THE IRREGULAR CASEBOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES (17 page)

‘Some have said that my ancestor was a member of the Sect of the Salamander: others that he was a spy for the Doge. In either case the secret went with him. We have not profited from the persistence of the myth. No Garzoni has been granted a position of public responsibility or trust since then. The influential family of the then Doge, Barbarini, has been our sworn enemy ever since. Our fortunes have declined steadily as a result. I sometimes wonder if it is a curse caused by our guilty past.

‘However, I was content to live out my days here, until recent attempts to break into my home, I had thought it simply thieves, taking advantage of an old woman alone, but now I wonder!’

‘It may yet be that this is coincidental.’ said Holmes smoothly. ‘They may indeed be common thieves. There are many delightful objects in the
Palazzo
.’

‘Sadly, not as many as there were. Certain items were sold to a London collector quite recently.’

‘Is that so. Yet another coincidence!’

The Marchesa paused before a great clock, in the form of a gilded tower, decorated with painted scenes from mythology. On the top was a dull-coloured figure of Neptune with a trident and a sea monster, and all around the case a variety of smaller figures. The clock face was a remarkable thing to see, telling not just the time but the phases of the moon, and the passage of the sun, through the zodiacal signs.

‘This was made in the manner of Coducci, and in some respects resembles the
Torre Dell Orologio
which stands in St Mark’s Square. Strangely this clock is part of the legend. It is believed that on the night the Admiral was killed, the clock stopped—or in another version was stopped by grieving servants—on the very hour of his death. The curious thing is that it has never worked again. For our family it has come to symbolise the Fate of the Garzonis.’

She made to move on, but Holmes remained gazing at the clock.

‘A fascinating tale. In fact, so fascinating that with your Ladyship’s permission, I would like to examine the clock a little more closely.’

The Marchesa made no attempt to hide her puzzlement at this request, but acceded gracefully.

Holmes examined the case of the clock, then eased it from the wall and looked at the back. Here the panel could be removed, and had been, at least once, though long ago.

At this point, our hostess could contain herself no more, but asked, ‘Could it be that you think the lost masterpiece is concealed inside?’

‘That,’ conceded Holmes, ‘would be hoping for a little too much I think.’

We unscrewed the panel. At first it seemed that there was nothing in there beside the works, a complex mass of brass components. Holmes dislodged one large piece and removed it. It was a heavy plate of brass beautifully engraved and decorated.

He carried it over to the window and held it to the light, where it was revealed as one of the strangest objects I have ever seen: round, but shaped in places to follow the outlines of the engraved figures upon it, with border decorations in the form of urns with grotesque heads. At the top was a grimacing satyr, and on the left and right, mermaids and cornucopiae of fruit and flowers. But it was the centre that drew the eye. There was a representation of a pointing hand emerging from a cloud; around it a circle of strange symbols, and outside that two further bands, one of letters, the other of Roman numerals.

‘What is it Holmes?’

‘It is a cipher disc, Watson. And these symbols should be familiar to you.’

‘They are indeed, but I do not know why.’

‘They formed the decorative borders of the manuscript that was stolen! This,’ said Holmes, holding aloft the disk, ‘is the reason the intruder was trying to gain entrance to your home, my Lady. It is this that the murderer was seeking.’

Holmes briefly recounted the events in London. The Marchesa became as animated as a young girl.

‘How could he have known it was here?’

‘Perhaps he identified the symbols on the document as a cipher message, and concluded that the means of producing a translation must still be within this house. That was likely, given the uninterrupted occupancy of the
palazzo
by your family for over three hundred years! Shall we see what our adversaries have been trying to decipher?’

Holmes produced the copy of the page with its strange symbols, and smoothed it out. Taking up the heavy cipher disc, he demonstrated its use.

‘By rotating the inner ring of symbols to line up with the outer rings of letters and numbers, we can establish equivalence and decipher the message, but only if we know the letter against which to place the pointing hand. We might have to rotate the disc through every possible combination to find one that “makes sense”. In this case, I do not think that will be necessary. See in the manuscript how certain spaces in the text arc marked with crosses, much like the divisions in an old Missal. They do not occur at the end of every section, but only after those ending with the letter “T”. If we rotate the disk to line up the cross with the letter “T” we may find something.’

‘LASCIATEOGNISPERANZAVOICHENTRATE’

The Marchesa gasped, then recited quietly:

‘
“Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch’entrate.”
It is Dante, Mr Holmes. “All hope abandon, ye who enter here”.’

‘Good,’ said Holmes. ‘Let us see what the next set of symbols gives us.’

‘LAMORCHEMOVEILSOLEELACTRESTELLE’

‘That too is Dante. It reads,
“L’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle.”
“Love that moves the sun and the other stars”.’

‘ENLASUAVOLONTADEENOSTRAPACE’

‘This too.
“E’n la sua volontade e’ nostra pace”.
“His will is our peace”.’

I could not help saying, ‘Is this really the information that our adversaries were prepared to kill, and kill again, to obtain? Three passages from a work of genius, undoubtedly, but hardly a matter of life and death! I wonder if we are all victims of a hoax!’

Holmes was not impressed with this theory.

‘On the night the Admiral died, he concealed the cipher disc, or caused it to be concealed, at a desperate moment. It must have meant a great deal to him. In all probability it gives the location of the great work of Cellini.’

The Marchessa said, ‘The first quotation was said to be carved above the gate of hell, was it not? Somewhere that would have been hell to the Admiral. Some dungeon or place of torture? This city must have had a thousand in those days.’

‘Perhaps, but let us look at it another way. It is the gate of hell, but unless one had the genius of a Dante, one could not enter it before death. Could it not more properly be seen as a gate of death?’

‘Well, Mr Holmes. There is only one place in Venice that fits that description. The burial ground of the whole city, and the resting place of my ancestors. The Island of St Michele!’

‘Then we must go there at once,’ cried Holmes.

Bowing low over the Marchesa’s hand he added, ‘We are in your debt, my Lady.’

‘No,’ she replied, ‘solve this matter and I will be in yours!’

St Michele lies to the north of Venice. As we approached the island, we found ourselves in a procession of funeral barges. Landing by the great misty edifice of the church, it was necessary to walk patiently for a while with the mourners, before we could decently slip away and move with more speed to the highwalled, cypress-enshrouded graveyard.

‘It is said that only the rich may lie here undisturbed through generations,’ said Holmes, as we walked. ‘The poor can only retain tenure for twenty-five years, after which they are dug up and scattered upon an ossuary at the far end of the island. Here in Venice, it seems, death itself is not always the great leveller! Still, if our surmise is correct, we have now entered the place where, in Dante’s words, all, even the rich, must abandon hope. What is the matter, Watson?’

‘Probably nothing, Holmes, but I thought I heard footsteps behind us.’

‘Indeed, we have been followed ever since we left the
palazzo.
Have your gun at the ready.’

We entered a fantastic place in the misty twilight. The rich, immune to the twenty-five year rule, lay in monuments of stone, many of them incredibly elaborate in character. The paths we walked were lined with miniature classical temples, eastern palaces, Gothic mausoleums, pyramids, and diminutive cathedrals. Domes, spires, and towers proliferated like a tangled forest, bedecked with the gods of Greece and Rome, and the august deities of old Egypt. It was the city of a fevered opium dream, lit by a thousand votive candles.

We came to a cross-roads in the heart of the cemetery where a gate spanned each way. It was Holmes who saw that one of the gates had a carving on its lintel depicting Venus holding aloft a flaming disc surrounded by the zodiacal signs.

“‘L’amor che move il sole e l’altre, stelle.”
“Love that moves the sun and the other stars”,’ said Holmes.

This path was very overgrown and contained the oldest and most august of the mausolea. Here the most costly of Italian marbles had been carved into fantastic shapes, and bedecked with magnificent statues and urns in many kinds, and colours, of stone. Time had laid its hand upon them, adding moss, lichen, and cracks to the structure, and creating an air of desolation and menace.

It was I who found the burial vaults of the Garzonis. Holmes seemed completely unimpressed by the discovery.

‘You will notice, Watson, the absence of that last clue which should identify our goal. I never expected to find it here.’

‘But this is the resting place of the Marchesa’s ancestors!’

‘Yes, but you are not thinking like a man who thrived in the cut and thrust of Venetian Renaissance politics. Here we have someone who is clever, calculating, and prepared to take tremendous risks for the highest stakes. Come with me.’

He led the way back to the path, paused to look back into the foggy distance, then strode on.

‘The Garzoni sepulchre is one of the first places his enemies would think of. I dare say it has been violated many times over the years. I could be wrong of course, but I think the Marchesa’s ancestor did something very audacious. Ah, here we are! See the carved inscription above the door of this tomb?
“E’n la sua volontade e nos pace.”
“In His will is our peace.” A fine sentiment. It is also the final clue on the manuscript. We are standing before the family vault of the Garzoni’s great enemies, the Barbarini.

‘The Admiral knew that this was a place to which the Barbarini must return often, but it is also the very last place they would expect him to hide the treasure they were so urgently seeking. Unless I am mistaken, it was deposited with the deceased elders of the very family who were seeking it.’

The lock on the old bronze door was not equal to Holmes’s skill in burglary. In no time we were within the burial vault, and lit candles. Coffins were ranged around the walls in racks, and in the middle of the floor stood several magnificent sarcophagi of stone and bronze. These held the earliest ancestors. Holmes held his candle over the grandest of the sarcophagi.

‘This is, I would guess, the great patriarch of the Barbarini family. What nerve it would have taken to place so precious an object into his hands for safe keeping! I wonder if I am right.’

He examined the seals on the bronze cask with his glass.

‘These have been broken and re-sealed long ago, but not disturbed since. It looks as if I may be correct.’

He slit the seals and turned the locks with his lock pick.

‘Now, Watson, help me raise the lid.’

It was a struggle to lift the great cover of bronze. An inner coffin was revealed. On lifting the lid, we found a body reclining on a bed of silk, the whole in a very ruinous condition. On the area of its chest lay a parcel perhaps two feet long, wrapped in heavy canvas.