“You were very fortunate,” said Paolo.
He told us that the clamour had started when the gatekeeper had been awoken by the noise of a cat stepping on a branch. Paolo explained apologetically that he had been unable to warn us, because it would have led to his discovery, which would have been of no help to us.
We waited in his boat for a few more minutes until the confusion on the island subsided and the light of the watchmen searching the harbour disappeared, and returned for our things. They were still hidden in the bush where Holmes had left them.
Paolo then took us via the Grand Canal to our hotel. Tired and cold we finally climbed into our beds just before dawn. In my pocket, however, was the metal fragment, which would no doubt provide many answers.
Holmes was the first to rise. His mind could not rest when it swarmed with so many questions. Nor did he let me sleep. I woke up after a mere four hours of rest and dragged myself to the dining room for breakfast. Holmes was devouring his food. My stomach, on the other hand, was still turning after the night’s adventures and I was unable to swallow more than a cup of tea.
Upon returning to the room I too resembled a dead body.
“Pull yourself together, Watson,” Holmes admonished. “We will have plenty of time to rest later. Now we must work for the future of our country!”
“I am no doubt suffering from a lack of adrenaline, which fuels the brain.”
“Indeed, and yesterday it seemed that we gave you a little too much.”
“Please do not remind me,” I said, preferring to concentrate on the facts that the detective requested.
I pondered, returning in my mind to Minutti’s tomb, and began itemising the details.
“During the autopsy, short as it was, I arrived at a number of significant facts. You were right in calling it indispensable.”
The detective bid me describe what I had in mind.
“As far as I know, in the official materials from Paolo the autopsy was described too briefly. It was limited to the conclusion that the bullet was not discovered in the victim’s body, and thus the matter was closed.”
“Precisely.”
“That is why I was surprised by what I found when I opened the body. Some of the organs - the heart, lungs, stomach, intestines - were badly torn, which is what caused Minutti’s death. I am surprised that the court doctor did not mention this.”
“It does not surprise me at all,” said Holmes, shrugging. “We continue to uncover facts that suggest someone has been thwarting the investigation. Could this damage to the organs have been caused in the course of the autopsy?”
“No doctor, regardless of whether he had been bribed, would treat a dead body this way.”
“How could one bullet cause the injuries that you describe?” the detective asked. “According to the initial examination he was shot only once.”
“It could not,” I replied. “Certainly no ordinary bullet.”
“What do you mean?”
“The way in which the organs were perforated is very specific. I have seen it before, during my military service.[15] It is as though something exploded inside him. The internal damage corresponds to that caused by shrapnel from an explosive.”
I of course realised how absurd it sounded.
“Minutti could not have been killed by a grenade, his body would be in another state entirely!” said Holmes, pacing. “Are you certain?”
“Completely. Anyone who has seen internal organs ripped apart by a grenade never forgets.”
“Forgive me, my friend; I did not mean to doubt your conclusions.It is quite far-fetched. But it does explain the absence of a bullet and the fragment.”
“As a doctor I can suggest one explanation,” I said. “The bullet entered the body, shattered inside, exploded and its shards caused the destructive whirlwind. Of course it then could not be found in the body, for it no longer existed. And nobody noticed those tiny shards, as they were not looking for them.”
Holmes stopped pacing the room and looked at me with surprise.
“Watson, it seems that you have hit the nail on the head!” he cried, his face brightening.
I was glad that I could help him and that for once I did not have to play the role of baffled simpleton.
I settled contentedly into an armchair and savoured the feeling.
“You are definitely right,” said Holmes, developing my theory further. “That would mean, of course, that Minutti was shot with a hitherto unknown type of firearm. I have never in my life heard of the type of shrapnel projectile that you describe.”
Neither had I. But the detective certainly had a fair notion of who would know more about such advancements in weaponry.
It thus had come time to fulfil a promise.
Minutti’s factories were spread throughout northern Italy, but the most important one, the arms factory, was near Venice. We headed there at the invitation of Luigi Pascuale, the family secretary, who had behaved so suspiciously when we visited Minutti’s widow.
In the afternoon we boarded the train, crossed the bridge connecting Venice with the mainland, and headed to the industrial heart of the city. The journey took us about an hour, during which the detective advanced several of his theories. So far he had only tentatively connected bits of information and was attempting to find a connection between them. But there were so many unknowns that it was merely a mental exercise rather than a real attempt to solve the case.
Soon we arrived in Valeri, a sleepy provincial town whose only attraction was the Minutti Fabbrica Di Armi. We announced ourselves to the guard at the gatehouse in the clay courtyard adjoining the factory. It consisted of the two brick wings of the production hall with a smokestack, warehouse and administrative building. Operations were in full swing; some one hundred workers were labouring and the gates of the factory presently opened to let out a lorry fully loaded with sealed crates.
We waited for a long time outside; perhaps so that Mr Pascuale could make it clear to us that we were not worth hurrying for, despite the fact that we represented someone of importance.
Pascuale’s assistant, a dour blonde with a rather masculine manner, whose stern expression and dull clothes did not at all correspond to her age, then led us to the highest floor of the administrative building where the secretary’s office neighboured the now empty office of Vito Minutti. Both could be entered from the hallway and the anteroom where the assistant had her desk.
“Gentlemen, welcome to the factory,” said Pascuale from behind his desk as soon as we entered. “Please pardon the delay, but after this tragic event we naturally had to increase security measures.”
He bade us sit down on a large leather sofa and ordered the assistant to bring refreshments. He waited for the woman to finish serving us and as soon as she left his expression changed.
He stood up, took off his jacket, threw it over the backrest of his chair and rolled up the sleeves of his silk shirt. I thought for a moment that he wanted to give us a thrashing, but he only sat down close to us, drank slowly and crossed one leg over the other.
“Your visit surprised me,” he said, trying to confuse us with his superior manner, which only hid his nervousness. “We agreed that you would leave everything to me.”
Remaining silent at the right moment can be much more effective than asking questions, so we did not react.
“Was it a good decision?” asked Holmes.
As expected, this released an avalanche.
“Does his Lordship doubt me?” cried Pascuale, practically jumping off of the sofa. “He himself was clearly convinced that it is impossible to negotiate with the Minuttis! It did not work with the old man and it will not with Signora Teresa. His death - which I don’t want to know anything about - did not help you at all in this regard. Your visit yesterday only angered the Signora and strengthened her resolve. If you do not convince her to sell, I am your only key to the factory!”
15
We know that Watson’s military career was less than brilliant. Upon gaining his medical degree he studied to be a military doctor and in 1879 he enlisted in this capacity with the Fifth Royal Northumberland Fusiliers in India. After transferring to the Berkshire regiment during the Second Anglo-Afghan War, however, he was wounded in action at the Battle of Maiwand on 28 July 1880. Recovering from severe intestinal disease he returned to England and in early January 1881 met Sherlock Holmes.