“It is a very fine day after the rain,” observed the Baron presently.
“It never rains long in Rome, in the spring,” answered Malipieri.
The detective wrote steadily, and neither spoke again till he had finished.
“Of course,” he said to Malipieri, “you are quite sure of your statements.”
“Provided that you have written down exactly what I said,” Malipieri answered.
The detective rose and handed him the sheets, at which he glanced rapidly.
“Yes. That is what I said.”
“Let me see,” Volterra put in, rising and holding out his hand.
He took the paper and read every word carefully, before he returned the manuscript.
“You might add,” he said, “that I have been most anxious to keep the excavations a secret because I do not wish to be pestered by reporters before I have handed over to the government any discoveries which may be made.”
“Certainly,” answered the man, taking his pen again, and writing rapidly.
Volterra was almost as anxious to get rid of him as Malipieri himself. What the latter had said had informed him that in spite of the water the vaults could be reached, and he was in haste to go down. He had, indeed, noted the fact that whereas Sabina had left his house with Sassi at five o’clock, the latter had been taken to the hospital only three quarters of an hour later, and he wondered where she could be; but it did not even occur to him as possible that she should be in Malipieri’s apartment. The idea would have seemed preposterous.
The detective rose, folded the sheets of paper and placed them in a large pocket-book which he produced.
“And now, gentlemen,” he said, “we have only one more formality to fulfil, before I have the honour of taking my leave.”
“What is that?” asked the Baron, beginning to show his impatience at last.
“Signor Malipieri — is that your name, sir? Yes. Signer Malipieri will be kind enough to let me and my men walk through the rooms of the apartment.”
“I think that is quite unnecessary,” Malipieri answered. “By this time Signor Sassi has probably recovered consciousness, and has told his own story, which will explain the accident.”
“In the performance of my duty,” objected the detective, “I must go through the house, to see whether there are any traces of blood. I am sure that you will make no opposition.”
Fate was closing in upon Malipieri, but he kept his head as well as he could. He opened the door that led back to the hall.
“Will you come?” he said, showing the way.
The detective glanced at the other door, but said nothing and prepared to follow.
“I will stay here,” said the Baron, settling himself in the armchair again.
“Oh, no! Pray come,” Malipieri said. “I should like you to see for yourself that Sassi was not hurt here.”
Volterra rose reluctantly and went with the rest. His chief preoccupation was to get rid of the detective and his men as quickly as possible. Malipieri opened the doors as he went along, and showed several empty rooms, before he came to Masin’s.
“This is where my man sleeps,” he said carelessly.
The detective went in, looked about and suddenly pounced upon a towel on which there were stains of blood.
“What is this?” he asked sharply. “What is the meaning of this?”
Malipieri showed his scarred hands.
“After I got out of the vault, I washed here,” he said. “I had cut my hands a good deal, as you see. Of course the blood came off on the towels.”
The detective assumed his smile of professional cunning.
“I understand,” he said. “But do you generally wash in your servant’s room?”
“No. It happened to be convenient when I got in. There was water here, and there were towels.”
“It is strange,” said the detective.
Even Volterra looked curiously at Malipieri, for he was much puzzled. But he was impatient, too, and came to the rescue.
“Do you not see,” he asked of the detective, “that Signor Malipieri was covered with dust and that his clothes were very wet? There they are, lying on the floor. He did not wish to go to his bedroom as he was, taking all that dirt and dampness with him, so he came here.”
“That is a sufficient explanation, I am sure,” said Malipieri.
“Perfectly, perfectly,” answered the detective, smiling. “Wrap up those towels in a newspaper,” he said to the two soldiers. “We will take them with us. You see,” he continued in an apologetic tone, “we are obliged to be very careful in the execution of our duties. If Signor Sassi should unfortunately die in the hospital, and especially if he should die unconscious, the matter would become very serious, and I should be blamed if I had not made a thorough examination.”
“I hope he is not so seriously injured,” said Malipieri.
“The report we received was that his skull was fractured,” answered the detective calmly. “The hospitals report all suspicious cases to the police stations by telephone during the night, and of course, as your man refused to speak, special enquiries were made about the wounded gentleman.”
“I understand,” said Malipieri. “And now, I suppose, you have made a sufficient search.”
“We have not seen your own room. If you will show me that, as a mere formality, I think I need not trouble you any further.”
It had come at last. Malipieri felt himself growing cold, and said nothing for a moment. Volterra again began to watch him curiously.
“I fancy,” the detective said, “that your room opens from the study in which we have already been. I only wish to look in.”
“There is a small room before it, where I keep my clothes.”
“I suppose we can go through the small room?”
“You may see that,” said Malipieri, “but I shall not allow you to go into my bedroom.”
“How very strange!” cried Volterra, staring at him.
Then the fat Baron broke into a laugh, that, made his watch-chain dance on his smooth and rotund speckled waistcoat.
“I see! I see!” he tried to say.
The detective understood, and smiled in a subdued way. Malipieri knit his brows angrily, as he felt himself becoming more and more utterly powerless to stave off the frightful catastrophe that threatened Sabina. But the detective was anxious to make matters pleasant by diplomatic means.
“I had not been told that Signor Malipieri was a married man,” he said. “Of course, if the Signora Malipieri is not yet visible, I shall be delighted to give her time to dress.”
Malipieri bit his lip and made a few steps up and down.
“I did not know that your wife was in Rome,” Volterra said, glancing at him, and apparently confirming the detective in his mistake.
“For that matter,” said the detective, “I am a married man myself, and if the lady is in bed, she might allow me merely to stand at the door, and glance in.”
“I think she is still asleep,” Malipieri answered. “I do not like to disturb her, and the room is quite dark.”
“My time is at your disposal,” said the detective. “Shall we go back and wait in the study? You would perhaps be so kind as to see whether the Signora is awake or not, but I am quite ready to wait till she comes out of her room. I would not put her to any inconvenience for the world, I assure you.”
“Really,” the Baron said to Malipieri, “I think you might wake her.”
The soldiers looked on stolidly, the porter kept his eyes and ears open, and Gigi, full of curiosity, wore the expression of a smiling weasel. To the porter’s knowledge, so far as it went, no woman but his own wife had entered the palace since Malipieri had been living in it.
Malipieri made no answer to Volterra’s last speech, and walked up and down, seeking a solution. The least possible one seemed to be that suggested by the Baron himself. The latter, though now very curious, was more than ever in a hurry to bring the long enquiry to a close. It occ
urred to him that it would simplify matters if he and Malipieri and the detective were left alone together, and he said so, urging that as there was unexpectedly a lady in the case, the presence of so many witnesses should be avoided. Even now he never thought of the possibility that the lady in question might be Sabina.
The detective now yielded the point willingly enough, and the soldiers were sent off with Gigi and the porter to wait in the latter’s lodge. It was a slight relief to Malipieri to see them go. He and his two companions went back to the study together.
The Baron resumed his seat in the armchair; he always sat down when he had time, and he had not yet finished his big cigar. The detective went to the window and looked out through the panes, as if to give Malipieri time to make up his mind what to do; and Malipieri paced the floor with bent head, his hands in his pockets, in utter desperation. At any moment Sabina might appear, yet he dared not even go to her door, lest the two men should follow him.
But at least he could prevent her from coming in, for he could lock the entrance to the small room. As he reached the end of his walk he turned the key and put it into his pocket. The detective turned round sharply and Volterra moved his head at the sound.
“Why do you do that?” he asked, in a tone of annoyance.
“Because no one shall go in, while I have the key,” Malipieri answered.
“I must go in, sooner or later,” said the detective, “I can wait all day, and all night, if you please, for I shall not use force where a lady is concerned. But I must see that room.”
Like all such men, he was obstinate, when he believed that he was doing his duty. Malipieri looked from him to Volterra, and back again, and suddenly made up his mind. He preferred the detective, of the two, if he must trust any one, the more so as the latter probably did not know Sabina by sight.
“If you will be so kind as to stay there, in that armchair,” he said to Volterra, “I will see what I can do to hasten matters. Will you?”
“Certainly. I am very comfortable here.” The Baron laughed a little.
“Then,” said Malipieri, turning to the detective, “kindly come with me, and I will explain as far as I can.”
He took the key from his pocket again, and opened the door of the small room, let in the detective and shut it after him without locking it. He had hardly made up his mind what to say, but he knew what he wished.
“This is a very delicate affair,” he began in a whisper. “I will see whether the lady is awake.”
He went to the door of the bedroom on tiptoe and listened. Not a sound reached him. The room was quite out of hearing of the rest of the apartment, and Sabina, accustomed as she was to sleep eight hours without waking, was still resting peacefully. Malipieri came back noiselessly.
“She is asleep,” he whispered. “Will you not take my word for it that there is nothing to be found in the room which can have the least connection with Sassi’s accident?”
The detective shook his head gravely, and raised his eyebrows, while he shut his eyes, as some men do when they mean that nothing can convince them.
“I advise you to go in and wake your wife,” he whispered, still very politely. “She can wrap herself up and sit in a chair while I look in.”
“That is impossible. I cannot go in and wake her.”
The detective looked surprised, and was silent for a moment.
“This is a very strange situation,” he muttered. “A man who dares not go into his wife’s room when she is asleep — I do not understand.”
“I cannot explain,” answered Malipieri, “but it is altogether impossible. I ask you to believe me, on my oath, that you will find nothing in the room.”
“I have already told you, sir, that I must fulfil the formalities, whatever I may wish to believe. And it is my firm belief that Signor Sassi came by the injuries of which he may possibly die, somewhere in this apartment, yesterday afternoon. My reputation is at stake, and I am a government servant. To oblige you, I will wait an hour, but if the lady is not awake then, I shall go and knock at that door and call until she answers. It would be simpler if you would do it yourself. That is all, and you must take your choice.”
Malipieri saw that he must wake Sabina, and explain to her through the door that she must dress. He reflected a moment, and was about to ask the detective to go back to the study, when a sound of voices came from that direction, and one was a woman’s.
“It seems that there is another lady in the house,” said the detective. “Perhaps she can help us. Surely you will allow a lady to enter your wife’s room and wake her.”
But Malipieri was speechless at that moment and was leaning stupidly against the jamb of the study door. He had recognized the voice of the Baroness talking excitedly with her husband. Fate had caught him now, and there was no escape. Instinctively, he was sure that the Baroness had come in search of Sabina, and would not leave the house till she had found her, do what he might.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE BARONESS HAD been called to the telephone five minutes after Volterra had gone out with the porter, leaving word that he was going to the Palazzo Conti and would be back within two hours. The message she received was from the Russian Embassy, and informed her that the dowager Princess Conti had arrived at midnight, was the guest of the Ambassador, and wished her daughter Sabina to come and see her between eleven and twelve o’clock. In trembling tones the Baroness had succeeded in saying that Sabina should obey, and had rung off the connection at once. Then, for the first time in her life, she had felt for a moment as if she were going to faint.
The facts, which were unknown to her, were simple enough. The Ambassador had been informed that a treasure had been discovered, and had telegraphed the fact in cipher to the Minister of Foreign Affairs in St. Petersburg, who had telegraphed the news to Prince Rubomirska, who had telegraphed to the Ambassador, who was his intimate friend, requesting him to receive the Princess for a few days. As the Prince and his sister were already in the country, in Poland, not far from the Austrian frontier, it had not taken her long to reach Rome. Of all this, the poor Baroness was in ignorance. The one fact stared her in the face, that the Princess had come to claim Sabina, and Sabina had disappeared.
She had learned that the porter had come to say that the cellars of the Palazzo Conti were flooded, and she knew that her husband would be there some time. She found Sassi’s card, on which his address was printed, and she drove there in a cab, climbed the stairs and rang the bell. The old woman who opened was in terrible trouble, and was just going out. She showed the Baroness the news of Sassi’s mysterious accident shortly given in a paragraph of the Messaggero, the little morning paper which is universally read greedily by the lower classes. She was just going to the accident hospital, the “Consolazione,” to see her poor master. He had gone out at half past four on the previous afternoon, and she had sat up all night, hoping that he would come in. She was quite sure that he had not returned at all after he had gone out. She was quite sure, too, that he had been knocked down and robbed, for he had a gold watch and chain, and always carried money in his pocket.
The Baroness looked at her, and saw that she was speaking the truth and was in real distress. It would be quite useless to search the rooms for Sabina. The old woman-servant had no idea who the Baroness was, and in her sudden trouble would certainly have confided to her that there was a young lady in the house, who had not been able to get home.
“For the love of heaven, Signora,” she cried, “come with me to the hospital, if you know him, for he may be dying.”
The Baroness promised to go later, and really intended to do so. She drove to the convent in which Donna Clementina was now a cloistered nun, and asked the portress whether Donna Sabina Conti had been to see her sister on the previous day. The portress answered that she had not, and was quite positive of the fact. The Baroness looked at her watch and hastened to the Palazzo Conti. When she got there, the porter had already returned to his lodge, and he led her upstairs and to
the door of the study.
Finding her husband alone, she explained what was the matter, in a few words and in a low voice. The Princess had come back, and wished to see Sabina that very morning, and Sabina could not be found. She sank into a chair, and her sallow face expressed the utmost fright and perplexity.
“Sassi left our house at five o’clock with Sabina,” said the Baron, “and at a quarter to six he was taken from the door of this palace to the hospital by Malipieri’s man. Either Malipieri or his man must have seen her.”
“She is here!” cried the Baroness in a loud tone, something of the truth flashing upon her. “I know she is here!”
Volterra’s mind worked rapidly at the possibility, as at a problem. If his wife were not mistaken it was easy to explain Malipieri’s flat refusal to let any one enter the bedroom.
“You may be right,” he said, rising. “If she is in the palace she is in the room beyond that one.” He pointed to the door. “You must go in,” he said. “Never mind Malipieri. I will manage him.”
At that moment the door opened. Malipieri had recovered his senses enough to attempt a final resistance, and stood there, very pale, ready for anything.
But the fat Baron knew what he was about, and as he came forward with his wife he suddenly thrust out his hand at Malipieri’s head, and the latter saw down the barrel of Volterra’s revolver.
“You must let my wife pass,” cried Volterra coolly, “or I will shoot you.”
Malipieri was as active as a sailor. In an instant he had hurled himself, bending low, at the Baron’s knees, and the fat man fell over him, while the revolver flew from his hand, half across the room, fortunately not going off as it fell on its side. While Malipieri was struggling to get the upper hand, the detective ran forward and helped Volterra. The two threw themselves upon the younger man, and between the detective’s wiry strength and the Baron’s tremendous weight, he lay panting and powerless on his back for an instant.
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 1065