Collected works of j s f.., p.191
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 191
“And you think that Cafferata’s murder in London may have been the result of a vendetta?” said Graye.
“I do — taking all the circumstances into consideration. He was, according to our informative, a peaceable young man, a studious one, of quiet habits; he led a sober life here, and in London, too, during the short time he lodged with Aldobrandini. Then he is suddenly found assassinated, in circumstances which go to prove that he was lured into the empty house, for, otherwise, why should he go there? Yes, I think a vendetta might explain all that; but to get a full history of it, I’m afraid we should have to journey across to Corsica. And it wouldn’t surprise me, either, to find that old Marco Graffi’s murder arose from a vendetta, too.”
“The same vendetta?” exclaimed Graye.
“Why not? There are certain matters on which I’ve never been able to get the slightest information. When did Cafferata first call on Marco Graffi? How often did he come to the flat in Austerlitz Mansions? According to Lady Wargrave — you see, I did get a few ‘scraps of information from her — she only saw Cafferata at the flat once before the night of the fog, but I have no doubt that he frequently visited the old man after midnight. He certainly possessed keys to the building and to old Graffi’s flat.”
“So, too, did Ottilia Morro,” remarked Graye, reflectively. “Lady Wargrave told me that at Bow Street.”
“I am hoping to get a good deal of information out of Ottilia Morro — if we find her, and find her alive,” said Wirlescombe. “And it is time now that we had some replies to those wires. Let’s go and see if anything has come.”
But before they could leave the restaurant, there appeared the official whom Wirlescombe had secured as interpreter, accompanied by a police functionary, who seemed, from his demeanour, to be the bearer of important news. Wirlescombe invited them to seats and refreshments, knowing that there is no objection to doing business in Rome any more than there is in London or in New York or in Timbuctoo over a glass and a cigar.
“You have news?” he asked, when the polite ceremonies had been duly gone through. “You have heard — what!” The police functionary, with a bow which was of the nature of a salute, made a communication to the interpreter which sounded pretty much like the finding of a court-martial, read out in stiff and formal sentences by its presiding officer.
“He says,” — said the interpreter— “that it is reported from Genoa that three persons, answering the descriptions forwarded on information supplied by you, arrived at that city in the early hours of this morning by the rapide from here, and having only personal baggage.”
“Good,” said Wirlescombe. “Continue.”
“But he also says,” went on the interpreter, “that it seems doubtful if these are the three persons you are in search of, because, according to your information, those persons whom you want took tickets for Paris at the station here in Rome, whereas the persons who arrived in Genoa gave up tickets from Rome to that place.”
“Oh, indeed!” said Wirlescombe. “That was a highly ingenious trick on their part, and shows that his reverence up there at the convent was right in supposing them to have had plenty of money about them. The man took good care to book twice, you see, doctor,” he continued, turning to Graye. He looked at the police functionary and nodded as with satisfaction.
“Tell the gentleman,” he went on, addressing the interpreter, “that I have no doubt the three persons who alighted at Genoa are the three persons upon whom I wish to lay hands, and that I hope he is able to tell me what became of them.”
The police functionary once more delivered himself of formal sentences.
“He says,” continued the interpreter, “that these three persons on arrival at Genoa, proceeded to an hotel, and that they there registered their name as Mr., Mrs and Miss Smith of London. Mr. Smith being of the rank of gentleman.”
“Very good,” said Wirlescombe. “Has the signor anything else to tell, or to ask?”
“He desires to know if you wish the police at Genoa to keep observation on this Mr. Smith and his accompanying ladies,” replied the interpreter. “It must at the same time be understood that unless good reason be shown, nothing can be done in the way of detention or arrest — they, so far, being apparently innocent and inoffensive travellers.”
“Tell him that it will certainly be of advantage to me if the authorities at Genoa can keep an eye — several eyes — on these three people,” replied the detective. “Tell him to tell the Genoa police that I leave for their city as soon as I can get a train from here, and that I shall be glad if they will watch the hotel until I come, and if the three persons leave it, ascertain where they go.”
Then the gathering broke up, and Wirlescombe and Graye, having returned to their hotel, paid their accounts and made their arrangements, crossed to the station, and took the next train for Genoa, where after a dismal journey in which both anathematised the Italian ideas of comfort and of speed, they arrived about midnight, to be accosted by a little man in a large fur-collared coat, who made a ceremonious bow and introduced himself as a police agent, and remarked, incidentally, that he spoke the English very good.
“I have the news for you,” he continued, drawing his English confrère aside into a shadow. “The three people, they have gone. Departed from the hotel where they was until they were not there before — eh?”
Wirlescombe uttered an exclamation which signified angry disappointment. The little man wagged two fingers.
“But — ma foi!” he said, consolingly. “I myself — Pasci — I watch them. They have gone to the private establishment of the Doctor Moreno. There — they went!”
CHAPTER X
THE SECRET APPEAL
WIRLESCOMBE, EXCUSING HIMSELF for the moment to the police-agent, led Graye aside.
“At any rate, we know they are here,” he said. “Now, to-night we will put up at the hotel at which they stayed — we may learn something there: But it will not do to take this Signor Pasci there: yet I want to ask him a few questions and give him some instructions. Come — we will offer him a drink in the restaurant yonder.”
The little Genoese had no objection to joining the Englishmen in a drink — far from it. And in a quiet corner of the refreshment-room Wirlescombe got to work, keen on finding out as much as he could without delay.
“So signor, you watched these three — Mr., Mrs and Miss Smith — to the private establishment of — how do you call him? — Dr. Moreno. What is it — a nursing home?”
“It is where he receives private patients who are what you call a little—” Here Pasci, finding no suitable word in his limited vocabulary, tapped his forehead. “A little — you know?”
“Mentally afflicted — weak of head,” said the detective. “Ah! just so. Well, now, first of all — is anybody watching that place? Keeping as strict a watch as I said in my wire from Rome must be kept on the hotel?”
Pasci nodded his head and smiled with apparent self-satisfaction.
“You may trust me, signor. Although I did myself the honour of coming personally to greet so distinguished a foreign colleague at the station, I entrusted the task of watching to men under my supervision who are almost as keen-eyed as I am myself. In fact, not as much as a mouse could cross the threshold of Dr. Moreno’s establishment to-night without my knowledge of it. I go back there personally, when Signor ‘Wirlescombe — I do not pronounce the name well, but you will excuse, signor — is pleased to dismiss me.”
“It is good,” said Wirlescombe. “I’m greatly obliged to you, signor. Understand, there need be no, there is to be no, question of expense. Let your men know that everybody who helps will be handsomely rewarded. I am employed by people who do not care what money is spent, and this gentleman is a rich English milord who will compensate everybody as all English milords do to whom sovereigns are no more than scudi and five-pound notes than lira. So, watch like cats at the hole of a mouse, my friend. Now, this gentleman and I will go to the hotel where these three people stayed, just as if we were ordinary travellers, of course; but, perhaps, I may learn something there. There is, of course, a night-porter at that hotel?”
“Oh, of a certainty, signor!”
“Then, if anything happens during the night, come instantly and rouse me. You must understand that there are two things of which I am afraid, or, rather against which I wish to guard. One is lest these people should go away by train; the other, lest they should board one of the sea-going steamers. They could get off from here to several ports, could they not?”
“It is true,” said the little agent, “and there are two boats departing to-night, or, rather, this morning — one to America, calling at Gibraltar; one for Egypt and India, calling at Naples and Messina. But I give you my word, signor — again a thousand pardons for the inability to pronounce your name! — that Mr. Smith and his ladies shall not leave by boat nor train nor by anything — unless they fly of their own accord.”
“Excellent!” said Wirlescombe. “Then my friend and I will drive to the hotel and go to bed.” But — two questions. You have seen this Mr. Smith?”
“Oh, yes, I saw him — I saw them all.”
“Did you recognise him — had you ever seen him before?”
“Not to my knowledge. But — I should not have taken him for an Englishman. I should have said that he was a Corsican.”
Wirlescombe started and glanced at Graye.
“Why a Corsican, Signor Pasci?” he enquired.
Signor Pasci shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and pointed a finger towards a far corner of the restaurant.
“A fancy, an idea, a suggestion, signor,” he replied. “And then — Corsica is only a little way across the Gulf of Spezzia there, and I have seen much of it and of its people.”
“Just so. Well, the other question. Do you know anything of this Doctor Moreno?”
“But very little. He is one of those gentlemen who keep within their own houses and are seen little abroad.”
“I see. Well, perhaps we shall manage to see him. Now, good-night, signor, and remember the strict observation and the handsome reward that is to be gained. Watch — watch!”
Then Wirlescombe and Graye went off to the hotel which the police agent had mentioned as being that at which Mr., Mrs and Miss Smith had stayed, and the detective retired to bed immediately, refusing to discuss what he called business any longer. And, getting to bed, he slept soundly until seven in the morning, and at eight went down to the saloon to find Graye idling over his coffee. The young doctor looked up as Wirlescombe, bustling and fresh after his bath and a vigorously-performed toilette, came along, and he cocked an eye towards a man, obviously the head waiter, who stood at the end of the room watching both of them with interest.
“See that fellow down there?” said Graye. “He’s never stopped staring at me since I came down. And now he’s staring at you or at both.”
Wirlescombe affected to take no notice, but he watched the man out of his eye-corners, and saw that he was taking the interest in Graye or himself to which the young doctor alluded. He drank his coffee and ate his roll and chatted with his companion. The head-waiter, moving about the room as if in superintendence of his satellites, drew nearer and nearer to their table. And at last he came up to it with a mysterious air, and bent, napkin in hand, towards Wirlescombe, probably picking him out as obviously the elder of the two.
“The gentlemen are English?” he said meaningly.
“We are English,” answered Wirlescombe. “Both. Well?”
“I heard the gentleman speak English. I — there is something I should like to say to Messieurs.” He glanced about him as other early risers came into the room. “If I might come to messieurs in the little smoking-saloon, outside there — in how long?”
“When we go in there,” answered Wirlescombe, calmly.
The man bowed and withdrew in silence, and the detective looked at Graye.
“More mystery for you,” he observed.
“What can he want?” said Graye. “He looks secret enough for a part in a melodrama.”
“He is probably a prince or nobleman kept out of his patrimony or his lawful estates and anxious to enlist the services of the powerful British Government,” replied Wirlescombe, as he drank off his coffee. “Come on, doctor, we’ll light a cigar and hear what he has to reveal.” The head-waiter followed them into the little smoking-room which he had indicated, and after glancing about him in a fashion which suggested still further need of precaution, closed the door and advanced upon them with another bow.
“It is because messieurs are English that I venture to speak to them,” he said. “Messieurs, yesterday there were in the hotel some other English. Now they come seldom, the English, the season being but beginning for the two Rivieras. As I say, yesterday there were three here — a gentleman, two ladies — three.”
“Yes,” said Wirlescombe.
“My wife,” continued the head-waiter, “is a femme-de-chambre in this hotel — according, she wait upon these ladies. The gentleman, he have one room; the ladies, they have another room. One lady is younger than the others — much. She — the young one — is never left alone; that we observe, my wife and I — she upstairs, I downstairs. Also we observe that the young lady seems what you call — disturbed, upset in her mind. The others, they are always with her somewhere. All the same, just before the three depart, the young lady she manage to slip my wife this, with a little gratuity, messieurs, and a look that means — silence. See then, messieurs.”
And from his breast pocket the man drew out a much-crumpled envelope, from which he produced a scrap of paper wrapped about another envelope, folded in two.
He smoothed the paper out before the Englishmen, and for their benefit translated the one line, hastily scrawled in pencil, which appeared upon it.
“Please give the enclosed to the first English people who come here.”
Wirlescombe glanced at Graye, and then looked at the head waiter, who gave him the folded envelope, always watching him intently.
“So my wife, messieurs,” he went on, “give this to me — and as messieurs are English I hand it to them. It is just as my wife receive it from the young lady — we lock it up until some English gentleman or lady arrive.”
“You have done well,” said Wirlescombe. “I shall not forget you. Now, a question or two. These three people left here yesterday?”
“In the afternoon, monsieur.”
“Do you know where they went!”
The head-waiter spread his hands. He did not know. Not to the station, for then they would have had the hotel omnibus. They went away in a carriage, a fiacre, luggage and all — what they had of it, which was little: only three handbags. But the driver of the carriage could be found, if monsieur so desires.
“It is not necessary,” replied Wirlescombe. “Very well. Say nothing of this to any one — either you or your wife.”
“Monsieur may rely on our discretion.”
And the head-waiter withdrew, and Wirlescombe took out a penknife and ripped open the folded envelope.
“What is this going to tell us?” he said. “The writing, of course, must be Ottilia Morro’s. Now for it.” All that the envelope contained was a crumpled scrap of paper, similar to that on which the message to the femme-de-chambre had been hastily scribbled. A few lines in English appeared on it:
“I beg the first English people into whose hands this comes to help me. I am Ottilia Morro: in religion Sister Mary Ignatius of the Incarnation. I have been brought from Rome by two people, calling themselves Mr and Mrs. Stephenson, who claim to have been sent for me by a friend of mine in London who is in great trouble and in need of me. Certain matters have made me suspicious that they are not what they profess to be, and I am much alarmed. They have broken the journey here to see a Doctor Moreno, whose evidence they say is necessary, and we are going to him now. But—”
Here the letter broke off, and Wirlescombe, seeing that Graye had read all of it, folded and placed it in his pocket-book.
“Now, let us go and meet Pasci,” he said quietly. “I bade him meet us at the Café Vittorio Emmanuele, wherever it may be, at ten o’clock. We have plenty of time, and we will take a look round the city on our way. You may be sure that Pasci will keep or cause to be kept a strict watch on the Moreno establishment. Did you see his eyes gleam when I spoke of the handsome reward he would get? Come along. I think we have great doings before us.”
“You still think the Di Spadas are in this?” asked Graye an hour later as they were on their way to the café.
“I do. And, by the by, have you ever seen either of these Di Spadas? But, of course, I suppose you saw them at Ashendyke.”
“I never saw them,” replied Graye. “I have never seen either — either in London or at Ashendyke.”
“Well, unfortunately, I, too, have never set eyes on either,” said Wirlescombe. “I wish I had my man here who kept an eye on them in London. However, here’s the café, and there’s our Italian coadjutor.”
The little police-agent welcomed the famous detective with effusion, and led the way into the café, where he insisted on returning the hospitality of the previous night. No — there was nothing to report; certainly, the three persons in whom they were interested were still under Dr. Moreno’s roof, on which a strict watch was being kept. And his — Pasci’s — men knew where to find him.
“Very good; then we will rest for half an hour,” said Wirlescombe, accepting a cigar. “And we can spend it in discussing—”
He stopped short, his attention being suddenly attracted by the entrance of three men who turned into a shaded alcove near the door. Wirlescombe bent to Graye.
