John Adams - The Improbable Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

"This is a perplexing business, is it not, Lestrade?"

"A terrible one, but quickly solved," was the reply. "It is the work of the Sicilian anarchist, Giuseppe Rupallo. My task is to return to London, where he has undoubtedly fled after his foul murder of His Majesty. The driver was his accomplice, and must have escaped as we gathered round the carriage."

I lifted the body down to the ground. As I turned it I realised with a heavy heart that there was no sign of life. Then I heard a sharp intake of breath at my side.

"Thank heaven. It is not His Majesty," Lord Holdhurst said to my astonishment. "For a moment I feared our plan had failed-"

"Plan?" Holmes picked up sharply. "What is this, Lestrade?"

"I must apologise," Lord Holdhurst said hurried, before Lestrade could answer. "It did not seem necessary to explain earlier. This is indeed the royal carriage, but this is not His Majesty. He is due to arrive in a plain carriage through another gate to the rear of the grounds."

"Then who," Holmes asked, "is this unfortunate gentleman at our feet?"

"It is His Majesty's secretary, Carlo Mandesi."

"Indeed. A plan, Lord Holdhurst, Count Panelli, that seems to have paid little regard for the safety of a mere secretary."

The count's dark eyes flashed. "It is for the honour of Italy."

"No doubt. Had you consulted me earlier, that honour could have been maintained without the waste of Signor Mandesi's life."

"His Majesty had sworn us to secrecy," Inspector Lestrade explained. "Forgive me, Mr Holmes, but Signor Mandesi was eager to play his part. We had the best advice."

"Obviously not," Holmes said grimly, "and Mr Mandesi's family would no doubt agree with me. Whoever is behind this outrage has clearly made his point. Blood has indeed been seen. However, forgive me, Lord Holdhurst, but would it not be expedient to ensure that His Majesty has indeed arrived safely in your home?"

His lordship's face paled. "But the assassination attempt has failed."

At that moment a young man came running from the house, seeking Lord Holdhurst, and with a look of relief on his face. "His Majesty has arrived, sir," he said. It was only then that he saw the terrible and bloody fate of the secretary.

"Thank you, Mr Anthony," Lord Holdhurst said. "Dreadful though this is, the danger is past for His Majesty."

"For the moment," Holmes commented drily.

"The two assassins have made their escape," Lestrade said with great confidence. "They will not return today with so many of my men here. It is clear, Mr Holmes, that the assassins must have overpowered the lodgekeeper and policeman, and waited for the carriage to draw up. One dragged the driver off his seat and took his place at the reins, the other jumped inside, performed his terrible deed and no doubt covered in blood escaped to the woodlands. It therefore remains for me to return to London to arrest Giuseppe Rupallo. You will accompany me, Mr Holmes?"

"I think not," my friend replied. "I was engaged, was I not, to ensure His Majesty's survival on his forty-sixth birthday?"

"That is true." Lord Holdhurst looked puzzled.

"That birthday is not yet over."

Lestrade laughed. "My men will ensure no one enters the house without thorough checking."

"But what of the threat from within, Lestrade?"

"My own servants are above suspicion," Lord Holdhurst said frostily. "There will be no others here save the personal valets and lady's maids of the guests who will be staying until tomorrow."

Holmes turned to me. "Watson, a task for you, I think. Might I rely on you to remove any assassins from their number?"

"Willingly, Holmes, but what shall you do?"

"Remain here. I have another task to perform. I shall think. And, Lestrade, if you would be so good, I have a question for you when you return to the Yard. A telegraph in reply would suffice."

To have his mind on other matters when His Majesty, in Holmes' own view, was still at risk, seemed extraordinary to me, but I knew better than to voice my doubts.

I have seldom spent such a frustrating afternoon. After the body of Carlo Mandesi had been removed to the police mortuary, I watched the guests arrive, and was ready to talk to their servants. A difficult task, for all my willingness to assist Holmes. What was I to say? What did my friend wish me to look for? He himself had vanished. Fortunately Mr Anthony assisted me since he could speak Italian well and many of these visiting servants would be Italian. I decided I should enquire as to Sicilian ancestry. As Giuseppe Rupallo had sent the threatening letter, I reasoned that the Sicilian connection was the more likely than the Russian, although Litvov would undoubtedly take pleasure in dissension between Italy and England.

Nevertheless I agreed with Mr Anthony that the warning had said "blood will be seen"; this had happened, and the assassins could not now return. Even with his help, however, it was a daunting task to interrogate over twenty people, and it was not until shortly before the banquet that we finished and Holmes had rejoined us. He was most complimentary about the task I had fulfilled.

"Excellent, Watson," he said after listening to my account attentively. "I now have little doubt where the root of this problem lies. Mr Anthony, show me, if you will, the banqueting room which you have designed so exquisitely."

"By all means, Mr Holmes."

He felt as I did that this was unnecessary, but nevertheless he led us to the room which was indeed fit for a king, and a Renaissance king at that. Mr Anthony proudly identified the paintings, a Lavinia Fontana portrait, a portrait of Lorenzo de' Medici, a Giotto, and a Ghirlandaio. A copy of the first printing of Shakespeare's sonnets also lay on the table of gifts, together with the ring, the gift of Her Majesty. This was a beautiful object of carved gold, with a large emerald in its centre. As for the table, it was a pleasure to regard, being lit by chandeliers of candles to supplement the low gas mantels at the sides of the room. The candles would grace the ladies' complexions, and invite an intimacy of conversation that bright lights cannot achieve.

Holmes surveyed it all with little apparent reaction. "Blood will be seen," he murmured, when I asked his opinion of the scene before us. "Pray, Mr Anthony, what time is the banquet to begin?"

"In two hours, at eight o'clock," was the secretary's reply.

"It will be dark then. The candles will be lit?"

"They will," Mr Anthony replied somewhat haughtily, "but you need not fear that darkness will permit intruders to enter."

"It might obscure their identities," I suggested.

"So it might, Watson," Holmes replied, but I did not feel he was convinced.

"Do you expect another assassin, Holmes?" Lord Holdhurst had come to join us.

"No human intruder. I am sure of that."

"Great heavens! Not human, Holmes?" I asked in horror. Did he fear some vile creature as in the case of "The Speckled Band"?

The time passed quickly, and I sensed that Lord Holdhurst wished to leave us, but Holmes would not permit it.

"Stay, Lord Holdhurst, if you wish His Majesty to survive the evening."

His eyes roved round the banqueting room, and he insisted we all four remain here at the entrance to the banqueting room.

"The answer lies here somewhere, Watson," he said privately to me. "Somewhere." His gaze fell on one of the portraits. "The Medicis," he said softly. "The great Lorenzo. I begin to see. I have been a fool, Watson. A fool."

"It is a fine portrait," I said, puzzled as to his meaning.

"Ah, but it speaks of more than paint, my friend."

"Of what then?"

"Of murder. Do you not agree, Mr Anthony?"

The young man looked taken aback. "Not the Medicis, Mr Holmes. The Borgias are famed for murder."

"The Medicis too. It was not their love of the arts that kept them alive to enjoy their power."