Chapter Thirteen

Rome, 1901

Looking at the carabinieri, I felt slightly unnerved. Summoning up my courage, I tried to sound casual as I asked, “How may I help you, signore?”

He strode toward me, stopping about a foot away. “You are Dottore John Watson from England, are you not?” he demanded.

“I am indeed,” I replied.

“Are you the same Dottore John Watson, who chronicles the exploits of Sherlock Holmes?”

“Guilty as charged,” I answered.

Breaking into a smile, he said, “It is such a pleasure to meet you dottore. I have long been a fan of yours. What brings you to Rome, may I ask?”

“I am researching a book.” I said.

“A Holmes’ mystery?” he inquired.

“Not exactly,” I replied. “I am trying to expand my breadth as a writer.”

“I see,” he replied. “Is Mr. Holmes with you? I should like very much to meet him.”

“He is in Rome,” I said, “but where he is right now, I cannot say.”

“Well, my name is Captain Tritini, Angelo Tritini. Here is my card. If I may be of assistance to you in any way, please do not hesitate to contact me. And if you could arrange a meeting with Mr. Holmes, I should be eternally grateful.”

“I shall do my best,” I replied. We shook hands and he left. I was thinking to myself that the day could not have gone any better. I had gained entrance to the archives and made an ally at the same time. Holmes will be pleased, I thought to myself.

My escort said, “Dottore Watson, if you are ready. You may bring paper and writing implements into the archives, but nothing else.”

I showed him the pad I had purchased, and followed him down a long hall to the back of the building. We entered a room that was filled from floor to ceiling and side to side with bookshelves, groaning under the weight of hundreds of oversized bound volumes, almost all of which were covered with a thick layer of dust.

“I see what you mean about having few visitors to this section,” I remarked.

He nodded, “As you might expect, dottore, most of these volumes are in Latin. A language so few people find accessible these days. Should you wish, I can provide you with a Latin dictionary.”

“That would be wonderful. I fear my vocabulary may be a bit rusty.”

“I shall be right back. As for the books you are looking for, the volumes containing the correspondence and expenditures of Pope Julius II are right there,” he said, pointing to a shelf to my immediate right.

“Since there may be some carryover, how are the volumes arranged?” I asked.

“They are in chronological order. To the left of Pope Julius is a single volume containing materials dealing with the brief reign of Pius III. To the left of that are the volumes that date from Pope Alexander VI, and to the right of the Julian tomes are those dealing with his successor, Pope Leo III. Now, let me get you that dictionary.”

He returned a few minutes later as I pretended to peruse the first volume dealing with the expenditures of Pope Julius. After he had left, I replaced it and took out the first ledger dealing with the papacy of Alexander. As I had expected, the Alexandrian tomes had far less dust than their counterparts on either side.

As I stared at the page in handwritten Latin, I began to wish that I had applied myself more diligently to my studies. With no idea exactly what I was looking for, I began casually to turn the pages, hoping to find something, anything that might give me a clue. I started to wonder if the mysterious Dr. Sanzio had found what he was looking for here, and then decided that since the papal apartments had been robbed that he had.

There were thirteen volumes - one for each year of his reign - dealing with the papacy of Pope Alexander VI. I knew that he had been elected pope in 1492 and had died in 1503. Stepping back, it struck me that by far the largest volume was that for the year 1501.

Deciding that it was as valid an approach as any other, I took it down and brought it to a desk. Looking at my watch, I saw that it was just after two o’clock. That gave me three hours, since the archives closed at five. Deciding that I probably had a few minutes less, I began to turn the pages, looking for words that I recognized and any expenditures that might be tied to them.

It was tiresome work and although I saw a few items such as the purchase of a vestis talaris or cassock in February and an equo or horse in May, there was nothing there that seemed to warrant any special attention.

I began to think that this was a fool’s errand, but I decided that I would at least finish this book, and see if Holmes wanted me to return tomorrow. I proceeded through the summer months and saw that a novum raeda or new carriage had been purchased in September.

I leafed through the pages covering September and as I started October, I noticed a slight discrepancy. The journal jumped from October third to the fifth. Examining the volume very carefully, I noticed that a page had been carefully removed. Whoever had done it had cut the page as close to the binding as possible. It had been removed quite skillfully and might have gone unnoticed for years. Had the jump in days not caught my attention, I am certain that it would have escaped my attention entirely.

Energized by my discovery, I began to examine the volume far more closely, and I found that three different entries from October were missing, including those for the last two days of the month.

I jotted the dates on my pad - Oct. 3, Oct. 30 and Oct. 31 - and wondered if they might have any significance. I continued my examination and decided that no other pages were missing.

I was just about to begin my examination of the volume for 1502 when the docent appeared and told me that the archives would be closing in 10 minutes. He also informed me that I could leave the dictionary on the desk in case I decided to return.

“I may be back,” I said, “I’m not certain.”

“Oh,” he inquired, “Did your labors bear fruit, then?”

“In a manner of speaking. I must consult with my colleague and see if he wishes me to pursue this line of inquiry.”

“Well, it has been a pleasure having you here, dottore, and I do hope that I shall see you tomorrow.”

I left the archives and headed toward St. Peter’s Square. I was feeling reinvigorated, and I couldn’t wait to inform Holmes about my discovery.

As I neared the convent, I saw an old priest and I was certain it was Holmes in disguise. I recalled how he had dressed up as a clergyman once before as we tried to escape Moriarty’s henchmen in London.

I was just about to tap the clergyman on the shoulder and tell him, “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me,” when a hand grasped my wrist and I turned to see my friend, looking at me, with the slightest hint of a grin.

“I know you thought that was me, but as you can see, it’s not,” he said. “And I do thank you for that Watson, it is the only moment of mirth in an otherwise singularly gloomy day.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“The pope has heard from the thieves,” he told me. “I found a message from Cardinal Oreglia waiting for me when I returned to the convent. The pontiff has asked us to meet with him tonight at eight o’clock. Of course, I told him, we would be there.’

“I should think that’s a good thing, “I remarked. “We may be able to glean certain information from the communique that will lead us to the thieves.”

“True enough,” Holmes remarked.

I was just about to give him my news when he looked at me and said, “I am afraid, things have taken a rather sinister turn. Without going into specifics, Cardinal Oreglia informed me that the letter contained certain demands of His Holiness.”

“Unless, I am sadly mistaken, it is as we feared,” he continued, “Our simple burglary has just become a case of blackmail.”