Chapter 13
Author's Notes: Wow, two new reviewers, both of whom are Beatles fans!! It doesn't get better than that for me! Thanks for the kind comments, Let it be and Shannon Holmes. Mierin-lanfear, I didn't even notice that contrast. I guess I shouldn't say that, it kinda ruins the whole "all-powerful author" image I have going... But I like it when people see things in my writing that I may not necessarily have put in myself. That's why I write these author's notes! Xena, Queen of the Semi-Circle of Death, yes, I have an idea of what is going to happen, but the way it comes out and when is usually as much a surprise to me as it is to you. ...Which is what sailor-fussion commented on, so that's convenient. Haley Macrae, you couldn't wait, so here you go! Just as aquick caveat: I know nothing about guns (being a Canadian) and equally little about the late nineteenth-century Italian penal code. It is all conjecture.
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The police, Holmes reflected, were incompetent everywhere. They swarmed around the room, disturbing all the evidence. Upon discovering that the intruder had been paralysed by Miss Bassano's final blow, they left him on the floor, but did not interrogate him. Abigail was ordered to clean up the vomit, and Holmes was made to sit in the hall under the surveillance of a sweaty Italian constable.
Relief came in the form of Sir Edgar who stormed in and in broken, but indignant Italian began to berate the police force for the disgraceful treatment of his niece and her household. His guards being thus distracted, Holmes examined the scene for himself. The furniture had been moved, and was therefore of little help in his investigation, but as Holmes crawled across the floor, he noticed what the police had overlooked: a weapon.
In the far right corner of the fireplace was a small revolver. Using a pair of tongs, he carefully extracted it from the ashes. Even those few moments of observation told him it was of English origin. The inspector, noticing Holmes's discovery moved to confiscate the weapon, yelling and gesticulating at his underlings.
Moving to the prone body of the now-incapacitated intruder, Holmes saw that the man's breathing was dangerously shallow. The man now lay face-up on the floor, his bulky clothing in disarray. Holmes bent over and from the pocket of the man's overcoat, plucked a piece of notepaper that was peeking out. He took it over to the window for better light.
It was written on the letterhead of an English inn, though where the inn was located was not clear. The writing was hasty, but the words made no sense. It was obvious to Holmes that it was written in code. The length of the words also suggested English, but he could not be certain without decryption. This discovery was also snatched out of his hands by the livid Italian inspector, and after further wild gesticulations and exclamations of frustration, destroyed. He tore it up into tiny pieces and threw them into the fireplace. If he had thought that the note was useless, he now rendered it so.
Sir Edgar, seeing the expression of horror on Holmes's face, launched into another series of angry invectives. The only result was to have the body of the intruder dragged outside head-first. The vein in his forehead still pulsing ominously, Sir Edgar gestured for Holmes to follow him into the library, still blissfully cool in the midday heat.
The ageing diplomat poured himself some brandy out of decanter on the sideboard and sighed. "Bloody inconvenience, all of this."
Holmes, who had settled into an armchair and steepled his fingers together as was his wont, watched the older man carefully.
"How much," he began slowly, "does your niece know about your affairs?"
"As much as I tell her," came the gruff reply.
"And does anyone know of your relationship?"
"If you are wondering whether this attack had anything to do with the work I do, I would venture to say not. My niece is popular among the Anglobeceri, but the season has not yet started. The holidaymakers are kept away by the political trouble, and most of the regulars left because of the earlier outbreak of dysentery."
"But the police know who you are. Won't there be a scandal?" Holmes pressed.
"You underestimate me, Mr Holmes. I have negotiated with the authorities and they are to treat this incident as a burglary. The maid bravely fended off the intruder and my niece was not home. You, Mr Holmes do not exist." Sir Edgar took another drink from the snifter. "It is a nuisance having to deal with petty domestic squabbles when there are issues of international import waiting for me."
A knock on the heavy doors was followed by the announcement of the doctor. A dignified man with the wispy sideburns of respectable middle age, he wore a stern expression as he walked into the room.
"I have examined your niece, Sir Edgar. I am afraid I have found shocking signs of violence. You," he turned to Holmes, "may wish to go upstairs and comfort your fiancee. I will monitor her condition as the weeks progress, but she should not be left alone tonight." The doctor bowed and walked out of the room.
Holmes's blood ran cold as he felt his own guilt. He stood up from his chair and turned to Sir Edgar. "No doubt you have important business to attend to. With your permission, I will deal with this."
"As you wish," Sir Edgar shrugged, with the same predatory smile Holmes had seen before.
A cliffhanger for your weekend reading! If I am kind, I might update chapter 14 this weekend. If not, see you next week!