Chapter Thirty-Three

Rome, 1901

I returned to the convent and waited for Holmes. About 30 minutes later, he arrived, looking more like himself.

“Where is your cassock, father?” I asked playfully.

He smiled broadly and said, “When I can deceive my old comrade, I know that my disguise is a success.”

“I shouldn’t think that I would be a very good barometer,” I replied. “After all, you have deceived me far more often than I have seen through your attempts at dissembling.”

“Yes, but you have a keen eye, Watson. Speaking of which, have you seen any of the nuns about? I am famished.”

I told Holmes that I was rather hungry myself, and we ventured down to the kitchen, where we found Sister Angelica preparing to attack a small mountain of dishes.

“I’d like to make you a proposition, sister,” said Holmes, “Watson and I will clean all the dishes and the pans as well if you will make us two omelets.”

She laughed, and said, “Mr. Holmes, I don’t think I could refuse that offer even if I wanted to, but there is one proviso.”

“Yes?” asked Holmes.

“Will you clean up after yourselves? I’d prefer not to come down tomorrow morning to plates and cups in the sink.”

“Of course we will,” said Holmes.

“Done,” she said.

We worked in silence, the nun bustling about the stove while Holmes rolled up his sleeves and began to wash as I dried each piece and put it away.

Suddenly, Sister Angelica broke the silence, “Mr. Holmes, I know you are here at the behest of the Holy Father. And I know what you do. I do not know what you are looking into, but if I may be of any assistance in any way, please do not be afraid to ask.”

Holmes told her, “Sister, I appreciate your offer and I am certain that I speak for both Watson and Pope Leo when I say thank you. Your boys have been invaluable, and if I can think of any way that you can help, I will ask, I promise.”

We finished with the dishes a few minutes before Sister Angelica, and she told us to go sit in the dining room. Shortly thereafter, she carried in two plates with omelets and brioche. She then brought us a tray with cups, silverware, sugar and cream. On her third trip, she placed a steaming kettle on a trivet and said, “Let the tea steep another minute or two, and don’t forget your promise.”

We stood as she left, and I said, “You have my word, sister.”

Left alone, Holmes and I then ate leisurely, and we both agreed that Sister Angelica’s cooking was on a par with that of Mrs. Hudson.

When we had finished, I looked at Holmes and said, “I can tell you have made progress.”

“Indeed,” said Holmes, “I know where the cameos are, but I’m afraid that obtaining them presents something of a problem.”

“How could that be?” I asked. “If you know where they are, just go get them and return them to the pope.”

“I know the building they are in,” said Holmes,” but the fact remains that they could be hidden anywhere. No, I’m afraid Signore Giolitti must lead us to them. Something I am sure that he is loath to do, and now that he knows he is being followed, he is going to be more cautious than ever.”

“No, Watson, obtaining them for His Holiness still poses a rather difficult task. Let us do the dishes as we promised, and perhaps a good night’s rest will offer us a different viewpoint in the morning.”

As we cleaned the few dishes that we had used, I asked Holmes, “Is Giolitti that clever?”

“Yes, Watson, he is. He possesses a certain canniness that complements his own innate intelligence. He would have made an incredible acolyte for the late, unlamented Moriarty.”

Then, looking at me, he smiled and said, “But not to worry. Against the two of us, I am certain he will come a cropper.”

So we made our way to bed, and I slept well. I thought about everything Holmes had said and then I reflected on some of our more challenging cases, and the next thing I knew Holmes was knocking at my door.

“Come on, Watson. It’s past eight, and I don’t want to miss breakfast.”

“I’ll join you downstairs,” I replied.

“Do be brisk. I have a plan that I should like to put in motion. I’ll tell you about it over biscuits and tea.”

When I joined Holmes in the dining room, he informed me that Sister Angelica was so inspired by our labors in the kitchen that she had prepared a special breakfast for us.

“I don’t know what it is,” said Holmes, “but she insisted that at least once during our stay here, we should have a ‘proper Italian breakfast’ - whatever that may be.”

As Sister Angelica came through the kitchen door, she smiled at me and wished me good morning. Turning to Holmes, she said, “I heard that - and you are about to find out.”

She settled a large tray of pastries in front of us.

“Ah, croissants,” I exclaimed.

At that the nun made the sign of the cross and exclaimed, “Heaven preserve us. They may resemble that other pastry, but these are corneti. I was so pleased with the state of my kitchen this morning that I baked these just for you.”

Pointing to the one side of the tray, she explained, “These are cornetti simplice or cornetti vuoto - there is nothing inside. Vuoto means empty.” Indicating the remaining pile, she said they were cornetti alla marmelatta.

“I have filled some with your marmalade and others with a delicious raspberry jelly,” she informed us.

Taking a bite of a marmalade-filled one, I exclaimed, “Sister, this is delicious.”

She looked anxiously at Holmes, awaiting his opinion. Holmes had taken one of the cornetti simplice, and after tasting it, he looked up at the nun and exclaimed, “Bravo.

Sister, before we leave, you must give me your recipe so that Mrs. Hudson can try her hand at these.”

Beaming with pleasure, the nun replied, “Of course; now let me get your coffee.”

I looked at Holmes and whispered, “Did she say coffee?”

“I’m afraid she did,” he replied.

At that moment, she reappeared carrying a tray with four cups. “I know that you prefer your tea. But no self respecting Italian would dine on cornetti without either a coffee or a cappuccino. Not knowing your preference, I made both. Enjoy your colazione, gentlemen.”

I tasted the coffee, which was served in a tiny cup, and found it far too bitter for my taste. The cappuccino, by contrast, was lighter and with a bit of sugar it provided a pleasant substitute for tea. Looking at Holmes, I could see that he found neither as palatable as a cup of Darjeeling, but I knew he was too chivalrous to say anything.

When we were alone, I asked him, “Tell me more about this plan of yours.”

“It’s still in the preliminary stages, but I was thinking that if we could persuade Giolitti...”

At that moment, Sister Basile entered the dining room and said, “Mr. Holmes, a messenger just delivered a package for you.” She handed my friend a small parcel and then left us.

Holmes inspected it carefully, “No return address,” he murmured. With his pocketknife he cut the cord and removed the brown paper to reveal a second parcel almost identical to the first. Attached was a tag that Holmes read aloud, “To Pope Leo, care of Signore Sherlock Holmes.”

“The man is insufferable, Watson. Now, he tasks me as his messenger.”

“Is that the cameo?”

“I’m certain that it is. Allowing for the box and paper, it feels about the same weight. And the box is just the right size.”

“It’s the sheer effrontery of the man, Watson. Were the stakes not so high, I assure you I should act very differently, but the pope comes first. So let us enjoy the rest of these cornetti and then pay a call on Pope Leo. I should imagine he will receive us with mixed emotions, but now at least I shall be able to put one of my theories to the test.”