Ted Riccardi - Between the Thames and the Tiber

“A Maria Theresa thaler , if I am not mistaken,” said Holmes. “May I see it?”

She handed the locket over, and Holmes examined it closely while Miss Morel continued her tale.

“With this start in my Italian adventure, I was filled with optimism and practised long and hard each day, knowing that if my work continued at that level, I surely should have a chance at first place in the competition. Then my luck began to change.”

Tears formed in her eyes, and she drew a handkerchief from her bag. She kept her composure, however, and Holmes conforted her with a soft, “Pray continue, Miss Morel, we are ready to help you.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Holmes; it has been a nightmare that perhaps only a musician could understand.”

“Indeed,” said Holmes, “I am well aware of the strictures that the musical life puts upon one. I am a violinist of sorts and know well the tensions of such a career.”

Miss Morel smiled wanly at us, and continued her account.

“The first thing was the piano. About ten days ago, after a long hard practise one morning, I went out to walk in a nearby square not far from the Tiber. I returned after but an hour and sat down at the piano eagerly without even removing my coat. Suddenly my valued friend had changed. The piano had gone badly out of tune and half of the keys in the middle register were stuck. Perplexed, I lifted the lid to see what was wrong. Like most pianists, Mr. Holmes, I know little beyond the basics of piano construction. I could see nothing amiss. The rest of the day was spent finding a piano tuner. Colonel Santoro found one who finally came that evening and restored the sound of the piano. He attributed the problem to a change in temperature and left.

“For two days, I played constantly, always fearful that if I ventured out, I would find the piano again in unplayable condition. But one day, I returned after a visit to the Academy to find two strings broken. The tuner came, and replaced them, saying that the strings appeared to have been cut by someone.”

Holmes listened with increasing interest to the young woman’s story. His expression became more serious as she spoke. He leaned forward and returned the locket to her. As he did so, he wiped his hands with a handkerchief.

“Pray, continue, Miss Morel,” he said quietly.

“After the tuner left, I sat down to play, but after a few minutes, I was interrupted by a knock at the door. I opened and found an older woman standing there, elegantly dressed, accompanied by a much younger man.

“’Scusi,’” she said in Italian, ‘sono la Signora Santoro e quest’è il mio avocato, Giorgio.’”

“I understood what she said, but impressed upon her as intelligibly as I could that I spoke little Italian. She then continued haltingly in English. I invited them in and the signora explained to me why they had come: She and the Colonel no longer lived as husband and wife but were separated, though not divorced, however, since divorce was not possible in Italy. A court had awarded her the flat. The Colonel was allowed to live in it but was not permitted to rent it to anyone. She told me that I would be served and asked to appear in court as a witness to the Colonel’s breach of their agreement. She went to great lengths, and so did her lawyer, to explain to me that they bore me no ill will but that I would have to move immediately, the sooner the better. She also asked to see the piano that the colonel had given to me for practise. She became quietly furious as she walked around it. She then stormed out, shouting that the piano too was hers. The lawyer handed me what appeared to be a summons and left.

“When they had gone, I realized that circumstances were conspiring to make the practise necessary for the competition almost impossible. To add to the matter, and even worse, an hour or so later, the Colonel appeared at the door. No sooner had he entered than he was down on his knees, pleading with me, crying and sobbing, saying, if I understood correctly, that he would be ruined if I testified in court against him.

“‘Please,’ he cried, tears running profusely down his cheeks, ‘leave as quickly as possible. I will help you.’

“I told him that I would certainly not testify against him in court and that I would be resident there for only a few more weeks. He agreed, though not without many more tears, to allow me to stay a while longer. I realised, however, that I might have made a grave error. He left, and I tried to compose myself. Exhausted, I decided to retire early.”

Holmes filled Miss Morel’s cup and asked her to continue.

“The following day was even worse. I arose and dressed and walked into the living room. There I found the Colonel sound asleep on the floor near the window. I must have uttered a cry, for he suddenly awoke and again began his soulful wailing. He asked my forgiveness for his intrusion into my privacy, but he was there because his wife had arranged it so that he could not return to his lodging. He complained bitterly about the fact that he was a war hero but in spite of that, he had to live in the gutter.

“Still quite frightened by his unexpected presence, I ordered him to go, which he did, not again without tearfully beseeching me on his knees to leave at once.

“When he had gone, I went to the study. I sat down at the piano and sensed that something was terribly wrong again. I opened the lid and saw that the keys had been damaged and several hammers broken. The piano was now unplayable and perhaps it never would be playable again.”

As Miss Morel’s story progressed, the expression on Holmes’s face moved from one of amused benevolence to one of deeper concern.

“Please continue, Miss Morel,” he said gravely. Your story is far more interesting and the circumstances more dangerous than I would have thought at first.”

“There is little left to tell . . . except that I found these in one corner of the room.”

She took from her bag three piano hammers and gave them to Holmes.

“I found these behind the door to the study as I was leaving. They are badly damaged,” she said.

“Broken, the felt partially removed. Miss Morel, I very much want to help you, but you must take my immediate advice not to return to your flat. La signora Manfredini has several empty rooms here. I suggest that you take one and move another piano in. In the meantime, there is not a moment to lose. I would like to visit your flat before any more time passes. And if you trust us, we will arrange for one of Mrs. Manfredini’s maids to pack your things.”

Miss Morel readily assented to the scheme. She seemed completely relieved that she would not have to return to her flat, and quickly handed the keys over to Holmes. As we left, she was engaged with Signora Manfredini over which room to take. Maria, a strong servant girl from the Abruzzi, left with us.

“One final matter, Miss Morel. How might we find Colonel Santoro?”

“Mr. Spenser knows him quite well. He should be able to help you,” she replied.

The trip along the Via Crescenzio was a short one. The spring rains had muddied the streets, however, and the continuous travel of countless coaches had created deep ruts. It was over an hour later when our cab turned into the Via Ezio and we entered the foyer of numero 27, and then interno dodici , or flat number 12.

“Keep the maid with you here, Watson. I wish to take a preliminary look myself, to make sure that nothing untoward has happened.”

I held back with the maid as Holmes entered. In the half light, I saw that we had entered a large and well-furnished flat. Nothing seemed out of order until I noticed what appeared to be a human figure in military attire, resting on its knees, its arms as if in abject supplication to some unseen deity, its head attached to a long wire hanging from the ceiling. The figure appeared dead, motionless, except for a slight spin from the long wire. Holmes rushed over to cut the body down. As he did so, he laughed.