Between the Thames and the Tiber (10 page)

“There is little left to tell . . . except that I found these in one corner of the room.”

She took from her bag three piano hammers and gave them to Holmes.

“I found these behind the door to the study as I was leaving. They are badly damaged,” she said.

“Broken, the felt partially removed. Miss Morel, I very much want to help you, but you must take my immediate advice not to return to your flat. La signora Manfredini has several empty rooms here. I suggest that you take one and move another piano in. In the meantime, there is not a moment to lose. I would like to visit your flat before any more time passes. And if you trust us, we will arrange for one of Mrs. Manfredini’s maids to pack your things.”

Miss Morel readily assented to the scheme. She seemed completely relieved that she would not have to return to her flat, and quickly handed the keys over to Holmes. As we left, she was engaged with Signora Manfredini over which room to take. Maria, a strong servant girl from the Abruzzi, left with us.

“One final matter, Miss Morel. How might we find Colonel Santoro?”

“Mr. Spenser knows him quite well. He should be able to help you,” she replied.

The trip along the Via Crescenzio was a short one. The spring rains had muddied the streets, however, and the continuous travel of countless coaches had created deep ruts. It was over an hour later when our cab turned into the Via Ezio and we entered the foyer of
numero
27, and then
interno dodici
, or flat number 12.

“Keep the maid with you here, Watson. I wish to take a preliminary look myself, to make sure that nothing untoward has happened.”

I held back with the maid as Holmes entered. In the half light, I saw that we had entered a large and well-furnished flat. Nothing seemed out of order until I noticed what appeared to be a human figure in military attire, resting on its knees, its arms as if in abject supplication to some unseen deity, its head attached to a long wire hanging from the ceiling. The figure appeared dead, motionless, except for a slight spin from the long wire. Holmes rushed over to cut the body down. As he did so, he laughed.

“Clever, Watson, eh?”

I rushed over in the hope that some life might be left in the man.

“Don’t touch, Watson. It’s not quite what you think it is.”

He grinned, as he pointed to two pillows stuffed inside the soldier’s uniform, which had given the whole the thick look of a rather stout human figure. The wire was hooked onto the back of the coat collar just below where a large ball of white wool acted as a head. A military cap hid most of the latter.

Holmes went into the bedroom. There the piano that Miss Morel had played so lovingly had had its legs removed and was sitting on the floor, the legs in the corner.

“Good lord, Holmes,” I said, “this is an insanity.”

“Quite, my dear Watson, and a bit of a mystery as well.”

While we still had light, Holmes quickly looked over the flat.

“For what it’s worth, Watson, the wire from which the figure hangs is the low A string plus a piece of the C tied to it. The pillows are from the bedroom, and the uniform, if I judge correctly from the epaulettes, that of a colonel in the Italian army. Let us leave it in place.”

“Poor Miss Morel. This was meant to scare her out of her wits,” said I, thinking of our innocent client.

“Indeed, this would have shaken her a bit. I think it was put there more for the Colonel’s benefit than for Miss Morel’s. It is an ominous warning,” replied Holmes.

Holmes glanced about the room and then asked, “Watson, are you feeling sufficiently strong to help me put the legs back on the piano and place it upright?

“Of course. It should be easy enough.”

“Then let us bring the legs over and see what we can manage.”

With great effort we moved the piano onto its straight side, put two legs in place and while Holmes held it up at its narrow end, I screwed in the last leg. Holmes let it down with a bit of a grunt.

“Now let us see what this instrument is about,” he said, lifting the lid.

“A beautifully made instrument,” said I. “Why on earth would one want to destroy it?”

“When we learn that, dear Watson, we will have solved our little mystery. . . . Ah, here we go. Most interesting.”

Holmes had taken out a rule and measured the side of the case.

“Fully three inches deeper . . .” he muttered to himself. As he spoke, he crawled under the instrument to examine the sound board.

“There are deep holes drilled into the case, where screws have been removed,” he said as he stood up.

Holmes moved his hand and fingers over the sound board.

“A fine dust, Watson. Most interesting. Come, let us go and visit La Casa Sanzio, the supplier of pianos to all of Italy. And there is time to stop at our embassy to meet Mr. Spenser.”

As we left, I saw Holmes looking at a photograph on Santoro’s desk.

“Three people—Miss Morel, Colonel Santoro, and presumably Mr. Herbert Spenser. Odd, is it not, dear Watson, that our Englishman has the same name as an illustrious personage? Hasn’t that occurred before?”

“Indeed,” said I, “there was Mr. Arthur Wellesley, who passed himself off as the son of Wellington. Terrible fellow, that one.”

Holmes said nothing as he wiped the dust off his hands with a handkerchief, and we were off. Our route took us to the British Embassy to meet our vice consul. Holmes was in and out in seconds.

“As I suspected, Watson, there is no Herbert Spenser at the Embassy. The post has not been filled for several months. Mr. ‘Spenser,’ whoever he is, is a liar and a fraud. We shall catch up with him soon, I hope.”

I sat quietly as Holmes reflected. I knew nothing of the Sanzio establishment, which was involved not only in supplying pianos but also was one of Europe’s leading music publishers.

“The case is a remarkable one, Holmes,” I said finally. “I must say that I am more than a bit mystified. The mock death of the colonel, the destroyed piano . . . to what end?”

“I have some ideas, old fellow, but I too am still in the dark.”

Holmes was silent and then began to hum a tune to himself, something I did not recognize.

“Puccini, Watson, from the third act of
La Bohème
.”

“Never heard of him,” I retorted.

Holmes smiled. As we approached the Sanzio establishment, he broke his silence.

“Without Sanzio, Watson, there would be almost no music in Italy, especially new music. Leoncavallo, Puccini, Mascagni, and many others must give credit to Amilcare Sanzio for his support and interest in their work.”

“I know nothing of Italian opera, my dear Holmes,” said I. “I am, dear fellow, a musical ignoramus. A tin ear, as they say.”

“Then you will learn while we are here. By the by, old fellow, I am sure now that this case has nothing to do with opera, music in general, or pianos, for that matter, except incidentally. Ah, but here we are
da
Sanzio. Come along, we are about to meet one of the great publishers of Europe.”

The Sanzio establishment, I noted, was located in an ornate palazzo, not far from the Piazza Venezia. Arrigo Sanzio, a tall, handsome man of about fifty, greeted us warmly in Italian, but once he realized that I knew little of his language, he spoke to me in French.

“Forgive me, please,
dottore
, but we Italians know almost no English.”

“And we English are quite stubborn about foreign languages. French is the only language we know.”

“Except for the languages of our colonies,” said Holmes sardonically.

“We Italians are late in building an empire,
caro dottore
, but someday perhaps we shall establish a new order in the Mediterranean and bring back the glory of ancient Rome.
Ma
,
basta
, you are here because of Miss Morel and her piano.”

“Yes, indeed, but most importantly, I have some questions that you may be able to answer for us,” said Holmes.

“
Dica
,
signore
,” said Sanzio.

“Miss Morel was given a Vulsin, I think, a piano presumably made in Austria. I confess to ignorance of the Vulsin piano. Could you enlighten us as to the history of the company?”

“The Vulsin,
caro ingeniere
, is, as Miss Morel has put it, a fine instrument. I would go further, however, and describe it as the best piano ever made. The company is new and makes very few, no more than twenty or thirty each year, and we must fight to get our share. The company is now owned by Colonel Santoro’s wife, the Baroness Horvath, of Budapest. She has turned the small company founded by her father into a musical giant. Our competitors sometimes offer outlandish prices. This year, I have received an order for twenty grand pianos all destined for Egypt, and I am happy to say that the director of the Vulsin factory has agreed. We have almost all of them now.”

“Isn’t that rather odd?” asked Holmes incredulously. “Who on earth ordered twenty pianos?”

Sanzio smiled. “The Khedive himself. Ever since the success of Verdi’s
Aida
, the Khedive has decided to make Cairo the foremost musical city of the world. Unfortunately, Signor Holmes, by mistake, one of the pianos was given to Miss Morel as a practise piano. I am told by my tuner that the piano has been severely damaged, perhaps by one of our rivals, or by one of hers. In any case, you need not worry, I have sent Miss Morel an excellent piano for her use. For her trouble, I have given it to her gratis, for as long as she needs it. The piano is a Blüthner, designed and played by Liszt himself.”

“That is most kind of you. Tell me, Signore, by what route do your Vulsin pianos go to Cairo?” asked Holmes.

“To Lecce via rail, and then to Cairo on a ship provided by the Egyptian government.”

“And are they inspected before they leave here?” asked Holmes.

“I oversee the final inspection. If I am absent from Rome, they are sealed by your vice consul, Herbert Spenser. He is very knowledgeable about music and represents your government in Cairo. He has been very kind in his services to us.”

“And where is he now? I should like to meet him,” said Holmes.

“He is in Lecce with the first part of the shipment for the Khedive. Fifteen grand pianos, all Vulsins, constructed to the highest standards and now the premier piano of Europe. When he returns I shall introduce you.”

“Thank you Mr. Sanzio,” said Holmes. “I have one last request.”

“
Dica
,” said Sanzio.

“Where are the other five pianos destined for Egypt?”

“They are here in this building, on the floor below.” Sanzio replied.

“Would you allow me to examine them?”

“Examine? But of course. What are you looking for, Mr. Holmes?”

“Let us say I am interested in the workmanship of the Vulsin factory.”

Sanzio snapped his fingers and instantly a small boy of about ten years appeared.

“This is Pasqualino,” said Sanzio. “He will take you to the room of instruments. It is late, Mr. Holmes, and I have many things to attend to.”

“Thank you for you patience, Signore. I shall be quick.”

Holmes and I followed the boy down the stairs into the basement. Though the light was not strong we could follow Pasqualino to the pianos that were to be shipped to Egypt. Holmes lost no time. In a few seconds he was on the floor, moving from under one piano to another. I heard him give out an occasional chuckle and every so often a self-satisfied, full-bodied laugh.

“All right Watson, jot this down will you? Vulsin serial numbers: 178 to 1803.”

“What are these numbers. Holmes?” I asked.

“They will tell us which of these pianos has been altered in order to hold a special treasure for the Khedive. My examination was cursory, but I can tell you, Watson, one of the pianos carries a very large number of ten-pound notes. They are excellent counterfeit, and in Egypt no one will recognize the difference, or care for that matter. The remaining pianos will carry bags of Austrian Maria Teresa silver
thaler
, coinage highly prized by the Ethiopian soldiers who defeated the Italian Army at Adowa. And finally, dear Watson, you see the oversized grands in the corner there? They contain the latest examples of the Salzburg rifle, now the most accurate weapon of its kind available in Europe.”

“Good Lord, Holmes,” said I. “The pianos alone are worth a small fortune. What would be the worth of the cargo?”

“I would say old boy, well over two, possibly three million. Enough to fight a long-drawn-out war. The pianos are loaded with their cargo in Austria, where they are manufactured at the Vulsin factory just beyond the Italian border. They are shipped here to Rome by freight train, then sealed in metal cases, whence they are shipped to Lecce and are placed on the Egyptian steamer that takes them to Egypt. Once they leave Rome they are not opened again; hence their cargo is safe. Safer than any other mode of transportation. The disguise, Watson, I judge to be completely successful. The question for us is where and by whom these instruments are turned into mere containers. These pianos hold a large fortune, enough to supply more than one sizable army with its needs for at least a year of fighting.”

Holmes stood still for a moment.

“Listen, Watson, a noise. Did you hear it?”

“Yes, it came from behind the basement door there, a groan—”

Holmes strode over to the door and I pulled out my revolver. Slowly he turned the knob.

As the door opened, a man bound and gagged, resting on his haunches, fell forward before us, dead.

“This time the real thing,” said Holmes.

We removed the gag and the rope and sent a quaking Pasqualino to summon Sanzio.

“He’s dead, Holmes, but—”

“Santoro, no doubt,” said Holmes.

Sanzio turned pale when he entered. “
Mio amico è morto. Chi l’ha ucciso?
Who killed him?”

“I have my suspicions, but only time will tell. Note that his position is that of a beheading, Watson, just before the executioner strikes. I suspect that we may find out who the attacker was after we find Mr. Herbert Spenser, and la Signora Santoro. Please call
Ispettore
Grimaldi,” he continued. “We shall await his arrival.”