“Very seldom.”
“During my martyrdom,” said Berry, “‘Bohême’ was played backwards to drown my cries. I don’t suppose they gave you a band, did they?”
Jonah shook his head.
“I suffered in silence,” he said. “Same as I’m doing now.”
“How rude!” said my brother-in-law. “How very rude! Never mind. I expect he wants his lunch. I told you about my vitals, didn’t I? Oh, yes. If you remember, I was interrupted just as I was saying that my—”
“This is sheer blackmail,” said Daphne, turning to Adèle. “It’s a great mistake to give in to the brute, but it’s a question of being insulted or letting him have his way. We’ll leave him behind tomorrow.”
As we set our faces towards the entrance:
“I shall begin with melon,” said Berry.
Cultivate the siesta habit, and it is not so easy to be rid of it again. Berry and Daphne and Jill had been long enough in Egypt to become accustomed to a rest after luncheon. This they were learning to curtail, but they never left the hotel before four. Miss Feste was more energetic. Besides, she had not been in Egypt so long. Jonah had no excuse, and was quite frank about it. “Sheer laziness,” he would say. “Sheer laziness. But a real sleep after lunch is to my liking. Wish I’d thought of it before.” And then he would follow the others into the lift, and congratulate them on “the contraction of a vice as wise as it is beneficial.”
Left to our own devices, Adèle and I usually went for a stroll till tea-time. In this point the day on which we had visited the Colosseum was not exceptional. When the other four had shamefacedly retired to their respective rooms, I turned to Miss Feste.
“Shall we push off again? Shall we perambulate? Or do you want to write letters?”
“I do not,” said Adèle. “I ought to. It’s scandalous. Mother will be cabling to the Embassy about me, if I don’t take care. But I just can’t sit here with Rome at the door.”
I rose to my feet.
“When I return,” I said, “I shall have my headgear with me.”
Ten minutes later we were abroad.
It was a brilliant afternoon. Not a cloud floated in the blue sky, there was no wind, and the sun blazed in the heaven, flooding the broad streets and open spaces with warmth and lustre, and lighting so faithfully the precious buildings that the eye need miss no jot or tittle of their beauty, fine and elusory though it might be.
Adèle and I went our way leisurely. As we turned the corner of a little alley tucked under the shadow of some great gallery, we almost collided with a dignitary of the Roman Catholic Church.
As I raised my hat:
“Why, Monseigneur!” cried Adèle.
“My dear child!”
The two shook hands.
“I am so glad to see you,” said Adèle. Then she introduced me. “You’re fellow-countrymen,” she added, turning to me. “Monseigneur Forest lives in Rome, but he is still an Englishman.”
“So I can see.”
It was indeed a typically English face that was smiling from under the broad-brimmed hat. The features were fine and regular, the mouth kindly, the chin strong. A fresh colour was springing in his cheeks, and honesty sat in his blue eyes for all to see. Monseigneur was very tall and broad in proportion – fifty years old, perhaps, but I had never seen a finer man.
“And what are you doing here, my dear? I wish I could believe that you were actually on your way to see me.”
“I wasn’t,” said Adèle truthfully. “But I’ll come gladly. We’re on our way back from Egypt…” Quickly she told him the circumstances of our visit. “Are you a cardinal yet?” she added naïvely.
The prelate smiled.
“Not yet, not yet.” He sighed. “And now I must go, or I shall be late. Come, both of you, to tea with me the day after tomorrow.” He gave us his address. “It will make me so happy.”
Gratefully we accepted.
The next moment he was gone.
As we walked, Adèle told me about him. They had been members of the same house-party in France in July, 1914. “And then the War came in the middle of it all, and we all left, and I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. But I never forgot. He’s just the finest gentleman that ever happened.”
“He never forgot, either.” Up went the chin. “And I shan’t ever forget,” I added. “That makes three. Had you cut your hair short when you met him?”
Adèle shook her head, smiling.
“Ah. Then it must have been your brown eyes. Or your mouth. And yet I don’t know. There’s so much of you that’s beautiful.”
“For Heaven’s sake,” said Adèle, “leave something to the imagination.”
“Don’t blame me, my dear. You shouldn’t be so attractive. Be thankful that I don’t burst into song. I’m not at all sure I’m not going to intone, as it is. I shouldn’t hesitate if I had a tuning-fork.”
We had been strolling careless of our whereabouts, and as I spoke we entered a small sequestered square. Its houses were manifestly ancient, and on one side was towering the back wall of a church. The stained glass of a beautiful window flamed in the afternoon sun. Save for two men, the square was deserted. Doors and windows were open, but shutters were closed and blinds lowered. None of the occupants were in sight.
The two men were going in opposite directions. One moved heavily. Decently dressed, he might have been a merchant on his way to his office, wrapped in contemplation. The other was approaching us, so that we could see his face. This was very Italian, and there was a queer scared look in his eyes. His nose seemed to have been bent out of the straight. Whether he saw us or not I cannot say, but, as he passed the merchant, he turned, whipped his right hand from his pocket, and struck twice at the other’s back. Without a cry the merchant spun round and fell heavily backwards on to the cobbles. In a flash his assailant had thrust his hand into his victim’s breast, and was darting away in the direction from which he had come, cramming something into his pocket as he ran.
The whole thing was so sudden and unexpected that I was stupefied. Indeed, for the fraction of a second I wondered whether I had witnessed a vision, or imagination had played a mad trick upon my brain, but instantaneously the grim figure lying asprawl in the hot sunshine gave me the lie. Adèle gasped, shuddered, and caught at my arm, and the next moment I was across the little square in hot pursuit of the assassin.
The little silent street down which he had sped was tortuous, and though I was expecting to see him when I rounded a bend, the next reach of the alley was empty, and fifty paces further on the street curled again. Cursing my folly for not starting earlier in hot pursuit, I covered the fifty yards at a furious rate, only to find myself at a place where four ways met. Anxiously I stared down the little streets in turn. Here was a little traffic and a few passers-by, but there was no one that at all resembled the man of whom I was in chase.
I stood still, wondering what to do. Since I could not speak a word of Italian, I hesitated to accost the people that I saw about me. Vainly I scanned the streets for a policeman. Then I heard the sound of quick breathing behind me, and swung round, to see Adèle standing quite close to me, one little hand pressed to her side.
“Gone?”
She flung the question at me a little unsteadily.
I nodded.
“Not a sign of him,” I said. “But I thought you’d stay—”
“He had a knife,” she said slowly. “And you had nothing. I just couldn’t have stayed. Besides, there was a man coming. I saw him.”
I slid her arm into mine and held it.
“Dear little Adèle.”
“We must go back,” she said, in a low voice. “Oh, how cruel and treacherous it was! That poor man… What ghastly misery in some home tonight!”
“He mayn’t be dead,” I said hopefully, as we turned to make our way back to the quiet square.
Adèle brushed a hand across her eyes.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “He was dead. He was lying t
oo still, too unnaturally. He was dead.”
“I don’t know what we’d better do,” said I. “I suppose there’ll be some police there by now, and I’d better give them my card and say where I’m staying. I don’t want you to be mixed up in it, if we can help it, but I’d like to see justice done.”
“I’m so afraid no one’ll speak English. Would it be best to go straight back to the hotel and write a note to the Chief of the Police, saying you witnessed the murder and are willing to give them what information you can, if they communicate? They’ll have to get an interpreter to translate it, and it’ll show them you can’t talk Italian. Or you could say so in the note.”
“I think that would be best. But, all the same, I think I’ll give one of the police my card right away. It might convey something to him. And then we’ll go straight back to the hotel.”
Two minutes later we were back in the little square. Save for two large pigeons, sleeking themselves in the sun, it was quite empty.
An hour or so later, when we were finishing tea, I drew up my chair and told the others exactly what we had seen. Adèle had gone to her room, and had not yet reappeared. When I had finished—
“Hallucination,” said Berry shortly. “What you saw was a mirage.”
“Don’t be a fool,” said I. “I want to know what to do.”
“What did you drink for lunch?”
“All right. Ask Adèle. She drank nothing.”
“I’d better go to her,” said Daphne, rising. “I expect she’s rather upset.”
“My dear fellow,” said Berry, “the effect of the sun upon alcoholism is notorious.”
I turned to Jonah.
“You believe me?”
“I do. And I should leave it alone. They’re a funny crowd, these Italians. Looks to me like the Camorra or something. And they simply hate being interfered with. After all, you did what you could.”
“I’m not at all easy about it. I feel I ought to put my knowledge at the disposal of the police. It seems only fair to the wretched fellow who was done in.”
“But he wasn’t,” said Berry.
“Well, somebody’d got him away, but, if he wasn’t actually dead, it was a devilish near thing. He went down like an ox.”
“No blood on the cobbles?” said Berry.
I shook my head.
“Of course, he might have been bleeding internally. I confess it beats me. But there you are. I don’t attempt to explain it.”
“My advice is to sit tight and do nothing,” said Jonah.
“I agree,” said Berry, yawning. “If you’ve nothing better to tell the police than what you’ve told us, they’ll detain you as an idiot.”
“I expected this,” I said bitterly. “I knew you’d ridicule the whole thing. I only wish you’d been there yourself.”
“I remember,” said Berry, “when I was in Anti-macassar, a very similar experience. As I was returning from the club about midnight, a large skewbald goat stopped me and, speaking in broken Pekingese, asked if he could use the telephone. On my refusing, the animal burst into tears and changed into a minefield.”
This was too much. I rose with such dignity as I could command and, glancing sorrowfully at Jill and Jonah, both of whom were shaking with laughter, strolled out of the lounge.
As we sat down to dinner that evening – five of us only, for Adèle was still resting – my brother-in-law handed me an unsealed letter.
“I’m afraid I was hasty this afternoon,” he said. “By way of reparation I have drafted a letter for you to send to the Chief Constable or whatever they call him.”
“Thank you,” said I, giving it back. “Take it as read.”
With a sigh Berry passed it to Jill.
In a shaking voice the latter read as follows:
Sir,
I witnessed the murder which was not committed in the square this afternoon. Two men were concerned. The victim looked like a merchant, but fell like an ox. I cannot explain this. The victor had a scared look and a bent nose. For this the aroma of my cigar may have been responsible. In spite of the fact that he was well out of sight before I started to run after him, I failed to overtake him. I cannot explain this. When we got back to the square, the victim had disappeared. I am almost sure it was the same square, too.
Hoping you are quite well,
Yours, etc.
PS – Wasn’t it funny?
When the laughter had subsided:
“As a matter of fact,” said Daphne, “you’ve omitted the best piece of evidence he’s got.”
“What’s that?” said Jonah.
“Adèle.”
“What about her?”
“She’s so unlike herself that I’ve sent for a doctor.”
After a good night’s rest, Adèle was much better, but the impression created by the indisputable fact that she had experienced a severe shock of some kind was manifest.
Early the following morning Berry apologized for his scepticism, and desired me to conduct him to the scene of the tragedy. Jill stayed with Adèle, but Daphne and Jonah insisted upon accompanying my brother-in-law to the little square.
The crime was reconstructed, my pursuit of the assassin was re-enacted, and every aspect of the affair was scrutinized – all upon the very spot where the strange event had taken place.
Berry insisted on playing the part of the victim, and nothing would do but that I should push him in the back and bolt up the curling street. And Jonah was prevailed upon to run after me. Then Berry pushed Jonah, and I ran after him. Then Jonah pushed Daphne and bolted, and I told Berry when to start in pursuit. This last attempt at reconstruction proved not only abortive, but costly, for, on rounding the second bend of the alley, Jonah came into violent collision with a fat man who was pushing a perambulator full of vegetables, and brought them both down. He was in the act of assisting the indignant and tearful owner to get the perambulator upon its wheels, when Berry crashed into the trio, sending Jonah reeling into a doorway, the perambulator once more on to its side, and bringing the luckless Roman heavily to the ground for the second time. The latter was now thoroughly frightened and considerably hurt, while the inhuman but inevitable laughter into which his two aggressors subsided exasperated him to the point of madness. The more he wept and raved, the more helpless they became, and when Daphne and I arrived upon the scene, it was clear that between fright, suspicion, and rage, he was in some peril of losing his reason. A crowd was beginning to collect, when I thrust a note for fifty lire into his hand and hustled the others away.
“And that’s that,” said Daphne, as we hurried back the way we had come. “No more reconstruction for me. Silly stupid rot. I was a fool to come. I might have known—”
“Not at all,” said Berry. “I count this a good morning’s work. The solution of all great problems depends upon successful elimination. Just now I overtook Jonah. Why? Because his withdrawal was obstructed by a foreign body in the shape of a comic merchant complete with pram. That Boy did not overtake the assassin establishes the fact that the latter met with no such obstruction. We can therefore eliminate—”
“Valuable, no doubt,” said I grimly, “but hardly worth fifty lire.”
“More,” said Berry. “We have this day forged such a link in the chain of evidence as shall never come unstuck. Frankly, I regard it as the second nail in the assailant’s coffin.”
“Fool,” said Daphne. “What was the first?”
“This,” said her husband, drawing a button from his pocket. “It came off my trousers this morning, but I shall tell the bloodhounds I found it in the square.”
Precisely at four o’clock on the following afternoon Adèle and I were standing upon the steps of Monseigneur Forest’s house. The maid who opened the door seemed to be a little uncertain whether to admit us or no, and murmured something in Italian in response to the mention of her master’s name. Doubtless the latter had few visitors. However, at a glance from me, Adèle stepped boldly into the cool hall, and a moment late
r we were ushered into a pleasant, sunny room, whose tall French windows opened directly on to a little flagged terrace overlooking the garden. The door closed, and we were alone.
Adèle sank into a chair, and I stood looking about me. The room was quietly furnished, but everything was in excellent taste and beautifully kept. The polished floor gleamed, the sheen of the silver candlesticks was reflected by the rosewood table upon which they stood, and a slow wood fire was burning upon the well-swept hearth. Two or three old rugs were spread upon the parquet, and the rich blue curtains that swayed about the open windows made with the soft grey wall-paper a silent harmony that should still the restlessness of the most troubled mind. A grand piano stood at one end of the chamber, and, while there were no flowers, the air was charged with the magic of potpourri, that clean, sweet, rosy breath that instantly remembers long, low rooms, cool in the summer’s heat, and the old quiet of English country, as can neither pen nor brush, charm they never so wisely.
“I like your Monseigneur,” I said.
“I told you you would.”
I nodded.
“By the way, what do I do when he comes in? I mean, he’s a big fellow, isn’t he? And if I ought to take off my boots, or squint, or kiss his wrist-watch – well, I’d like to do the right thing. When in Rome, you know—”
Miss Feste smiled.
“Strictly,” she said, “you ought to keep your hat on and sing ‘Tipperary’ in Latin as he approaches. But he’s not very particular, and I dare say he’ll excuse you.”
“Nonsense. I shall be charmed.” I pointed to the piano. “D’you mind giving me B flat, or C sharp, or M for Mother, or something just to make sure I get off all right?”
Drawing off her gloves, Adèle stepped to the piano and took her seat on the wide stool. With her fingers upon the keys, she looked at me.
“I’ll just have a run through first,” she said, and with that she began to play.
Courts of Idleness Page 20
