We headed towards the tombs of eminent figures.
Each of them was a work of art. I would have stopped to take delight in them had not Holmes at that moment removed from the bag a large crowbar and a set of picklocks.
“There’s no time to waste, Watson. Please step aside.”
He used the picklock to open the padlock hanging on the chain, which held together the wrought iron gate of the Minutti family crypt. The lock gave way with a click and the detective opened the gate. Musty air and dust wafted out.
I placed a handkerchief over my mouth and followed Holmes inside.
We found ourselves surrounded by darkness in a confined space where two adult men could barely stand. The detective lit a torch and examined the tomb. There were marble rectangular sarcophagi, several decades old. In the centre of them stood one that was new and freshly polished.
“The funeral was only a few days ago, the body should not yet be in an advanced state of decay,” said Holmes.
My knees wobbled.
The detective swept withered flowers from the sarcophagus and asked me to help him remove the lid. The slab was heavy and my arms were weakened by age and fear. Nevertheless, after much effort and awful creaking we managed to remove it.
Now all that remained was the coffin. Holmes grasped the crowbar and wedged it between the wood of the lid and the sideboard of the casket. The stained oak boards cracked and under the strain of the crowbar the lid came free. We pushed it to the side and stood over the deceased Signor Minutti, dressed for his last journey in a finely tailored Italian suit.
His small body was swollen and the thin pale face was already beginning to lose its features. Alive he clearly was a man who had taken excellent care of himself. The grey hair was cut short and the swollen fingers were adorned with rings.
“Now it is your turn, my friend,” said Holmes, unbuttoning the factory owner’s shirt.
The first thing I saw was the burned edges of the blackened wound where the bullet had pierced the skin. Stitches from the original autopsy - the one that had not revealed anything - extended across his chest.
I swallowed hard and the detective had to literally push me towards the coffin. My legs refused to budge.
Summoning up every bit of courage, I examined the wound. The skin was still supple, without blood, which had descended and created a purple bedsore on the back of the body.
As though in a dream I cut away Minutti’s shirt in order to gain better access to the body. Holmes assisted me and handed me the required instruments. I pulled out the black stitches and re-opened the wound.
The post-mortem under the petroleum light of our torch took almost an hour. I would rather not describe it further: it would be too harrowing for the reader.
I will only say that as soon as I stopped thinking about the circumstances and where I was, my stomach calmed, the nerves and weakness in my legs subsided, and my hands became precise surgical instruments that plunged into the dead body as deftly as they would were he lying on the table in the hospital.
Then I found it!
But at the same moment pandemonium broke loose.
V: The Mysterious Secretary
Everything happened all at once.
My search had just revealed something in Minutti’s body that did not belong there: a strange metal fragment. But before Holmes and I could examine it more closely, we heard the excited shouting of night watchmen. They must have discovered that someone else was on the island. If they found us it would be hard to explain what we were up to.
“They are searching the island,” said the detective calmly, peaking out of the tomb. “Three watchmen with lamps; it will take them about ten minutes to reach us. They have not discovered Paolo yet, but he must have heard them. If he has any sense of self-preservation he has no doubt rowed away and I would not rely on his returning for us.”
“He left without us?” I asked, terrified. “What will we do?”
“Swim,” he said. “We must get out of here as quickly as possible.”
“But we cannot just leave him here like this,” I said pointing to Minutti’s open grave.
Nor was I ready to leave; my coat and medical instruments were lying everywhere.
“Very well then; we have four minutes before we need to depart, so let us make haste,” said Holmes.
I carefully cleaned the metal fragment that I had found in Minutti’s body, wrapped it in a handkerchief and put it in my pocket. Then I stitched the industrialist’s chest back together. The detective meanwhile rapidly cleaned the tomb, gathered up all the instruments into the bag, and when we were both ready he helped me arrange Minutti’s clothes and return the body to the dignified position in which we had found it.
Then we quietly shut the coffin and the lid of the sarcophagus. To this day I still do not understand how I managed do to it without it falling from my trembling fingers and loudly breaking. We extinguished the lamp, lucky that as yet nobody had seen us. I pressed the medical bag to my chest and felt my heart racing.
“The lights are nearing, it’s now or never!” said Holmes.
We stole out of the tomb, the detective closing the gate behind us, and ran out among the shadows to the wall. We caught our breath for a moment and continued along the wall to the gate of the island cemetery. The watchmen passed us through the archway and headed in staggered formation to the centre of the cemetery.
When they had vanished from our sight we clambered back over the gate and scurried to the dock, where to our dismay we discovered that Holmes had surmised correctly. Paolo and the boat were gone.
Unfortunately there was no other boat that we could take for the journey back.
The voices coming from the cemetery grew louder and more excited, which surely meant that the watchmen had discovered the open tomb, though we had left everything in order inside. Fortunately it did not occur to them to search each coffin and they apparently concluded that the robbers had escaped. At least I prayed this was the case.
But praying was not enough for Holmes.
“Take off your jacket, shoes and trousers,” he said, doing likewise.
He hid the medical bag and the lamp in a bush by the wall, tied our clothes in a bundle and plunged into the water.
I felt like crying. Unless I wanted to lose my good reputation and trade my career as a doctor for that of a convicted grave robber I had to follow him. I sat down on the wharf and slid slowly into the water.
The sea reeked and despite the warm spring weather was so cold as to make our teeth chatter. The detective set the tempo and holding our clothes above the surface of the water, we swam away from the island in the direction of the glowing city.
I could tell from the way he breathed that this was no easy task for him.
“I recall how you used to urge me to take more exercise,” he said when we had a chance to rest for a moment.
We treaded water side by side and tried not to notice the dead pigeon that bobbed nearby.
“Really?”
“As I now feel another coronary coming on it was no doubt sound advice,” he smiled.
I was grateful to him for attempting to cheer me up.
Suddenly we heard a splash in the dark, like waves lapping against the hull of a boat.
We lowered our voices for fear that we were being followed, but from the dark emerged the silhouette of our dear friend Paolo. We could not have been happier to see anyone at that moment. He shone a lamp on us and helped us out of the water. I was the first to scramble aboard and Holmes passed me the bundle of clothes which he had protected from the water. Thanks to this effort we were able to shed our wet shirts and put on dry ones.