Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  He stared at her. “You’re suggesting Irma was in the house and left this behind?”

  “Yes. I was following close after her. She may have wanted to put on something else when she left the palace. So she left this to don a heavier coat.”

  Raphael said, “That would mean Irma is a part of the conspiracy.”

  “Unless it was her ghost,” she said. “And I don’t think that. My aunt has insisted she has seen her about the palace and in the garden.”

  He said, “Assuming she is alive and she was here, why would she return without allowing us to know?”

  “I can only think she is in this with Barsini,” Della said. “They are both still frantically searching for the Madonna. She has a confederate in the house. The person who locked that door after me.”

  “If what you say is true, Irma is in no danger,” the young man said. “She is playing this game to try and make you talk. Thinking you still know where the Madonna is.”

  “And she may think I brought it here with me and have hidden it somewhere. That is why she returns in the secrecy of the night.”

  “It’s a wild theory,” Raphael said grimly. “I do not think Prince Sanzio would accept it.”

  “Because he adores Irma and thinks she can do no wrong,” Della said. “But I know how she is under the spell of Barsini. I have seen her writhing on the altar with him in a sexual orgy witnessed by dozens of others.”

  “I know,” he said with a deep sigh. “The way things stand, anything is possible.”

  “I’m glad to hear you admit that,” she said.

  “Show me the entrance to this secret passage,” he said.

  “Come with me,” she told him. And she took him to Irma’s room.

  He halted before the Madonna and the giant glass bowl filled with wax, its wick offering a constant light.

  He said, “I had no idea Irma was so dedicated to her religion.”

  “Apparently she kept the candle burning continually. Now Guido sees that it doesn’t go out.”

  “Show me that door,” her companion said.

  She went to the paneling and applied pressure as she had the night before. Nothing happened! She tried several other places with an equal lack of result.

  “I don’t understand it!” she said, frustrated.

  “If there was a secret door here last night it has to be here now,” Raphael said, trying the wall.

  Studying the wall grimly, she said, “My guess is that whoever followed me into the secret passage last night, came back and somehow locked the entrance from the other side.”

  “In that case we are wasting our time.”

  “We might start at the storage room and work back,” she suggested.

  “All right,” he said. “Let us try it.”

  She accompanied him downstairs and took him to the storage room, feeling all the while that her credibility was being destroyed. While Raphael had made no comment, she had the feeling he was less convinced by her story than at first.

  They reached the dark, dusty storage room and she went ahead of him to the trapdoor. She said, “Once we open this we can work our way back along the secret passage. At least as far as the locked door.”

  He knelt and took the ring of the trapdoor in his hand and tried to lift it. The door refused to budge. He tried again and again, but had no success.

  Looking up at her, he said, “It also seems to be locked!”

  “It can’t be!” she protested. “I opened it myself last night.”

  Raphael tried again. “It won’t move!”

  He was still on his knees studying the trapdoor when Prince Sanzio appeared in the open doorway of the storage room in his wheelchair.

  “What are you two doing in here?” he demanded sharply and wheeled himself into the room as far as possible.

  “Trying to open the trapdoor and find out where it leads,” she said.

  The old Prince showed annoyance. “You should have spoken to me first.”

  “I’m sorry,” Prince Raphael said. “We meant no harm. Della has heard so much about there being secret passages in the palace that she wanted to see for herself.”

  Prince Sanzio scowled. “That trapdoor is sealed. It has not worked for years. There is a passage under it leading to the cellars but it is not used these days.”

  Della was shocked. She said, “But—”

  Raphael interrupted her, telling the old man, “I’m glad you came along. You saved us a lot of useless effort.”

  The old Prince gave Della a reproachful glance. “Your main thoughts now should be of your sister and how to save her. Not worrying about secret passages.”

  She was going to tell him that the secret passage was part of her concern, but Prince Raphael gave her a warning glance so she said nothing. The old man turned his wheelchair around and left them.

  Neither of them said anything until he was out of earshot. Then she said tensely, “He simply doesn’t know the trapdoor has been unsealed and the passage placed in use again.”

  “I gathered that the moment he spoke,” Raphael said. “But we’d gain nothing arguing with him.”

  “Whoever is responsible has cleverly sealed off the passage at both ends,” she complained.

  They were out in the hallway now and the young man said, “I want to believe you, Della, but the evidence is all against you.”

  “Because someone knew I’d discovered the passage,” she told him. “They closed it at once.”

  Raphael said, “In other words we’ll need a good deal more evidence before anyone will listen to your story.”

  They were back in the living room when Guido came in bearing a sealed envelope in his hand.

  “For Miss Standish,” he said.

  She thanked him and took the envelope and tore it open. Inside there was a hastily scribbled message in pencil which she read aloud for Raphael’s benefit: “Dear Miss Standish, whatever your opinion of me, I beg you to come in summons to this message. My life is in danger and I have valuable information which I wish to sell you. This is a fair deal with no risks for you. Your friend, Father Anthony. P.S. Meet me at the catacombs of St. Calixtus.” She looked up from the note. “Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But I’m not going there.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ve been fooled by him before. This is another trick to get you in his hands,” Raphael complained.

  She folded the paper. “I say that Father Anthony is ready to break with the thieves, whichever group he’s associated with, and do business with us.”

  “I don’t trust him!” Raphael was adamant.

  “Very well,” she said. “I’ll go meet him on my own.” And she started out of the room.

  Raphael came hurrying after her. “All right! I’ll go! You know I can’t let you risk it alone!”

  She smiled at him coquettishly. “If you hadn’t made Henry leave I wouldn’t have to depend on you!”

  “You do not need your English lawyer,” he exclaimed with annoyance. “I am here.”

  A short while later they were in the carriage on their way to the catacombs of St. Calixtus. She asked the young Prince, “What is the story behind these catacombs?”

  Raphael said; “It began when Marcus Aurelius started to persecute the Christians.”

  “Wasn’t he the last of the Good Emperors?” she asked.

  “Yes. But he marred his record by turning against the new Christian community. Many of them had to seek hiding places. And where but the long underground caverns where a large number of people could remain in safety. Caves or galleries of this type are common under many cities in the Mediterranean area. When quarrying opened up a suitable cave, many poor people were quick to move into it. By easy tunneling they often extended the caves. In times when they weren’t harassed the Christians buried their dead in the catacombs. They also built simple chapels there where they would not be molested. When dangerous times arrived they simply went underground to live.”
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br />   “And these catacombs extend for miles under the city, don’t they?”

  He nodded. “Like a series of underground alleys,” he said. “People have been known to become lost in them and starve to death before being found.”

  She shuddered. “Frightening!”

  “I don’t see the catacombs as the most desirable place for a rendezvous,” he observed.

  “Father Anthony likes to select unusual spots.”

  “He has done it this time.”

  “He may be afraid he’s being watched,” she said. “There is a tone of desperation about his message.”

  Raphael said, “We had better be on our guard. I don’t want it to be a repeat of those other times. In every instance you walked into a trap.”

  She made a brave effort to appear nonchalant. “It has to be different, this time.”

  “I wonder,” he said bleakly.

  They reached the Appian Way where it pierced the city walls and came to a church. There were visitors in the area and a number of vehicles waiting. Raphael told the driver to wait while he and Della descended from the carriage and made their way toward the church.

  He explained, “The entrance to this part of the catacombs is through the church.”

  “It seems rather familiar,” she said.

  He looked about grimly. “Do you see any sign of your fat friend?”

  “No,” she said. “Should we wait out here?”

  “It’s hard to tell,” Raphael said. “Perhaps we’d better go on into the chapel.”

  They stepped inside out of the sunlight and the entire atmosphere changed. The visitors spoke in hushed voices and the light was murky.

  Just as Della came to a halt within the chapel she felt a tug at her left sleeve. Turning, she was confronted by the remarkable sight of the stout Father Anthony visibly trembling.

  “I thought you would never get here,” he gasped.

  “What is wrong?” she asked.

  “I have been followed,” he said, looking around him guiltily.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I dare not stay here talking to you,” he went on nervously. “I will let you go down below and then I will follow you. They mustn’t see us together.”

  Della could see he was badly frightened. “Whatever you say.”

  “Go on,” he insisted. “I will be down there very shortly.”

  Raphael asked her, “What was he whispering about?”

  “He thinks he’s being followed.”

  The young Prince turned around. “Where has he gone?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “He was here beside me a moment ago.”

  “He’s an eccentric!” Raphael said angrily. “I don’t think we should bother. Let us get away from here.”

  “No. We’ve come this far. I at least want to have a look at the catacombs.”

  “I doubt if you’ll see him again,” Raphael warned her.

  “We’ll give him a chance,” she said.

  Raphael guided her down the stairs. Below, it was almost deserted. Few of the visitors chose to go far into the catacombs, their bad reputation probably scaring off all but the most adventurous. She studied the many recesses in the walls of the catacomb in which the dead were placed in twos or threes, sealed in by tablets bearing inscriptions or paintings.

  She asked, “How far do they extend?”

  “The best guess is about three hundred miles. So it is all too easy to lose one’s way,” he said.

  They came to empty recesses and she asked, “Why are some of the recesses empty?”

  “Cartloads of bones have been taken from here and buried in cemeteries above,” he said. “Many of them in the Pantheon.”

  They came to a halt in the candlelit main corridor and she looked behind them to see if there was any sign of Father Anthony. The corridor was empty.

  She said, “Perhaps we ought to part for a little. He may not dare come talk to me while you’re around.”

  “That’s a dangerous idea.”

  “Surely not all that dangerous,” she said. “Let us stroll back. I’ll stay ahead and you walk a dozen yards or so behind me.”

  “I don’t think it will make any difference,” he said.

  “Let us at least try it,” she told him. “I don’t want our venture to come to nothing.”

  “The chances are it will,” he warned her. But he gave in to her suggestion and dropped a distance behind her.

  She walked on, confident that she was not alone, and a cry for help would bring him quickly to her. Because the catacomb wound about they were not always in sight of each other. She kept watching ahead to see if Father Anthony might turn up.

  Suddenly she halted and a strange sensation came over her. She was passing recessed burial places and the painting on it was one which she had not seen before. She studied the crude sketch of the three crosses set against the horizon. And she knew that somehow she had lost her way.

  For the past several minutes she had been walking in a side corridor. Not only was she lost but she must have lost contact with Raphael.

  She called out, “Raphael! Where are you?”

  Her words came back as a taunting echo and there was no reply from the young Prince. She began retracing her steps as quickly as she could, not at all sure that she was even heading in the right direction. An occasional candle burned in a wall holder to indicate that at least she was in a portion of the catacombs which were meant to be explored.

  But this was small comfort because it might take hours to find her way out of the maze of corridors. She might even find herself lost in the darkness of the unused sections. Fear streaked coldly down her spine.

  She felt her throat tighten with fright and again she halted to call out, “Raphael!”

  Again there was no reply and so she now began to half-walk, half-run, her breathing coming faster as she fought her terror and tried to escape the eerie place. She rounded a corner hoping to see some familiar sign, but it all seemed strange to her.

  She leaned against the rough wall for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Was it possible she was still heading in the wrong direction? Going farther and farther into the dark recesses of the underground place, she tried to think it all out. To be logical!

  Once again she called out, “Raphael! Please! Answer me!”

  There was a short pause and then the wonder of a reply. From a distance came Raphael’s voice, crying, “Where are you?”

  “Here!” she said. “I’ll wait!”

  Distantly again, he shouted in reply, “Keep calling out and don’t move! Stay right where you are!”

  “I will,” she cried. And then every few seconds she called out to him.

  Gradually his replies came nearer and then suddenly he came into view. He ran toward her, his face a white mask.

  Taking her in his arms, he said, “I was certain I’d lost you!”

  She sobbed. “I know!”

  He said, “Now let us get out of here!”

  “How?” she asked, pressing close to him and staring at the gloomy passage ahead.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “But now that we’re together we’ll find some way out!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Now they were moving cautiously along a fairly straight section of catacomb. Della halted and pointed to an inscription in a recess on their right. “I recognize that!” she cried. “We are on the right track!”

  Raphael looked a little less grim. “We’d better stay on it this time.”

  “We will,” she said. “I don’t think we are too far from the steps leading to the chapel.”

  “And no sign of your Father Anthony!”

  “Something may have happened to him.”

  “After all the trouble he’s caused us I certainly hope so,” he said.

  They came to a turning and at once she caught Raphael by the arm and pointed. “Look! Father Anthony! He’s sitting on that little ledge of rock ahead on the left!”

  “So he i
s,” the young Prince said. “Well, I’ll let you go speak to him.”

  “All right,” she said and ran ahead.

  Father Anthony was sitting with his hands folded in his lap and his head bent forward slightly. She hurried up to him and said, “Father Anthony! We lost our way!”

  He made no reply and so she reached out to tap his shoulder. Her touch sent him falling forward and he lay sprawled out on the catacomb floor. She screamed and stepped back.

  “What’s going on here?” Raphael asked, running up to her.

  She gasped, “I just touched him and he fell! I think he’s dead.”

  “Dead!” Raphael echoed, and he knelt by the fallen priest. Then he glanced up and said, “Look!”

  She saw that he was holding the ends of a stout cord. “What’s that?”

  “The murder weapon,” Raphael said grimly as he stood up. “He was garotted! Strangled from behind by someone slipping that cord over his head and tightening it until he was dead! The ideal weapon for down here! Silent and swift!”

  She groaned. “Poor little man!”

  “He was playing a dangerous game,” he said in a taut voice. “Come along!”

  She let him lead her the rest of the way to the chapel steps and then through the fairly crowded chapel out into the open. There she turned to him and asked, “Shouldn’t we tell someone?”

  Raphael’s dark, slightly curly hair, was blowing in the strong breeze that had come up. His handsome face was a study in weariness. He said, “We can’t afford to get mixed up in this!”

  “You mean because of Irma.”

  “Yes.”

  “But what will happen?” she worried.

  “Someone will find him and report it to the police,” he said. “Let it be their problem from then on.”

  “I think I’m going to be ill,” she said, leaning against him.

  “You’ll feel better once you’re in the carriage,” he said.

  “I hope so,” she replied faintly.

  As it turned out she did. The fresh air was helpful and she sat back with her eyes closed. Raphael sat in silence beside her as the carriage took them back to the palace.

  At last Della opened her eyes and told him, “I’m sorry.”