“Not bad, Watson, though your proposal presents a rather banal solution,” said he with a smile.
“Banality is a powerful force in our lives,” said I with mock seriousness. “Perhaps I should phrase it differently, my dear Holmes. Italy, shall we say, often presents us with the stereotype of melodrama. Cavalleria and Pagliacci are by no means abstractions.”
“You have spent too many nights at Covent Garden, dear Watson. We should not give much credence to these peasant tales, though they have a certain psychological reality to them. Italy abounds in crimes of passion, but in this it differs little from other countries. One can cite innumerable cases here in London. That of John Greenacre comes to mind immediately. And it is true that the strictures on those devoted to the ascetic life are far more onerous than those that apply to ordinary mortals. But it is rash to speculate at this early juncture. If the crisis continues and the mystery of the Cardinal’s disappearance is not solved one way or another, then the matter may fall into the hands of the Roman police. There are some good minds there: Manzoni is one. He played a major role in the case of Lusoni’s daughter. But the best is Grimaldi—”
Holmes stopped talking in the middle of his sentence, his eye caught by something on his desk, and he said no more. It was only after several days passed that the matter intruded upon us once again. We were seated in the morning at our desks when there was a sudden but familiar knock at the door, and Mrs. Hudson announced the arrival of a gentleman from Rome, one Padre Antonio Gasparri.
The person who appeared before us was a young priest of the Church, a thin, almost frail man, who I should judge not to have passed his thirtieth birthday. He was dressed entirely in black, which made his pallor even more dramatic. He had a small, sharp beak of a nose upon which his spectacles were precariously suspended. Despite their thickness, they did not hide his most distinguishing feature, his eyes, dark orbs that radiated an intense light once he began to speak.
“You are Mr. Holmes?” he enquired, addressing my friend in English.
“I am, indeed, and this is my trusted colleague, Dr. Watson. You may speak before him as you would before me. I assume that you come on the grave matter that now concerns the Church.”
“I do,” said the priest. “I assume you are familiar with the public accounts. I wish to inform you that I come directly from the Pope and with his full authority. Our Holy Father knows that he does not have long to live, and that he has little time remaining to him on this earth. Corelli and he are as one person, and the Cardinal’s disappearance has only made the Pope’s last days even more difficult. I have come on the Pontiff’s behalf to ask your aid in solving the mystery of what has befallen Cardinal Corelli.”
He handed Holmes a sealed note. “Mr. Holmes, this is a letter directly from the Holy Father to you asking for your assistance in the matter.” Holmes read it quickly.
“But what of Manzoni and Grimaldi? Surely, they would be of the greatest help.”
“For reasons of state, Mr. Holmes, we would prefer that the Italian police stay out of the matter. Since there is no final evidence as yet that the Cardinal has left the Città Vaticana or that a crime has been committed on Italian soil, there is no reason for any intervention by the Italian police. And of course we wish to have a solution that is privately presented to us before it is made public.”
“You realize that the solution may have rather unpalatable aspects to it, difficult for the Church, and that I cannot but present the whole truth?”
“The Church has no problem with the truth, Mr. Holmes. The rumours now floating through Italy are probably worse than anything that has happened in actuality. What the Church and Our Holy Father wish for is a thorough and dispassionate investigation. And, if there is no crime, your promise of secrecy.”
“I accede to your wishes, provided that any version of what has transpired is submitted to me for comment before it is made public.”
“I agree,” said the priest. “Then you will help us?”
“Most assuredly. The general circumstances are most interesting, a case with few precedents. I can recall only the case of the Bishop of Liverpool over a century ago, and of course the infamous case of the Reverend Phineas Roberts of Massachusetts. Unfortunately, a solution similar to theirs would bring little benefit to the Church. The Bishop turned out to be a philanderer and Phineas Roberts a notorious poisoner of orphans.”
There was silence for a few moments. The priest remained calm, but his expression betrayed his fear at what Holmes might uncover.
“I have one last request,” said Holmes, “and that is that I have full access to all persons associated closely with the Cardinal, including the Pope himself if necessary, and to the Cardinal’s quarters and his place of work.”
“I can agree to all of your stipulations, Mr. Holmes,” said the priest. “With regard to the Pope, there are certain restrictions. Before my departure, our Holy Father expressed clearly his fervent wish to meet with you and to give you every aid in your investigation. He is, however, increasingly weak and no one knows how long he will live. Here his doctors will have a say in the matter.”
“I see no difficulty,” Holmes responded. “I should like to visit the Pope immediately upon my arrival. But tell me yourself what you can of the Cardinal and anything that might enlighten us as to his fate.”
“I myself,” said the priest, “have known him for only three years. He is a man of the greatest intellect and piety who has seen his entire life as service to the Church. A person of regular habits, he sleeps little, however, always retiring at ten, and rising at three or four in the morning to work. He always took simple meals prepared by his housemaid, Suor Angelica, and ventured forth from the Vatican only to say Mass at the cathedral of San Paolo Fuori le Mura, his own parish.”
“What of his family?”
“Little if anything at all is known with certainty, for his early years were spent in a foundling home in Naples. Because of his intelligence, he was taken by the head of the home and placed with a wealthy friend, who gave the boy every advantage. At some early point in his life, the Pope met him and was so impressed that he brought the boy to live at the Vatican. It became clear as he grew that he had a vocation, and he entered the monastery in Monte Cassino. There, before he was twenty, he became known for his theological and philosophical lectures and disputations. Among the Dominicans, he was regarded as another St. Thomas. He came to the attention of the Archbishop of Naples, who brought him back to the city. Shortly thereafter, he was called to Rome as secretary to the Pope, where his rise in the Church was rapid. Four years ago, he was appointed secretary of state, a post he kept until his disappearance.”
“A most interesting account, but there is little unusual except for his meteoric rise, shall we say. Surely, there must be more?”
“Only one personal indulgence, which I noticed. Perhaps once every fortnight, he would don the attire of a common priest and after dark leave the Vatican and venture into the life of the common people. In this guise, he was known as Padre Giovanni, for he never identified himself to those he met, though he made no elaborate attempt to hide it. He was by no means always alone when he did this. On several occasions, he invited me to go along.”
“And what, pray tell, did you do on these occasions?”
“We walked through the old parts of the city, talking of sin and morality, crossing into Trastevere and then walking back along the Tiber. At about eight, we would part company and he would go alone to a small osteria that he enjoyed and have a simple meal and a glass of wine. This was as close to self indulgence that the Cardinal ever came. In this osteria he said that he joked with the proprietor and his wife, and many times they would prepare special foods for him. He loved the cucina contadina that he had as a child. And of course, his identity was unknown to the proprietor and his wife.”