The Etruscan Net (22 page)

‘None at all,’ said Mercurio. He said this with almost too much emphasis, and Lupo persisted. ‘No reason? He was then in good health and spirits?’

‘You’re wasting time,’ said Mercurio. ‘My father was murdered.
And
you know who murdered him.
And
why. Nothing could be clearer.’

‘These two men?’

‘Of course. You have seen the safe door. Who but men like this would have had the equipment to blow it off? One of our vans is missing. No doubt they have stolen it, and used it to carry off the loot. If you would take steps to catch
them
instead of spending all these hours here talking to
me
–’

‘All steps are being taken, be sure of that. The description of the van has been circulated, and road blocks have been established. Indeed, if these are the men we think they are, we shall be very interested to interview them. And not only in connection with this affair. They will have much to answer for. But one point seems to me to require explanation. Why were they here at all?’

‘My father was soft-hearted, and in some respects credulous. I have no doubt they told him some story.’

‘Did
you
know they were here?’

‘I knew, but did not approve.’

‘Did any of the servants?’

‘If anyone knew, it would be Arturo. He was in my father’s confidence.’

‘Would you send someone to fetch him.’

Colonel Doria said, ‘What was in the safe?’

‘It was my father’s private safe. It had, as you see, a combination lock and the combination was known only to him.’

‘Then you have no idea what was in it?’

‘I can only tell you that it would not be money or securities or papers. These were all kept at the bank. It would probably be valuable Etruscan relics. Gold and silver, and possibly precious stones – ah! Arturo?’

‘I must apologize,’ said Arturo gravely. ‘Earlier this afternoon I badly strained my right arm.’ He touched the sling with his left-hand. ‘I was trying to start up the big tractor and it backfired. It was very painful. I lay down in my room, and must have fallen asleep.’

He said this with his eyes fixed steadily on Mercurio, who looked as steadily back. The boy who had fetched him was well aware that he was lying. He himself, when the alarm had been raised an hour before, had gone up to Arturo’s room and found it empty. The Etruscan discipline of the Villa Rasenna was strict. It did not occur to him to open his mouth.

Mercurio said, ‘I am sorry. It must indeed have been painful. The Tenente was asking about two men, guests of my father, who have been in the house since the day before yesterday. You knew about them, I imagine.’

It occurred to Colonel Doria that if he had been asking the question he would have put it rather differently, but he did not interfere.

Arturo said, carefully, and still watching Mercurio. ‘Yes. I knew of them. My master had invited them here, but desired that their presence should be a secret. I attended to them myself. They are occupying a single room at the end of the upstairs corridor. If you would wish to speak to them I could fetch them for you.’

‘I wish that were true,’ said Lupo.

‘They are no longer there?’

‘They are no longer there. And would appear to have left in a hurry.’

‘Is it permitted to ask,’ said Arturo, looking slowly round the little group of men, ‘has some crime been committed? Something involving them, perhaps?’

‘Why do you ask that?’ said Lupo.

‘It seemed to me that these men were not of good character. That they might, perhaps, be of the criminal class–’

He paused. Mercurio looked at Lupo who nodded slightly. Mercurio said, ‘Your master is dead. He died by violence. Whether by his own hand or the hand of others we do not know.’

In the silence which followed the only movement was made by Arturo. He crossed himself.

Tenente Lupo and Colonel Doria drove back to Florence together. It was after ten o’clock. Photographers and fingerprint men had finished their work. Professor Bronzini’s body had been taken to the mortuary for further examination by the State pathologist.

The sky was clear, and the air was fresh. A host of stars looked down on them as they swung down the wide curving road from San Domenico di Fiesole.

‘It’s one of the oddest set-ups I’ve ever seen,’ said Lupo. ‘Why would a man like that take his own life? Always supposing it was suicide.’

‘There have been persistent allegations,’ said the Colonel. ‘I find them over and over again in the papers – in statements from that English naval officer – in comments on the witness, Labro – in remarks attributed to Milo Zecchi’s widow and his daughter – that the Professor was engaged in faking and selling Etruscan relics. I have been making a few inquiries about him here and in Rome. Twenty years ago, he was not a rich man. He was, of course, a recognized authority on Etruscan matters, but learned professors are not necessarily good men of business. A number of commercial enterprises in which he had been concerned had failed. It was at this time that he started to excavate the tombs which lay on his family property near Volterra. Coincidentally, his fortunes began to revive. But how? The relics which he discovered, and presented to the museums, brought him more glory than money.’

‘You mean that some of the relics, the better ones, may have been smuggled out of the country and sold abroad.’

‘I mean more than that. I mean that he would have been ideally situated to
construct
relics. Consider. He had the knowledge and artistry to design them convincingly. He had a ready made place for them to be found in. And he had a craftsman capable of executing them.’

‘Milo Zecchi. Of course. And if Milo was threatening to talk, that would be a reason for getting rid of him. But how–?’

‘There are still a great many “buts”,’ said the Colonel. ‘All that I have said is that, if threatened with the exposure of his plot, Professor Bronzini had a comprehensible motive for taking his own life.’

‘If he did hang himself, who took down the body? In itself, no light task.’

‘No indeed,’ said the Colonel. ‘It would need two ordinary men. Or one very strong one.’

‘You were thinking, perhaps, of Arturo?’

‘It did occur to me to wonder whether his account of how he hurt his arm was entirely candid.’

When the car drew up outside Carabinieri Headquarters a man was waiting for them with a message which had just arrived.

Lupo read it. He said to Colonel Doria, ‘It doesn’t seem that we shall get much sleep tonight. One of our patrols has just found the missing van.’

‘The truth, please,’ said Mercurio. ‘And no more stories about arms being strained in starting up nonexistent tractors. Also, I have spoken to one of the boys – the one who went up to your room at seven o’clock. And I saw the bundle of clothes which you had not had time to destroy. I have placed them, myself, in the large furnace.’

Arturo said, ‘It had not been my intention to conceal anything from you.’

‘I am sure that is so. But if I am to do what is necessary, I must know exactly what happened.’

It took ten minutes to tell. At the end of it Mercurio sat in silence for some time. Then he said, ‘You did very well. Now, I must think clearly, for both of us, so that no harm comes.’ He was silent again, his brain (a cool and logical instrument) analysing, considering, rejecting. Arturo stood behind him, also in silence. He had refused to sit. He was the physical force. Mercurio was the intellect. Between them they constituted a new and formidable alliance.

Finally, Mercurio said, ‘I can see no weaknesses in the story. Lorenzo, the boy who went to your room, will be sent back to the farm. In any case, he will not speak. If the van has not been completely destroyed, your finger-prints will be on the steering wheel. But what of it? You drive the van daily. You are sure that no one saw you loading up the van?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘Once it was on the road you would not have been visible. And you met no one during your walk home.’

‘I used tracks, not roads. And it was getting dark. Might I ask a question?’

‘Of course.’

‘When I saw the body of my master hanging, and the safe door blown open, I did not stop to think. I assumed that those two men had been responsible for both. But now I have been thinking.
Did
my master take his own life? Why should these men have killed him?’

Mercurio said, ‘Who can tell what wild beasts will do? But I think you are right. I think he ended his own life. No Etruscan ever feared death, particularly when he felt that his allotted span had been achieved.’ He thought again for a few minutes. ‘What is necessary now is to forget the past and think of the future. When does Danilo Ferri return?’

‘He comes by the Settebello Express from Milan. That arrives at eleven-forty. He has his own car, and will drive straight back here from the station.’

‘I hope,’ said Mercurio with a slight smile, ‘that he will not have found the business which took him to Switzerland unduly fatiguing.’

Arturo smiled back.

It was fifteen minutes past midnight when Danilo Ferri brought his car up the driveway of the Villa Rasenna, between the sentinel cypresses, black and silent, and into the front court.

He parked at the far end of the court and walked slowly back to the house. His southern face, under its neat cap of black hair, was expressionless. No one would have supposed that he had just concluded six hours of bargaining with a circle of suspicious and ruthless men to whom he had been forced to make excuses for delay and firm promises for the future.

It was Arturo who opened the door for him. He said, ‘What have you done to your arm, Arturo?’

‘I fell downstairs, Signor Ferri. I was carrying a heavy vase.’ He smiled gently. ‘The vase was not hurt, but my arm was.’

‘If you are hurt, you should have gone to your bed. One of the boys could have stayed up.’

‘It is no great matter,’ said Arturo. He added, ‘Signor Mercurio would like a word with you. He is in the writing-room.’

‘I’m afraid I’m too tired for more words tonight. Tell him I have gone to bed.’

Arturo’s giant form was blocking the stairs. He said, ‘It is very important. I think it would be right to speak to him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We have had the Police here.’

‘Does the Professor know about this?’

Arturo said, very gently, ‘The Professor is dead.’

Danilo Ferri stared at him for a long moment, then he swung on his heel and strode off down the passage without another word.

Arturo padded softly after him.

Mercurio was seated at the Professor’s writing-desk, a huge pile of papers in front of him. It seemed as though he had emptied out every one of the desk drawers.

‘Is this true?’ said Ferri.

Mercurio said, ‘Sit down, please. You must be tired.’

‘Is it true?’

‘You cannot make the journey to Switzerland and transact important business and return, all in the same day, without experiencing fatigue.’

There was an undertone to Mercurio’s speech which Ferri had never heard before. He sat down, and said very quietly, ‘I demand to know whether what Arturo has just told me is true.’

‘Much will depend upon what he told you.’

‘He said that the Professor was dead, and that the Police had been here.’

‘Both those statements are true.’

‘Is that all you have to say?’

‘You asked me a question, and I have answered it.’ His blue eyes held the black ones for a long time. In the end it was Ferri who shifted to break the deadlock. He said, ‘In your own good time then perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me about it.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Mercurio. He appeared to consider the matter. ‘Yes, I think it is right that you should know. Particularly since it concerns you. At seven o’clock this evening, the Professor’s body was found, by me, in the basement room. It was lying on the stone bench on the far side of the room. Ironical, is it not, that it should have been occupying almost exactly the place which he had always planned that his mortal remains should occupy?’

Ferri said nothing.

‘However, I must tell you – and I do so in the full confidence that you will not repeat it – that this was not the first discovery of the body. Nor was it in that position when discovered. Some hours earlier Arturo found the body, hanging from a hook in the ceiling. He also observed that the safe had been blown open.’

‘What?’ The exclamation was forced out of Ferri.

‘You are surprised? Why should you be surprised? If you introduce two professional criminals into the house you must expect things like that, surely.’

Ferri said, ‘Go on, please.’

‘The results were exactly what one might anticipate. Arturo is a Corsican. He was deeply attached to his master. He has no love for Sicilians. He went up to their room, found them packing up the treasure they had stolen, and killed them both. Then he took the bodies, and the treasure, in the small van, drove it into the hills, and burned it. By daylight tomorrow, at the latest, the police will have discovered the remains. They will assume that these two men robbed the safe, were running off with the loot, and, in the darkness and rain, turned the van over the edge, and it caught on fire. Whether they will assume that they killed the Professor, or that they found him hanging and seized the opportunity to rob him, seems to me to be immaterial.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

Mercurio said, leaning forwards, and speaking very softly. ‘I tell it to you because you will never dare to repeat it. The Police may believe that the killing was an accident.
The organization from which those two men came will not be so credulous.’

There was a long silence. Danilo Ferri noticed, to his annoyance, that his right hand was shaking very slightly. He put it away in his pocket. He said, in a carefully controlled voice, ‘I don’t understand you.’

‘You understand me very well,’ said Mercurio contemptuously. ‘Those men were of the Mafia. You hired their services. You know the code. It is rigorous. You were responsible to their
capo
for their safe return. Responsible with your own life. You are a marked man. If you get out of Italy quickly, you may live for a little time longer. Where will you go? You cannot go to Switzerland. You have disappointed clients there. Perhaps you have even sold to them, for money in advance, objects which you can no longer produce?’