Now Zardi applied all his energy to discovering who the visitor might have been. Everyone in the household had to account for his or her movements and very few of them, even among the servants, could produce witnesses to their movements in the half hour before the death. Only the young count, who had been with Signorina Medioli in the chamber immediately below his uncle's study, had a real alibi. On hearing the scream, he had rushed upstairs just in time to see his uncle dying in Strepponi's arms.
'I was naturally too stricken with grief for rational thought in the first hours after this tragic loss,' he said gravely. 'But once the flood tide of emotion had begun to ebb and I started to examine my new responsibilities as head of an ancient family, I knew that first and most urgent among them was to track down and deliver to punishment this foul assassin. I put myself, my wealth and my little store of wisdom at Captain Zardi's disposal. Naturally as a professional officer of the law, he received my offer of help courteously but coldly.'
He smiled at the captain, who gave a somewhat ambiguous shrug.
'But when I told him that I was a student of and in close correspondence with the famous Sherlock Holmes, whose services the experts of Scotland Yard are not ashamed to call upon, he showed the other side of his professionalism and immediately admitted me to the penetralia of his thought.'
'No fool, is he?' murmured Chiari in my ear. 'He learned quickly from your friend's experience that there is little advantage to be gained from making the police look like idiots!'
'You assume a great knowledge of Mr Holmes's mind,' I said frostily.
'Only what I have learned from your books,' he retorted. 'Listen and you will see how the count can triumph without appearing triumphant.'
'Captain Zardi had done all the groundwork,' said Montesecco modestly. 'All I was able to bring to the investigation were the reflexions of a quiet mind and a burning personal desire to see my dear uncle avenged. First I examined closely what it was that the captain had found outside and beneath the study window. This was most significant.'
He paused and right on cue, reminding me of myself, Holmes said, 'And what did these findings consist of?'
Montesecco paused for a perfectly judged beat of time, then, with a casual drama worthy of Holmes himself, said, 'Nothing. Absolutely nothing.'
Holmes nodded in approval.
'And of course you asked yourself, could a bloodstained man have climbed down the vine without leaving some traces on the leaves?'
'Precisely.'
'Perhaps he jumped,' said Holmes.
'There was no sign of anyone having landed on the ground with the kind of force such a leap would have entailed,' said the count. 'Also you will recall that I myself was in the room below with la Signorina Medioli. I am sure that one or both of us would have noticed the sudden descent of a human form past our window.'
'A fair deduction,' admitted Holmes. 'So where did your reasoning take you next. Count?'
'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,' said this young pup with a nod in Holmes's direction which acknowledged the source of the maxim to those who already knew it without admitting it wasn't his own coining to those who didn't. 'If the murderer cannot have escaped via the window, then he must still have been in the room.'
'But the room was empty save for the murdered man.'
'On the contrary. From their own testimony, Rosi here and Strepponi did not pause on the threshold and take a quiet stock of what they saw. No, they rushed straight into the study. My uncle was dying but not yet dead. Rosi reached him first—is that not so, Serge?'
'Yes, Count,' said the major-domo. 'I flung open the door and for a moment we stood frozen on the threshold. There, silhouetted in the bright beam of sunlight which poured through the open window sat your uncle, the old count, his lifeblood streaming from his throat. Now I rushed forward with Strepponi close behind, and as I stood over your uncle, debating how best to proceed, the monstrous assassin pushed by me and took his victim in his arms, cradling his head on his chest and calling to me to summon the physician.'
It was clearly a speech he had made many times. I could imagine how very boring his friends and family probably found it after such frequent repetition!
Montesecco smiled at him approvingly and said, 'So you see, Mr Holmes, given that a man is not murdered until he is dead, there were two others in the study with the murdered man.'
This seemed to me so much chop-logic but Holmes appeared rapt.
'Continue, Count,' he said. 'This is quite fascinating.'
'See how the good teacher shares in his pupil's progress,' murmured Chiari.
'I suggest you wait a little,' I said with more confidence than I felt. 'The jails of England are filled with men who believed they could read the direction of Holmes's thought.'
'So. A miracle worker. And when he says, "That is the man!" are there any who quarrel?'
'It would take a very foolish or a very brilliant man to dispute the reasoning of Sherlock Holmes,' I said with some fervour.
'Such a reputation is like the Gorgon's gaze. You must be careful where you turn it,1 he said enigmatically.
There was no time to examine his point. Montesecco was reaching the climax of his tale.
'I spoke to the doctor now and asked him if a man would scream after he had his throat cut. The doctor said he thought it unlikely that in such a circumstance a man would be able to produce the kind of noise that was heard throughout the household. I then examined the handle of the door on the outside and found traces of blood there. My suspicions were now thoroughly roused. I examined the key found by the statue of Marcus Aurelius and sure enough there were dried flakes of blood on it also. I asked myself if a man who had just committed a murder in the course of which his victim had screamed so loud that the alarm must have been raised would have been so composed that he would rush to the door, lock it, and place the key carefully where it was found, before escaping. Surely, even if he did have the presence of mind to lock the door, he would have left the key in the lock?'
'Perhaps,' objected Holmes, 'the door was locked before rather than after the murder.'
Montesecco looked at Holmes with just the expression of long-suffering exasperation I have seen on my friend's face when some plodding policeman is slow to take a point.
'Then why should there be blood on the key?' he said. 'No, everything was leading to the sole explanation which took account of all the facts. Question: why was there blood on the key? Answer: because the murderer had touched it after the murder. Question: why was there blood on the outer door handle? Answer: the same, because the murderer had touched it after the murder. Question: who had let out the terrible scream which roused the house? Answer: the murderer! You see his ingenuity. Strepponi, having slain my uncle, sees that his hands and cuffs are covered with blood. He rushes to the window, leaving a print there, then realising that it is going to be almost impossible to escape by that route undetected, he goes instead to the door, unlocks it, checks to be sure there is no one close outside, steps out, locks the door behind him, lets out that terrible scream, and starts rattling the door handle as if he is desperate to get in. Rosi appears, unlocks the door and rushes in. Behind him, Strepponi places the key by the statue, then rushes to his victim and takes him in his arms, partly to give himself a reason for being covered in blood, partly to prevent anyone else administering any aid which might have delayed my uncle's death. I immediately placed my findings in the hands of Captain Zardi, who then performed his duties with the vigour for which he is renowned.'
'Again, the sop to Cerberus,' murmured Chiari.
The captain nodded his appreciation and said in his bluff military manner, 'I meanwhile had interviewed all present in the palace, including Signor Randone, who told me he had just arrived for his appointment with the old count.'
'And I could not see how Strepponi should have imagined my appointment was earlier in view of the fact that it was arranged by himself
in conjunction with my clerk,' interposed the lawyer.
'With this in mind, and after due consideration of the Count Montesecco's investigations,' resumed Zardi, 'I took the suspected man, Strepponi, into custody and searched his room. There I found correspondence of a threatening nature from Giulio Tebaldo, a well-known usurer, requiring immediate repayment of a large loan. When confronted, Strepponi admitted he had gone deeply into debt in order to purchase gifts for a certain lady with whom he had become deeply infatuated but without his feelings being reciprocated. Tebaldo, when interviewed, admitted that the evening prior to the murder he had sent a messenger round to talk to Strepponi. By messenger I understood him to mean thug. The messenger had returned with some items of jewellery on account, and a promise that Strepponi would be in a position to repay the balance within twenty-four hours.'
'And do we know the name of this lady?' enquired Holmes.
There was a silence. Then Claudia Medioli said, 'It was I. At first it was amusing, then he became a nuisance. Of course I returned his gifts but he kept sending more.'
'And did you tell your friend, the count?'
'No,' she said, her fine brown eyes downcast. 'His sense of honour would have required that he secured Strepponi's dismissal from his uncle's service. I was weak, and wished the young man no ill. How I wish now that I had spoken earlier!'
She wiped away a tear. Beside me, Chiari snorted derisively.
The count touched her arm comfortingly, then said, 'So now we had a motive. Strepponi approached my uncle for money. My uncle was a kind man, but he despised any weakling who let himself fall into the hands of the usurers.'
'Can't have had much time for his nephew, then,' muttered Chiari.
'But if my uncle could not help him living, Strepponi knew he could help him dead. In his will there was a generous legacy, token of my uncle's misplaced regard and more than enough to help him from his present troubles. Strepponi denied knowing of this, but Signor Randone was able to confirm that a copy of the will lay among my uncle's papers to which Strepponi as secretary had ready access. Perhaps my uncle in his disgust now threatened to remove him from his will.'
'This is possible,' said Randone. 'It was on a matter of his will that the old count had summoned me to see him.'
Montesecco frowned a little at this interruption, then resumed, 'So this egregious villain, finding himself in a desperate situation, did not hesitate to put his own security above the life of his noble benefactor, and slew him like a dog.'
There was a moment's pause, during which all the company save Holmes, myself and Endo Chiari showed signs of deep emotion. In some cases it looked likely to have burst out in the kind of loud lamentation these Latins are prone to, had it not been interrupted by a huge cry, half-welcoming, half-contumelious, from the mob in the square. Instantly all the guests crowded out onto the balcony, which creaked and groaned so much that I felt there was a real risk that we would all be precipitated to join the crowd below.
The cause of the uproar was the approach to the scaffold of a tightly bunched squad of foot soldiers, bayonets flashing in the wintry sunlight. In their midst, crouched low as if to conceal himself from the noisy mob, was a thin, shaven-headed man with a furtive, frightened expression whom at first I took to be the condemned prisoner.
'Why is he not manacled?' I enquired of Chiari.
The journalist laughed and said, 'You are mistaken, my friend. This is not Strepponi. This is the executioner who is held in such low esteem by the common people that they would subject him to his own foul craft if he dared appear without his armed guard.'
I glanced at my pocket watch. It gave ten minutes to the appointed hour. Gould it be that in this matter alone, the Italians were untypically punctual?
Someone coughed. A small sound against the chatter of the guests and the tumult from the mob below as the executioner ascended his deadly machine. But it reduced all those on the balcony to silence as I had seen it reduce many other assemblages to silence during our long association, and every eye turned towards Sherlock Holmes.
'My dear count,' he said. 'My felicitations. To solve any murder requires the keenest of intellects, the finest of judgements. To solve a case with which you personally are so closely and painfully involved requires a dedication and a will almost superhuman.'
There was another huge roar from the crowd, mingled with a fanfare of trumpets. In the square the officers mounted their horses and unsheathed their sabres. The hundred or so foot soldiers lounging around seized their arms, fixed bayonets and cleared the corridor from the church, which in the relaxed atmosphere of the previous hour had been encroached upon by strolling pedestrians and pedlars of sweetmeats and cigar merchants. Then the bay of the mob suddenly declined to a single mighty gasp of superstitious awe, and many of them sank on one knee as out of the church emerged a macabre procession of priest and monks, some carrying banners, others, reliquaries, with at their centre two who bore above their cowled heads a huge, brightly painted crucifix on which hung an effigy of Christ, all draped in black hessian.
Holmes continued as if there had been no disturbance.
'Our art, Count, as you so clearly understand, is to select the single truth out of a wide array of erroneous possibilities, to refine what might be into what is. Above all we must not let ourselves be diverted from our purpose. A lesser man might for instance have wondered why, if Strepponi knew the lawyer's appointment was for eleven, he chose to include that particular lie in his story.
Or why, having had all of his expensive gifts returned from the signorina, he did not return them whence they came, getting the most part of his money refunded and thus clearing his debts. A lesser man, needing to confirm to himself that the death cry could not have emanated from the dying man, might have wasted his and the doctor's time by checking whether in cutting the jugular vein, the killer had struck so deep as to sever the vocal cords also.... '
He glanced interrogatively at Dr. Provenzale, who looked confused.
'I presume also,' continued Holmes, 'that it was possible to tell from the direction of the death stroke whether the murderer was right or left handed
Another glance at Provenzale, another look of confusion.
'... and of course this information will no doubt have been cross-checked with the handedness of any suspected person.'
Outside there was another huge roar and all the kneeling spectators were back on their feet, craning to glimpse the last and most important player to arrive on this ghastly stage. As Holmes's long-time companion it has been my fate to see many murderers, so I know better than most that there is no distinguishing mark. But the pale-faced, slim, handsome young man who walked with his head held high at the centre of a squad of armed soldiers looked as little like one of the breed as any I have seen.
Chiari spoke, sounding puzzled.
'It seems to me, Mr Holmes, you are suggesting that perhaps the murderer might indeed have been in the locked room and made his escape through the open window as we all thought in the beginning.'
'Good lord, no,' said Holmes indignantly. 'How could I suggest such a thing when the count has proved it impossible? To climb down the vine without leaving traces of blood on the foliage defies belief. And while it might be argued that a man could leap down onto the hard-baked earth without leaving an impression, fortunately the count himself, and Signorina Medioli, were in the room below. And still more fortunately, despite the fact that the full blast of the sun's heat must have been on their window (for was it not pouring directly into the study above?), they had broken with the custom of the country and had the protective shutters wide open.'
I saw several of the journalists exchange speculative glances at this juncture. What was Holmes up to? I wondered.
'And the blood on the key? And on the outer door handle?' said Chiari eagerly. 'Are you equally well persuaded of the accuracy of your pupil's deductions?'
'Naturally. That any other of the people entering the room in the hustle and bustle of th
ose dreadful minutes after the discovery might have unknowingly become stained with the old count's blood and inadvertently transferred it to either the key or the handle is a possibility incapable of proof and therefore to be discounted.'
'That it is incapable of proof surely means it is also incapable of disproof,' said Chiari.
'Come, come, Signor Chiari, one pupil among your countrymen is quite enough for me to take on at a time,' murmured Holmes.
Below, a huge cheer signalled that the condemned man had successfully negotiated the perilous ladder to the scaffold platform. The black-draped Christ had been brought to a halt directly before him and his eyes were steadfastly fixed on the effigy. To a non-Papist it seems a tasteless pantomime, but 1 found myself praying it brought the young man some comfort.
'So you have no doubt that this poor fellow about to lose his head is guilty?' demanded Chiari.
'His guilt is between his judge on earth, who is here with us, and his judge in heaven, who I also believe is here with us,' said Holmes solemnly. 'All we can know for certain is that a good man on the brink of a new life with the lady of his choice has suffered a most terrible wrong which not only deprived him of his future happiness but also robbed the son he perhaps hoped to have of a name and a role, perhaps even of a country.'
Suddenly everyone was looking at Signora Masina, who was flushing tremendously while her sister was staring at Holmes with pale anger.
'But happily no act however foul is without good as well as evil consequences, and this particular deed has brought earlier than was dreamt possible a new, young heir to his title and fortune with many years ahead in which to prove how much he merits them.'
He bowed towards the count, who looked uncertain how he should react to this somewhat ambiguous compliment. But he was saved the trouble of reply by a deathly silence falling on the square, which drew all our attention as much as the previous noise.
Holmes for the Holidays Page 28