Chapter Forty-Three

Rome, 1901

With Holmes in the lead, we crept down the stairs in absolute silence. A task that under normal circumstances might have taken but 10 or 15 seconds took us at least two full minutes. As we walked and waited, the stone beneath my stocking feet felt cold and rough.

There was very little light in the long hallway. There were one or two candles glowing softly and although I didn’t know it at the time, I would later learn that the darkness was a blessing in disguise.

We crept past the first room, and despite the dimness, I could make out the painting of what I believed - and later confirmed - was Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. Surrounding it were piles of bones - legs, arms, pelvises and skulls. “Nothing to be scared of here, old man. Nothing you haven’t seen in anatomy class or the examining room,” I told myself.

Then we passed a second room. It had an altar but as far as I could tell there were no bones, and I was beginning to think that Holmes had greatly exaggerated the grotesqueness of the place.

However, my opinion quickly changed as we crept past the third alcove - the Crypt of Skulls. I must admit suffering a nasty jolt when I was greeted by a trio of robed figures who seemed to be walking toward us. They had been posed against a backdrop of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of human skulls. On either side were two more figures in the supine position. If you weren’t expecting it, and I was not, I think it could prove rather unsettling.

As we were about to pass the next crypt, we heard a scraping sound emanating from the end of the hall. Suddenly, Holmes bolted down what remained of the corridor past two more crypts. As you might imagine, I was in hot pursuit. As I passed one, I saw a dirt floor with crosses protruding from the ground.

As we reached the final room, which Holmes had told me was the Crypt of the Three Skeletons, I saw that a candle had been lit and placed on the altar. Everywhere I looked, I saw bones. The complete skeleton of a child had been affixed to the ceiling and surrounded by other bones - thighs, femurs, even tiny finger joints. As I gazed at the altar, I saw that hundreds of skulls had been placed strategically about it.

However, my attention was drawn to the floor, where I saw Holmes snatch up a velvet bag that was being pushed out from beneath the altar by a walking stick. A few seconds later, a hand appeared from the beneath the altar, and a man slowly began to emerge from some hidden chamber.

“Allow me to give you a hand, Signore Giolitti, lest you get your suit any dirtier than it is.”

“Holmes, you bastard!” exclaimed the man.

“Such language in the house of the Lord,” Holmes reproved him.

“I’ve come too far and worked too hard just to give up now,” said Giolitti.

“Ah, signore, I am afraid you have no choice. This is checkmate,” said Holmes.

“But why are you here?” asked Giolitti. “The pope told me that you were no longer in the employ of the Vatican.” “He spoke the truth,” said Holmes. “I am doing this pro bono. I think you might have been better-served had you asked the pontiff if I were off the case altogether.”

“Equivocating bastard,” roared Giolitti. “Give me the cameos, Mr. Holmes. This is none of your concern.”

“Signore Giolitti, you made it my concern when you tried to blackmail the pope. You also threatened the family of a nun. That you would use the sins of the past to advance your future and torment innocent souls in the process to achieve your ends makes you a blackguard, sir!”

“I repeat, Mr. Holmes. Give me the cameos,” said Giolitti very quietly.

“And if I refuse, as I most certainly intend to do?” asked Holmes.

“Then I shall be forced to take them,” he answered.

“Signore, you do not frighten me. I have been threatened and tested by far better men than yourself. I suggest you resign, accept defeat and go about your business. Your reputation will remain unsullied, but if you persist...” Holmes left the implied threat hanging.

“And if I tell the world about the cameos? What then, Mr. Holmes?”

“You could certainly attempt that approach and see what happens. However, I can assure you that is also a losing strategy,” replied Holmes.

At that point, Giolitti pulled a long blade from his walking stick and placed the tip at Holmes’ throat.

“If you do not give me the cameos, I shall be forced to kill both yourself and Dr. Watson. Believe me Mr. Holmes, I shall do so with little regret, and you two will be buried in an unmarked grave, then we shall see if anyone can solve “The Mysterious Case of the Disappearance of Sherlock Holmes.”

Holmes simply smiled at him, ignoring the blade at his neck, and said, “Signore Giolitti, it is over. If you do not lower your blade, I shall have Dr. Watson shoot you.” Turning to me, Holmes said, “If it should come to that Watson, try to wound rather than kill him. I would hate to see you brought up on charges here, and I should certainly like to see Signore Giolitti stand trial.”

“You’re bluffing,” snarled Giolitti.

“Actually, he’s not,” I said as I pulled my service revolver from my pocket.

Giolitti looked at me incredulously. Then he shifted his attention to Holmes and said, “This is far from over, Mr. Holmes. I have a great many friends - a number of whom live in London. I should sleep with one eye open if I were you.”

“Signore Giolitti, I too have a great many friends, including some very powerful ones, who reside right here in Rome. Let us just say goodnight and goodbye,” said Holmes. “I do not think that we shall meet again.”

As Holmes turned to the stairs, Giolitti made one final effort to snatch the cameos from him. He lunged desperately at my friend while attempting to stab him with the blade. Despite clutching the bag, Holmes managed to employ one of his baritsu moves and easily send the man sprawling.

With a torrent of threats and profanities in Italian, Giolitti unleased all his frustration, and finally said, “You are wrong, Mr. Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker Street. Our paths will cross again.”

Leaving Giolitti to rant and rave, we quickly made our way upstairs and retrieved our shoes. We were pulling them on, when a carriage bearing the papal coat of arms on the door rounded the corner from Via Molise.

“Our cab is here, Watson. Don’t tarry.”

***

Thirty minutes later, we were seated in the pope’s study with Cardinal Oreglia. As you might expect, the pontiff had been extremely excited to see Holmes. Every few minutes, he would examine one of the cameos, which Holmes had reversed for him so that the ‘virtuous’ sides were showing, and then utter his appreciation anew.

A priest arrived after a few minutes carrying a tray laden with pastries, a coffee pot and a kettle.

The pope smiled at Holmes and said, “I understand you are not fond of our coffee, so I had the staff prepare a pot of tea.”

“You are too kind, Your Holiness,” murmured Holmes.

“Now, tell me, Mr. Holmes, how you managed to accomplish this miracle,” asked the pontiff.

“After our conversation about Signore Giolitti, I put him under constant surveillance, using the former students of Sister Angelica. On one occasion, a youngster followed him to the Church of Santa Maria della Concezione. As you know the Capuchin Crypt is located beneath the church.”

“On a few occasions, I dressed as a priest so that I might thoroughly examine the church. One afternoon, the boys warned me that Giolotti was coming while I was searching. I pretended to be asleep, and he actually had the temerity to wake me up. I had rehearsed just enough Italian so that I was able to make my escape and not arouse his suspicions. When I returned to the church a few minutes later to retrieve my missal, he was nowhere to be seen. Since he had not left, I determined that he must have hidden the cameos somewhere in the crypts below.”

“I climbed to the bell tower, and after he did depart, I descended to the crypt, but despite my best efforts, my searches proved fruitless. I knew the cameos were there, but I had no idea where he might have concealed them.”

“At that point, I decided the only way to find them was to have Giolitti lead me to them. That is why I had you dispense with my services and why Watson and I had to pretend to leave Rome.”

“Mr. Holmes, the Vatican is eternally in your debt,” said Pope Leo. “If ever the church or I can render you a service, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

“The work is its own reward, Your Holiness,” said Holmes.

“Yes, but you incurred certain expenses while you were here,” and with that the pope handed Holmes a check.

Holmes looked at it and murmured, “You are entirely too generous,” before thrusting it into his pocket.

“No, Mr. Holmes. You have saved me and the church. I do not know how the Roman Question will ultimately be resolved, but I can only hope that when it is, the pope making the decision will be allowed a free choice and not be coerced, as I nearly was.”

“I understand,” said Holmes. “Before I leave, you will understand if I want to make certain that the cameos are in a safe place.”

Smiling broadly, the pope led us to his office and opened the door to a closet where we saw a new safe. “It arrived today,” said the pontiff proudly, and the only ones with the combination are the locksmith and myself.”

“Excellent,” said Holmes. “Well then, Your Holiness, we will be heading home to England in the morning.”

“Before you depart, I should very much like to give you and Dr. Watson a small token of my appreciation.” With that he opened a draw in his desk and pulled out two small boxes. He handed one to Holmes and the other to me.

“Open them, gentlemen, please,” said the pope.

I heard Holmes laugh, and when I flipped back the top, I saw a replica of the chain that Leonardo had constructed as the key to the cameos, complete with two tiny amulets, inscribed with the words “virtutus” and “vitium.”

“Despite my anxiety, I never doubted you Mr. Holmes. I think they will double as pocket watch chains,” said the pope.

“Well done, Your Holiness. I shall treasure it forever,” said Holmes.

“As will I,” I added.

“Then, gentlemen, I guess this is goodbye,” said the pope, extending his hand to Holmes, this time with the palm perpendicular to the floor. He shook both our hands warmly and wished us well.

Cardinal Oreglia escorted us to the square, where we bade him farewell.

As we walked across the square to the convent, I said to Holmes, “You know, there’s one thing that bothers me.”

“What’s that, Watson?”

“Michelangelo depicted Cardinal della Rovere, who became Pope Julius II, as the personification of pride.”

“Go on,” said Holmes.

“It was hardly a flattering image, and yet Julius commissioned Michelangelo to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and do a great deal of work on St. Peter’s Basilica, did he not?”

“Someone’s been reading his Baedeker,” laughed Holmes.

“Well, if you had an artist render you in such a manner, would you hire him for more work? I wonder how Julius overcame his pride and what he thought of the cameos.”

“Those are fine points, Watson, but I’m afraid that is one mystery that will never be solved. As I’ve told you before, it is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. We have no data, no clues and without them, we cannot develop a theory. No, Watson, the best I could do would be to hazard a guess, and you know how I feel about guessing.”

“I know,” I repeated with him, “I never guess. It is a shocking habit - destructive to the logical faculty.”