Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  “That was the dealer’s affair,” answered Volterra without the least hesitation. “Dealers are such fools! They always make a mystery of everything.”

  Malipieri could not help admiring the proportions and qualities of the Baron’s lies. The financier was well aware that Malipieri knew the pictures to be genuine beyond all doubt. The disposal of them had been well managed, for when Malipieri moved into the palace there was not a painting of value left on the walls, yet there had been no mention of them in the newspapers, nor any gossip about them, and the public at large believed them to be still in their places. As a matter of fact most of them were already in France and England, and the Velasquez was in Saint Petersburg.

  “I understand why you are anxious that the Palazzo Conti should not be watched just now,” Malipieri said. “For my part, as I do not believe in your government, I cannot be expected to believe in its laws. It is not my business whether you respect them yourselves or not.”

  “Who is breaking the law?” asked the Baron roughly. “It is absurd to talk in that way. But as the government has taken it into its head to suspect that you do, it is not advisable for me, who am a staunch supporter of the government, to see too much of you. I am sure you must understand that — it is so simple.”

  “In other words?” Malipieri looked at him coldly, waiting for an explanation.

  “I cannot afford to have it said that you are living in the palace for the purpose of helping dealers to smuggle objects of art out of the country. That is what I mean.”

  “I see. But what objects of art do you mean, since you have already sent away everything there was?”

  “It is believed that you had something to do with that ridiculous affair of the copies,” said Volterra, his voice suddenly becoming oily.

  “They were gone when I moved in.”

  “I daresay they were. But it would be hard to prove, and of course the people who bought the pictures from the dealer insist that they are genuine, so that there may be trouble some day, and you may be annoyed about the things if you stay here any longer.”

  “You mean that you advise me to leave Rome. Is that it?” Malipieri now spoke with the utmost indifference, and glanced carelessly at the end of his cigar as he knocked the ash into the gold cup at his side.

  “You certainly cannot stay any longer in the palace,” Volterra said, in an advisory and deprecatory tone.

  “You seem to be badly frightened,” observed Malipieri. “I really cannot see why I should change my quarters until we have finished what we are doing.”

  “I am afraid you will have to go. You are looked upon as very ‘suspicious.’ It would not be so bad, if your servant had not been a convict.”

  “How do you know that?” Malipieri asked with sudden sternness.

  “Everything of that sort is known to the police,” answered Volterra, whose manner had become very mild. “Of course you have your own reasons for employing such a person.”

  “He is an innocent man, who was unjustly convicted.”

  “Oh, indeed! Poor fellow! Those things happen sometimes, I know. It is more than kind of you to employ him. Nevertheless, you cannot help seeing that the association of ideas is unfortunate and gives a bad impression. The man was never proved to be innocent, and when he had served his term, he was involved as your servant in your political escapade. You do not mind my speaking of that matter lightly? It is the safest way to look at it, is it not? Yes. The trouble is that you and your man are both on the black book, and since the affair has come to the notice of the government my colleagues are naturally surprised that you should both be living in a house that belongs to me.”

  “You can explain to your colleagues that you have let the apartment in the palace to me, and that as I pay my rent regularly you cannot turn me out without notice.” Malipieri smiled indifferently.

  “Surely,” said the Baron, affecting some surprise, “if I ask you, as a favour, to move somewhere else, you will do so!”

  To tell the truth, he was not prepared for Malipieri’s extreme forbearance, for he had expected an outbreak of temper, at the least, and he still feared a positive refusal. Instead, the young man did not seem to care a straw.

  “Of course,” he said, “if you ask it as a favour, I cannot refuse. When should you like me to go?”

  “You are really too kind!” The Baron was genuinely delighted and almost grateful — as near to feeling gratitude, perhaps, as he had ever been in his life. “I should hate to hurry you,” he continued. “But really, since you are so very good, I think the sooner you can make it convenient to move, the better it will be for every one.”

  “I could not manage to pack my books and drawings so soon as to-morrow,” said Malipieri.

  “Oh, no! certainly not! By all means take a couple of days about it. I could not think of putting you to any inconvenience.”

  “Thanks.” Malipieri smiled pleasantly. “If I cannot get off by the day after to-morrow, I shall certainly move the day after that.”

  “I am infinitely obliged. And now that this unpleasant matter is settled, owing to your wonderful amiability, do tell me how the work is proceeding.”

  “Fairly well,” Malipieri answered. “You had better come and see for yourself before I go. Let me see. To-morrow I shall have to look about for a lodging. Could you come the day after to-morrow? Then we can go down together.”

  “How far have you got?” asked Volterra, with a little less interest than might have been expected.

  “I am positively sure that there is an inner chamber, where I expected to find it,” Malipieri answered, with perfect truth. “Perhaps we can get into it when you come.”

  “I hope so,” said the Baron, watching the other’s face from the corner of his eye.

  “I have made a curious discovery in the course of the excavation,” Malipieri continued. “The pillar of masonry which you showed me is hollow after all. It was the shaft of an oubliette which must have opened somewhere in the upper part of the house. There is a well under it.”

  “Full of water?”

  “No. It is dry. We shall have to pass through it to get to the inner chamber. You shall see for yourself — a very singular construction.”

  “Was there nothing in it?”

  “Several skeletons,” answered Malipieri indifferently. “One of the skulls has a rusty knife driven through it.”

  “Dear me!” exclaimed the Baron, shaking his fat head. “Those Conti were terrible people! We must not tell the Baroness these dreadful stories. They would upset her nerves.”

  Malipieri had not supposed Volterra’s wife to be intensely sensitive. He moved, as if he meant to take his leave presently.

  “By the bye,” he said, “whereabouts should you recommend me to look for a lodging?”

  The Baron reflected a moment.

  “If I were you,” he said, “I would go to a hotel. In fact, I think you would be wiser to leave Rome for a time, until all these absurd stories are forgotten. The least I can do is to warn you that you may be exposed to a good deal of annoyance if you stay here. The minister with whom I was talking this evening told me as much in a friendly way.”

  “Really? That was very kind of him. But what do you mean by the word ‘annoyance’? It is rather vague. It is one thing to suspect a man of trying to evade the Pacca law; it is quite another matter to issue a warrant of arrest against him.”

  “Oh, quite,” answered Volterra readily. “I did not mean that, of course, though when one has once been arrested for anything, innocent or not, our police always like to repeat the operation as soon as possible, just as a matter of principle.”

  “In other words, if a man has once been suspected, even unjustly, he had better leave his country for ever.”

  The Baron shrugged his big round shoulders, and drew a final puff from his cigar before throwing the end away.

  “Injustice is only what the majority thinks of the minority,” he observed. “If you do not happen to be a man of genius
, the first step towards success in life is to join the majority.”

  Malipieri laughed as he rose to his feet, reflecting that in delivering himself of this piece of worldly wisdom the Baron had probably spoken the truth for the first time since they had been talking.

  “Shall we say day after to-morrow, about five o’clock?” asked Malipieri before going.

  “By all means. And let me thank you again for meeting my views so very obligingly.”

  “Not at all.”

  So Malipieri went home to think matters over, and the Baron sat a long time in his chair, looking much pleased with himself and apparently admiring a magnificent diamond which he wore on one of his thick fingers.

  CHAPTER X

  MALIPIERI WAS CONVINCED that Volterra not only knew exactly how far the work under the palace had proceeded, but was also acquainted with the general nature of the objects found in the inner chamber, beyond the well shaft. The apparent impossibility of such a thing was of no importance. The Baron would never have been so anxious to get rid of Malipieri unless he had been sure that the difficult part of the work was finished and that the things discovered were of such dimensions as to make it impossible to remove them secretly. Malipieri knew the man and guessed that if he could not pocket the value of everything found in the excavations by disposing of the discoveries secretly, he would take the government into his confidence at once, as the surest means of preventing any one else from getting a share.

  What was hard to understand was that Volterra should know how far the work had gone before Malipieri had told him anything about it. That he did know, could hardly be doubted. He had practically betrayed the fact by the mistake he had made in assuring himself that Malipieri was willing to leave the house, before even questioning him as to the progress made since they had last met. He had been a little too eager to get rid of the helper he no longer needed. It did not even occur to Malipieri that Masin could have betrayed him, yet so far as it was possible to judge, Masin was the only living man who had looked into the underground chamber. As he walked home, he recalled the conversation from beginning to end, and his conviction was confirmed. Volterra had been in a bad temper, nervous, a little afraid of the result and therefore inclined to talk in a rough and bullying tone. As soon as he had ascertained that Malipieri was not going to oppose him, he had become oily to obsequiousness.

  On his part Malipieri had accepted everything Volterra proposed, for two reasons. In the first place he would not for the world have had the financier think that he wanted a share of the treasure, or any remuneration for what he had done. Secondly, he knew that possession is nine points of the law, and that if anything could ever be obtained for Sabina it would not be got by making a show of violent opposition to the Baron’s wishes. If Malipieri had refused to leave his lodging in the palace, Volterra could have answered by filling the house with people in his own employ, or by calling in government architects, archaeologists and engineers, and taking the whole matter out of Malipieri’s hands.

  The first thing to be ascertained was, who had entered the vaults and reported the state of the work to Volterra. Malipieri might have suspected the porter himself, for it was possible that there might be another key to the outer entrance of the cellar; but there was a second door further in, to which Masin had put a patent padlock, and even Masin had not the key to that. The little flat bit of steel, with its irregular indentations, was always in Malipieri’s pocket. As he walked, he felt for it, and it was in its place, with his silver pencil-case and the small penknife he always carried for sharpening pencils.

  The porter could not possibly have picked that lock; indeed, scarcely any one could have done so without injuring it, and Malipieri had locked it himself at about seven o’clock that evening. Even if the porter could have got in by any means, Malipieri doubted whether he could have reached the inner chamber of the vaults. There was some climbing to be done, and the man was old and stiff in the joints. The place was not so easy to find as might have been supposed, either, after the first breach in the Roman wall was past. Malipieri intended to improve the passage the next morning, in order to make it more practicable for Sabina.

  He racked his brains for an explanation of the mystery, and when he reached the door of the palace, after eleven o’clock, he had come to the conclusion that in spite of appearances there must be some entrance to the vaults of which he knew nothing, and it was all-important to find it. He regretted the quixotic impulse which had restrained him from exploring everything at once. It would have been far better to go to the end of his discovery, and he wondered why he had not done go. He would not have insulted himself by supposing that Sabina could believe him capable of taking the gem from the ring of the statue, in other words, of stealing, since whoever the rightful owner might be, nothing in the vault could possibly belong to him, and he regarded it all as her property, though he doubted whether he could ever obtain for her a tenth part of the value it represented. He had acted on an impulse, which was strengthened until it looked plausible by the thought of the intense pleasure he would take in showing her the wonderful discovery, and in leading her safely through the mysterious intricacies of the strange place. It had been a very selfish impulse after all, and if he really let her come the next day, there might even be a little danger to her.

  He let himself in and locked the postern door behind him. The porter and his wife were asleep and the glass window of the lodge door was quite dark. Malipieri lighted a wax taper and went upstairs.

  Masin was waiting, and opened when he heard his master’s footsteps on the landing. As a rule, he went to bed, if Malipieri went out in the evening; both men were usually tired out by their day’s work.

  “What is the matter?” Malipieri asked.

  “There is somebody in the vaults,” Masin answered. “I had left my pipe on a stone close to the padlocked door and when you were gone I took a lantern and went down to get it. When I came near the door I was sure I heard some one trying it gently from the other side. I stopped to listen and I distinctly heard footsteps going away. I ran forward and tried to find a crack, to see if there were a light, but the door is swollen with the dampness and fits tightly. Besides, by the time I had reached it the person inside must have got well away.”

  “What time was it?” asked Malipieri, slipping off his light overcoat.

  “You went out at nine o’clock, sir. It could not have been more than half an hour later.”

  “Light both lanterns. We must go down at once. See that there is plenty of oil in them.”

  In five minutes both men were ready.

  “You had better take your revolver, sir,” suggested Masin.

  Malipieri laughed.

  “I have had that revolver since I was eighteen,” he said, “and I have never needed it yet. Our tools are there, and they are better than firearms.”

  They went down the staircase quietly, fearing to wake the porter, and kept close to the north wall till they reached the further end of the courtyard. When they had passed the outer door at the head of the winding staircase, Malipieri told Masin to lock it after them.

  “We cannot padlock the other door from the inside,” he explained, “for there are no hasps. If the man managed to pass us he might get out this way.”

  He led the way down, making as little noise as possible. Masin held up his lantern, peering into the gloom over Malipieri’s shoulder.

  “No one could pass the other door without breaking it down,” Malipieri said.

  They reached the floor of the cellars, which extended in both directions from the foot of the staircase, far to the left by low, dark vaults like railway tunnels, and a short distance to the right, where they ended at the north-west corner. The two men turned that way, but after walking a dozen yards, they turned to the left and entered a damp passage barely wide enough for them both abreast. It ended at the padlocked door, and before unlocking the latter Malipieri laid his ear to the rough panel and listened attentively. Not a sound broke the st
illness. He turned the key, and took off the padlock and slipped it into his pocket before going on. Without it the door could not be fastened.

  The passage widened suddenly beyond, in another short tunnel ending at the outer foundation wall of the palace. In this tunnel, on the right-hand side, was the breach the two men had first made in order to gain access to the unexplored region. Now that there was an aperture, the running water on the other side could be heard very distinctly, like a little brook in a rocky channel, but more steady. Both men examined the damp floor carefully with their lanterns, in the hope of finding some trace of footsteps; but the surface was hard and almost black, and where there had been a little slime their own feet had rubbed it off, as they came and went during many days. The stones and rubbish they had taken from the wall had been piled up and hardened to form an inclined causeway by which to reach the irregular hole. This was now just big enough to allow a man to walk through it, bending almost double. Masin lighted one of the lamps, which they generally left at that place, and set it on a stone.

  Malipieri began to go up, his stick in his right hand, the lantern in his left.

  “Let me go first, sir,” said Masin, trying to pass him.

  “Nonsense!” Malipieri answered sharply, and went on.

  Masin kept as close to him as possible. He had picked up the lightest of the drilling irons for a weapon. It must have weighed at least ten pounds and it was a yard long. In such a hand as Masin’s a blow from it would have broken a man’s bones like pipe stems.

  The wall was about eight feet thick, and when Malipieri got to the other end of the hole he stopped and looked down, holding out his lantern at arm’s length. He could see nothing unusual, and he heard no sound, except the gurgle of the little black stream that ran ten feet below him. He began to descend. The masonry was very irregular, and sloped outwards towards the ground, so that some of the irregularities made rough steps here and there, which he knew by heart. Below, several large fragments of Roman brick and cement lay here and there, where they had fallen in the destruction of the original building. It was not hard to get down, and the space was not large. It was bounded by the old wall on one side, and most of the other was taken up by a part of a rectangular mass of masonry, of rough mediaeval construction, which projected inward.