a message. Tomorrow is Sunday. Vivien is not going to church. May I take you to the rendezvous?’
I promised, and soon afterwards the evening came to an end.
That night I was haunted by three main thoughts: the old Italian legend of the goblet; the seven crowns, symbolic of the Brotherhood of the Seven Kings; and, finally, Madame’s emotion when she first saw it, and her strong desire to obtain it. I wondered had the burglary been committed by her instigation? Sleep I could not, my brain was too active and busy. I was certain there was mischief ahead, but try as I would I could only lose myself in strange conjectures.
The following day I met Miss Delacour, as arranged, in the park. Antonia brought me to her, and then left us together. The young girl’s worn face, the pathetic expression in her large grey eyes, her evident nervousness and want of self-control all appealed to me to a terrible degree. She asked me eagerly if any fresh clue had been obtained with regard to the murderer. I shook my head.
‘If something is not done soon, mother will lose her senses,’ she remarked. ‘Even Mme Koluchy is in despair about her. All her ordinary modes of treatment fail in mother’s case, and the strangest thing is that mother has begun to take a most queer and unaccountable dislike to Madame herself. She says that Madame’s presence in the room gives her an uncontrollable feeling of nervousness. This has become so bad that mother and I return to town tomorrow; my cousin’s house is too gay for us at present, and mother refuses to stay any longer under Mme Koluchy’s roof.’
‘But why?’ I asked.
‘That I cannot explain to you. For my part, I think Madame one of the best women on earth. She has been kindness itself to us, and I do not know what we should have done without her.’
I did not speak, and Vivien continued, after a pause:
‘Mother’s conduct makes Madame strangely unhappy. She told me so, and I pity her from my heart. We had a long talk on the subject yesterday. That was just before she began to speak of the goblet, and before Mr Lewisham arrived.’
‘Mr Lewisham – who is he?’ I asked.
‘A great friend of Madame’s. He comes to see her almost daily. He is very handsome, and I like him, but I did not know she was expecting him yesterday. She and I were in the drawing-room. She spoke of mother, and then alluded to the goblet, the one at the Hall. You have seen it, of course, Mr Head?’
I nodded; I was too much interested to interrupt the girl by words.
‘My cousins call it “The Luck of Pitsey Hall”. Well, Madame has set her heart on obtaining it, and she has gone to the length of offering Cousin Leonardo ten thousand pounds for it.’
‘Mr Pitsey told me last night that Madame had offered an enormous sum for the vase,’ I said, ‘but it is useless, as he has no intention of selling.’
‘I told Madame so,’ replied Vivien. ‘I know well what value my cousins place upon the old glass. I believe they think that their luck would really go if anything happened to it.’
‘Heaven forbid!’ I replied involuntarily. ‘It is a perfect gem of its kind.’
‘I know! I know! I never saw Madame so excited and unreasonable about anything. She begged of me to use my influence to try and get my cousin to let her have it. When I assured her that it was useless, she looked more annoyed than I had ever seen her. She took up a book, and pretended to read. I went and sat behind one of the curtains, near a window. The next moment Mr Lewisham was announced. He came eagerly up to Madame – I don’t think he saw me. “Well!” he cried, “Any success? Have you secured it yet? If you have, we are absolutely safe. Has that child helped you?” I guessed that they were talking about me, and started up and disclosed myself. Madame did not take the slightest notice, but she motioned to Mr Lewisham to come into another room. What can it all mean, Mr Head?’
‘That I cannot tell you, Vivien; but may I ask you one thing?’
‘Certainly you may.’
‘Will you promise me to keep what you have just told me a secret from anybody else? I allude to Madame’s anxiety to obtain the old goblet. There may be nothing in what I ask, or there may be much. Will you do this?’
‘Of course I will. How queer you look!’
I made no remark, and soon afterwards took my leave of her.
Late that same evening, Antonia Pitsey received a note from Vivien, in which she said that Mme Koluchy, her mother, and herself were returning to town by an early train the following morning. The Delacours did not intend to come back to Frome Manor, but Madame would do so on Tuesday in order to be in time for the great ball. She was going to town now in order to be present at an early performance of ‘For the Crown’ at the Lyceum, having secured a box on the grand tier for the occasion.
This note was commented on without any special interest being attached to it, but restless already, I now quickly made up my mind. I also would go up to town on the following day; I also would return to Pitsey Hall in time for the ball.
Accordingly, at an early hour on the following day, I found myself in Dufrayer’s office.
‘I tell you what it is,’ I said, ‘there is some plot deeper than we think brewing. Madame took Frome Manor after the murder of Delacour. She would not do so without a purpose. She is willing to spend ten thousand pounds in order to secure a goblet of old Venetian glass, which is one of the curios at Pitsey Hall. A man called Lewisham, who doubtless bears another alias, is in her confidence. Madame returns to town tonight with a definite motive, I have not the slightest doubt.’
‘This is all very well, Norman,’ replied Dufrayer, ‘but what we want are facts. You will lose your senses if you go on building up fantastic ideas. Madame comes up to town and is going to the Lyceum; at least, so you tell me?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you mean to follow her to see if she has any designs on F
orbes Robertson or Mrs Patrick Campbell?’
‘I mean to follow her,’ I replied gravely. ‘I mean to see what sort of man Lewisham is. It is possible that I may have seen him before.’
Dufrayer shrugged his shoulders and turned away somewhat impatiently. As he did so a wild thought suddenly struck me. ‘What would you say,’ I cried, ‘if I suggested an idea to force Madame to divulge some clue to us?’
‘My dear Norman, I should say that your fancies are getting the better of your reason, that is all.’
‘Now listen to me,’ I said. I sat down beside Dufrayer. ‘I have an idea which may serve us well. It is, of course, a bare chance, and if you like you may call it the conception of a madman. Madame goes to the Lyceum tonight. She occupies a box on the grand tier. In all probability Lewisham will accompany her. Dufrayer, you and I will also be at the theatre, and, if possible, we will take a box on the second tier exactly opposite to hers. I will bring Robertson, the principal and the trainer of the new deaf and dumb college, with me. I happen to know him well.’ Dufrayer stared at me with some alarm in his face.
‘Don’t you see?’ I went on excitedly. ‘Robertson is a master of the art of lip language. We will keep him in the back of the box. About the middle of the play, and in one of the intervals when the electric light is full on, we will send a note to Madame’s box saying that the cipher on the blank sheet of paper has been read. The note will pretend to be an anonymous warning to her. We shall watch her, and by means of Robertson hear – yes, hear – what she says. Robertson will watch her through opera-glasses, and he will be able to understand every word she speaks, just as you or I could if we were in her box beside her. The whole thing is a bare chance, I know, but we may learn something by taking her unsuspecting and unawares.’ Dufrayer thought for a minute, then he sprang to his feet.
‘Magnificent!’ he cried. ‘Head, you are an extraordinary man! It is a unique idea. I will go off to the box-office at once and take a box if possible opposite Madame, or, failing that, the best seats we can get. I only hope you can secure Robertson. Go to his house at once and offer him any fee he wants. This is detection carried to a fine art with a vengeance. If successful, I shall class you as the smartest criminal agent of the day. We both meet at the Lyceum at a quarter to eight. Now, there is not a moment to lose.’
I drove down to Robertson’s house in Brompton, found him at home, and told him my wish. I strongly impressed upon him that if he would help he would be aiding in the cause of justice. He became keenly interested, entered fully into the situation, and refused to accept any fee. At the appointed hour we met Dufrayer at the theatre door, and learned that he had secured a box on the second tier directly opposite Mme Koluchy’s box on the grand tier. I had arranged to have my letter sent by a messenger at ten o’clock.
We took our seats, and a few moments later Mme Koluchy, in rose-coloured velvet and blazing with diamonds, accompanied by a tall, dark, clean-shaven man, entered her box. I drew back into the shadow of my own box and watched her. She bowed to one or two acquaintances in the stalls, then sat down, leaning her arm on the plush-covered edge of her box.
Robertson never took his eyes off her, and I felt reassured as he repeated to us the chance bits of conversation that he could catch between her and her companion.
The play began, and a few minutes past ten, in one of the intervals, I saw Madame turn and receive my note, with a slight gesture of surprise. She tore it open and her face paled perceptibly. Robertson, as I had instructed him, stood in front of me; his opera-glasses were fixed on the faces of Madame and her companion. I watched Madame as she read the note; she then handed it to Lewisham, who read it also.
They looked at each other, and I saw Madame’s lips moving. Simultaneously, Robertson began to make the following report verbatim:
‘Impossible … some trick … quite safe goblet … key to cipher … tomorrow night.’
Then followed a pause.
‘Life and death to us … Signed … My name.’
There was another long pause, and I saw Madame twist the paper nervously in her fingers. I looked at Dufrayer, our eyes met. My heart was beating. His face had become drawn and grey. The ghastly truth and the explanation were slowly sealing their impress on our brains. The darkness of doubt had lifted, the stunning truth was clear. The paper which had defied us was a cipher written by Madame in her own name, and doubtless implicated her with Delacour’s murder. Her anxiety to secure the goblet was very obvious. In some subtle way, handed down, doubtless, through generations, the goblet once in the possession of the ancient Brotherhood had held the key of the secret cipher.
But tomorrow night! Tomorrow night was the night of the ball, and Madame was to be there. The reasoning was so obvious that the chain of evidence struck Dufrayer and me simultaneously.
We immediately left the theatre. There was one thing to be done, and that without delay. I must catch the first train in the morning to Pitsey Hall, examine the goblet afresh, and tell Pitsey everything, and thus secure and protect the goblet from harm. If possible, I would myself discover the key to the cipher, which, if our reasoning was true, would place Madame in a felon’s dock and see the end of the Brotherhood.
At ten o’clock the following morning I reached Pitsey Hall. When I arrived I found, as I expected, the house in more or less confusion. Pitsey was busily engaged superintending arrangements and directing the servants in their work. It was some little time before I could see him alone.
‘What is the matter, my dear fellow?’ he said. ‘I am very busy now.’
‘Come into the library and I will tell you,’ I replied.
As soon as ever we were alone I unfolded my story. Hardened by years of contact with the world, it was difficult to startle or shake the composure of Leonardo Pitsey, and before I had finished my strange tale I could see from his expression the difficulty I should have in convincing him of the truth.
‘I have had my suspicions for a long time,’ I said, in conclusion. ‘These are not the first dealings I have had with Mme Koluchy. Hitherto she has eluded all my efforts to get her within the arm of the law, but I believe her time is near. Pitsey, your goblet is in danger. You will remove it to some place of safety?’
‘Remove the Luck of Pitsey Hall on the night when my boy comes of age!’ replied Pitsey, frowning as he spoke. ‘It is good of you to be interested, Head; but really … well, I never knew you were such an imaginative man! As to any accident taking place tonight, that is quite outside the realms of probability.
‘The band will be placed in front of the goblet, and it is impossible for anything to happen to it, as none of the dancers can come near it. Now, have you anything more to say?’
‘I beg of you to be guided by me and to put the goblet into a place of safety,’ I repeated. ‘You don’t suppose I would try to scare you with a cock-and-bull story. There is reason in what I say. I know that woman, my uneasiness is far more than due to mere imagination.’
‘To please you, Head, I will place two of my footmen beside the goblet during the ball, in order to prevent the slightest chance of any one approaching it. There, will that satisfy you?’
I was obliged to bow my acquiescence, and Pitsey soon left me in order to attend to his multifarious duties.
I spent nearly an hour that morning examining the goblet afresh. The mystical writing on the cup, concealed by the openwork design, engrossed my most careful attention, but so well were the principal letters concealed by the outside ornaments, that I could make nothing of them. Was I, after all, entirely mistaken, or did this beautiful work of art contain hidden within itself the power for which I longed, the strange key to the mysterious paper which would convict Mme Koluchy of a capital charge?
The evening came at last, and about nine the guests began to arrive. The first dance had hardly come to an end before Mme Koluchy appeared on the scene. She wore a dress of cloth of silver, and her appearance caused an almost imperceptible lull in the dancing and conversation. As sh
e walked slowly up the great ballroom on the arm of a county magnate all eyes turned to look at her. She passed me with a hardening about the corners of her mouth as she acknowledged my bow, and I fancy I saw her eyes wander in the direction of the goblet at the other end of the room. Soon afterwards Antonia Pitsey came to my side.
‘How beautiful everything is,’ she said. ‘Did you ever see any one look quite so lovely as Madame? Her dress tonight gives her a regal appearance. Have you seen our dance programme? The “Queen Waltz” will be played just after supper.’
‘So, you have fallen a victim to the popular taste?’ I answered. ‘I hear that waltz everywhere.’
‘But you don’t know who has composed it?’ said the girl, with an arch look. ‘Now, I don’t mind confiding in you – it is Mme Koluchy.’
I could not help starting.
‘I was unaware that she was a musician,’ I remarked.
‘She is, and a most accomplished one. We have included the waltz in our programme by her special request. I am so glad; it is the most lively and inspiriting air I ever danced to.’
Antonia was called away, and I leant against the wall, too ill at ease to dance or take any active part in the revels of the hour. The moments flew by, and at last the festive and brilliant notes of the ‘Queen Waltz’ sounded on my ears. Couples came thronging into the ballroom as soon as this most fascinating melody was heard. To listen to its seductive measures was enough to make your feet tingle and your heart beat.
Once again I watched Mme Koluchy as she moved through the throng. Ottavio Pitsey, the hero of the evening, was now her partner. There was a slight colour in her usually pale checks, and I had never seen her look more beautiful.
I was standing not far from the band, and could not help noticing how the dominant note, repeated in two bars when all the instruments played together in harmony, rang out with a peculiar and almost passionate insistence. Suddenly, without a moment’s warning, and with a clap that struck the dancers motionless, a loud crash rang through the room. The music instantly ceased, and the priceless heirloom of the Pitseys lay in a thousand silvered splinters on the polished floor. There was a moment’s pause of absolute silence, followed by a sharp cry from our host, and then a hum of voices as the dancers hurried towards the scene of the disaster.