Sherlock Holmes and the Unholy Trinity Page 3

  Once again Holmes broke in upon my innermost thoughts.

  ‘Watson, you must realize that the stars and their constellations are of no more relevance to my work than the name of the King of Siam! It is a capital error to mistake discrimination for ignorance. I am a slave to my work and I only employ the tools that are best suited to the desired result. Nevertheless, even I could not have failed to recognize “The Great Bear”!’ Holmes exclaimed jovially.

  ‘Well, I am certainly glad to hear you say that, perhaps now you would explain to me which aspect of my theory you consider to be correct?’

  ‘I give you my assurance, Watson, that your reason for accompanying me is absolutely genuine and I would never consider deceiving you again unless it was absolutely necessary. However, it has occurred to me that we may be investigating not one but two distinct mysteries, although they are obviously interrelated.’

  ‘Two mysteries?’ I repeated while slowly shaking my head. ‘I am sorry, but I simply do not understand.’

  ‘I should have recognized this from the outset, indeed from the very moment that you read out the wire from Cardinal Pietro. Consider, if you will, the use of the words “delicacy” and “discreet”. Given those two criteria, the question is, why did they send for me?’ Holmes asked rather surprisingly.

  ‘Why, Holmes, surely there is no great mystery there! After all, your successful recovery of “The Dying Gaul” is very well documented and obviously His Holiness wished to call upon the very best.’

  ‘Whilst your flattery is very gratifying, Watson, you must realize that it is because of your lamentable journals and the sensational reputation of the original crime that Gialli and I have achieved a form of local celebrity. That is hardly the backdrop for a discreet inquiry.’

  ‘Perhaps not, Holmes, but surely you will agree that there are grounds to suppose that the inquiry will prove to be a successful one.’

  Holmes considered silently for a moment while he finished his cigar.

  ‘No, no, no,’ Holmes repeated slowly and quietly. ‘The first crime was a civil one whilst this time we are dealing with a secular matter. Do not forget that the Vatican is an autonomous city state and as such they have their own set of modus operandi.

  ‘It is surprising in itself that they have breached their walls enough to bring in Inspector Gialli, but to ask for my assistance as well is unthinkable under the circumstances. I fear that there are darker forces abroad here than we previously imagined. We must tread a very light foot forward, Watson, from this point onwards,’ Holmes concluded solemnly.

  I could not think of a single word to offer in counter argument and Holmes’s inference had a decidedly disquieting effect upon me. Neither of us offered another word upon the subject and we decided to retire for what little remained of the night.

  The change of trains at Turin proved to be quite effortless and we arrived at the terminus of Rome nearly thirty hours after our departure from Baker Street. Even though the delay in Paris had extended our journey by a good six hours, we were impressed to discover that Inspector Gialli was awaiting our arrival with a fine landau drawn by two pairs.

  Gialli was clearly excited at the prospect of working with us once again for he leapt down from the carriage to greet us with a broad smile and a cheery wave. We returned his enthusiastic greeting and before long we were making a slow and sedate progress towards our hotel which was situated upon the Via Nazionale.

  It was only now, with Gialli seated directly opposite to me, that I was able to recognize certain fundamental alterations in the inspector’s appearance and mannerisms. Whilst it was true to say that his short rotund physique was as dapper as ever in his light grey mohair suit, I could not help but notice an uncharacteristic nervous trembling in his left leg.

  The elegance of his hat and cane were now offset by his uneven moustache and a two-day stubble. His calm, organized comportment was marred by a constant scowl and an anxious, unnatural smile that made me feel quite uneasy.

  I speculated as to the cause of these changes. Perhaps the burden of the current case and the prestigious location of the crime were exerting too many demands upon his narrow shoulders? Of course, it was also possible that my perception of the man had become clouded by the passage of time. That seemed hardly likely, however, as the case of ‘The Dying Gaul’ had been only two years ago.

  Before I was able to conclude my rustic analysis, Gialli pulled out his notebook and began a brief outline of the case so far. I had been so distracted by Gialli’s appearance and his behaviour that Holmes had to motion for me to follow suit. For the sake of a smooth narrative, I have erased all traces of Gialli’s accent and tendency towards mispronunciation.

  ‘Signor Holmes, despite the grotesque nature of the crime, the bare facts of the case are as unambiguous as one could hope for. Two days ago, while seated at his office desk, Cardinal Tosca had his throat slit from ear to ear by someone wielding a large curved blade.’

  ‘Upon my word!’ I exclaimed. ‘How awful!’ Holmes appeared to be unmoved by this revelation and merely repeated his instruction that I should begin to fill my notebook.

  ‘Indeed, Doctor Watson,’ Gialli confirmed with an emphatic nod of his head.

  ‘You are certain of the nature of this weapon?’ Holmes asked quietly.

  ‘Absolutely, Signor Holmes, the shape of the wound is unmistakable and this is confirmed by the outline of the incision in the window where it had been forced open. Of course, the weapon had disappeared with the intruder, although it is evident to me that he had been interrupted and quite abruptly.’

  Holmes turned towards the inspector whilst wearing a look of amused admiration.

  ‘Really, Inspector, please explain to me how you can be so certain of this.’

  ‘It is because of the position of the parchment in relation to the pool of blood from Cardinal Tosca’s wound—’

  ‘I am sorry, I do not understand.’ I found it impossible to continue with my notes without interrupting Gialli in full flow.

  ‘No need to apologize, Doctor Watson, I will explain my meaning. I have it on good authority, from one of the cardinal’s secretaries, that he had been studying an ancient piece of parchment, almost continuously, from the moment that it had arrived on his desk three days earlier. The parchment had been delivered by a courier from Egypt and had created great excitement within the halls of the Vatican. You can imagine that a wound such as he had suffered would have bled most profusely.’

  ‘Oh, without a doubt,’ I confirmed. ‘The carotids are two of our main arteries and are positioned on each side of the throat.’ Holmes nodded as I demonstrated with a finger on my own throat.

  ‘Yet the parchment, which the cardinal had been working over for the best part of seventy-two hours, had barely suffered even a speckle of blood!’ Gialli exclaimed. ‘To me the implication of this anomaly is quite clear. The intruder came with the express intention of removing the parchment and he was in the process of doing so when he struck his fatal blow. Obviously the timely intervention of a member of the Swiss Guard forced him to leave without his coveted prize.’

  ‘That was a brilliant piece of deduction, Inspector,’ I stated admiringly, but my friend did not appear to be so convinced. He also congratulated Gialli yet I could tell from his faraway manner and the deep pursing of his lips with his forefinger that his words were empty and that he felt that Gialli’s analysis was open to an entirely different interpretation. I was certain that I would not be privy to Holmes’s version of events until his investigation was well underway.

  We sat in silence for a few moments while we all digested Gialli’s summary. Therefore, I was able to take in some of my astounding surroundings. The elegant Renaissance churches, the tranquil piazzas liberally decorated with magnificent fountains and the austere arches that commemorated the ancient imperial triumphs of this once-dominant city. Holmes’s strident voice interrupted my reverie.

  ‘Inspector Gialli, your very fine theories aside, are t
here any other facts that you can furnish us with, prior to our examination of the cardinal’s office, which will aid us with our inquiry?’ I was a little taken aback by the hostile edge to Holmes’s voice and I could see that the good inspector was similarly hurt and surprised at Holmes’s sharp questioning.

  ‘There is little that I can add, save for my assurance that there is not one object nor speck of dust that has been moved nor disturbed since the moment of Cardinal Tosca’s demise. Even the parchment remains where it fell, although its meaning is obscured by the ancient text in which it was written.’ By the end of his reply a little zest had returned to Gialli’s manner and as we turned into our hotel, which was situated conveniently and within easy access to all of Rome’s major thoroughfares, Holmes congratulated him upon his efficiency.

  The dapper little Italian bowed politely as he took his leave, assuring us that we should have access to Cardinal Tosca’s office as soon as Pietro had made the necessary arrangements. Holmes was not particularly impressed with the dictates of Vatican etiquette, but realized that both he and Gialli were in the hands of the cardinals.

  We soon discovered that our rooms were airy and quite spacious and once I had completed my unpacking I looked in on Holmes to see if he was going to join me for some dinner and a turn around the Roman Forum, which was barely a half mile away from our hotel. To my surprise Holmes agreed to both of my suggestions.

  We took our meal at the hotel and it was notable for the many variations of pasta that it contained and a carafe of some rather pleasant Chianti. We sauntered along the Via Nazionale whilst we finished our cigars and passed the market and column of Trajan on our way to the Palatine Hill, which was at the heart of the Forum.

  It was quite dark by the time that we had reached its base and we were forced to abandon any hopes that we might have had of exploring the corridors of the ancient palace. We decided to circumnavigate the exterior instead, but we were disappointed to note that the outlines of the buildings were shrouded.

  Their austere magnificence now assumed the shape of dark and ominous mounds and the ghosts of the ancient past seemed to howl upon the winds that roamed along the bloodstained corridors of absolute power. I turned up my collar and suggested that we return to our hotel for a nightcap.

  Holmes nodded his agreement emphatically.

  ‘The seat of power may have shifted from the Palatine to the Vatican, Watson, but its hold over the populace has not lessened with the passing of the centuries,’ Holmes observed, once we had begun to retrace our steps.

  ‘Whatever do you mean, old fellow?’ I asked.

  ‘Ask yourself this, where else in the modern civilized world would the investigation into the murderous death of a prominent official be delayed by the observation of irrelevant ritual and etiquette?’ I could think of no feasible reply, but became alarmed by Holmes’s controversial observation.

  ‘Have a care, Holmes. We must not ruffle too many feathers here or I fear that our investigation might well be over before it has even begun!’ I warned quietly. Holmes merely grunted impatiently and quickened his stride towards our hotel.

  Chapter Five

  At Last ... A Clue!

  Before retiring we had arranged to be awoken for an early breakfast on the following morning. However, as soon as I arrived in the dining room, I could tell that my friend had been awake for a considerably longer time than I had been.

  His rolls of ham and cheese had only been partially consumed and his empty coffee cup was already full of the ashes of at least two of his cigarettes. Holmes was amused by my observations and the look of disapproval upon my face.

  ‘Well, Doctor, it is certainly most gracious of you to join your old friend for the first meal of the day!’ Holmes cheerfully greeted me.

  ‘Sometimes I wonder if you ever bother sleeping at all!’ I responded.

  ‘In common with my eating habits and requirements, I have discovered that sleep is only of benefit when it becomes absolutely necessary.’ Graciously Holmes invited me to join him at the table with a wide sweep of his arm and as I settled into my chair he continued with his response.

  ‘When one is blessed, or perhaps even cursed, with a mind as active and vital as mine, even the notion of sleep appears to be a complete waste of time. Watson, your ill-gotten knowledge of the sport of kings should surely have taught you by now that it is often a mistake to rein in a magnificent stallion. Undoubtedly, if you intend to win the race you must surely give him his head!’

  I could not help but smile at my friend’s total lack of humility. Yet, were I to think back to the many occasions when I had chastised him for taking liberties with his health, I was forced to admit that he did seem to thrive on the abstinence that he imposed upon himself once he was engaged upon a case. Perhaps Sherlock Holmes was not only able to resist and conquer the forces of evil that were constantly raised against him, but also the accepted laws of medical science!

  As I tucked into a breakfast that was certainly no more than adequate, I glanced across at my friend and realized that the impending case supplied him with all of the sustenance that he required and his eyes were alive with the fire of adventure and excitement. Throughout the meal he remained in a quiet and meditative mood, yet I was certain that his unknown quarry would soon feel the full force of his fire.

  As the day wore on, however, Holmes’s contemplative mood gradually mutated into a restless and broody state of mind that finally became one of impatience and frustration. The reason for this deterioration was clear: the carriage to the Vatican, which Gialli had promised to him, had not yet arrived. Breakfast soon became lunchtime and Holmes retired to his room and his pipes.

  From the other side of the door I could hear the echoes of him pacing endlessly around the cold marble floor of his room. I could almost see the contortions upon his anxious face and the endless plumes of smoke billowing from the bowl of his brier. I was becoming fretful myself and soon decided to maintain a vigil in a luxuriant white leather chair that was stationed close to the hotel’s reception.

  It would be mid afternoon before we were finally put out of our misery. We were met by the landau once again, although on this occasion the cheerful face of Inspector Gialli was not there to greet us. Nevertheless, I bounded up the stairs enthusiastically to alert Holmes and he joined me within an instant. Once again our carriage moved at a frustratingly sedate pace and we were accompanied by two of Gialli’s uniformed officers.

  Throughout the journey to the Vatican, Holmes sat in a pensive silence and I hoped that his pent-up frustration would not prohibit his diplomacy when dealing with our eminent employers. He remained oblivious to the architectural wonders that bounded our route through Rome and he only became vaguely interested as we neared our destination.

  We crossed the River Tiber with the ancient ruins of the Mulvian Bridge sitting to our right and the austere, cylindrical edifice, known as the Castel Sant’Angelo, ahead of us. This interesting building was in an impressive state of repair considering its great age. The Emperor Hadrian had had it built in the early part of the second century AD as a family mausoleum and in subsequent centuries various popes had used it as a fortress and prison. It was comforting to recall that contemporary popes were of a more peaceful and benevolent nature!

  The sheer thrill of passing through the unfeasible splendours of the Church of St Peter for the first time was impossible even for Sherlock Holmes to ignore and by the time that we had reached the entrance to the Vatican he was ready to leap from the carriage even before it had come to a halt. However, as it transpired, our frustration was to continue for a while longer yet.

  The escort that Gialli had provided us with merely led us to the entrance of the venerated Sistine Chapel. There we were greeted by a small escort of the Swiss Guard who appeared to assume responsibility from Gialli’s men once they had retreated to the landau.

  The colourful regalia of the guard were startling enough in itself. Their jackets and medieval doubloons were decorated
in broad vertical stripes of blue and gold, which were touched off with dashes of red. Upon their feet they wore unusual, soft flat shoes that resembled domestic slippers and upon their heads sat an angular metal helmet crowned with a plume of bright scarlet feathers. However, the fact that they were each bearing an eight-foot wooden pike made me feel most uneasy.

  ‘In heaven’s name, Holmes, anyone would think that it is you and I who are the criminals!’ I whispered in a tone that would have been audible to Holmes alone.

  Holmes greeted my assertion and our current situation with a surprisingly stoic silence and he did not display any of the indications of impatience and irritation that I might have expected from him. Perhaps our hallowed surroundings had stilled his restless soul, for his features were as composed and serene as I had ever seen them.

  Our grasp of Italian was inadequate to the task of asking our gaudy escort as to the reason for our delay and detention and we took to the seats that had been indicated to us in the centre of the chapel. Inevitably our gaze was drawn to the remarkable and celebrated ceiling above our heads.

  The scale and grandeur of this epic work of art made it impossible to believe that Michelangelo had been working under the most arduous conditions imaginable, over a period of four years! It was not enough that the pope, Julius II, was constantly berating him for the length of time that the ceiling was taking, but the process of painting directly onto plaster while constantly staring vertically above was almost impossible to conceive.

  Holmes was following my awestruck gaze towards the wonders above us and even from this great distance we had no great difficulty in making out the vivid depictions of the various saints and biblical characters that decorated the large cornices. However, there was certainly no mistaking the renowned subject matter within the centre of the ceiling: the Almighty bestowing life upon the outstretched hand of Adam.