It was very late when the carriage let her out at the palace of Prince Sanzio. She was glad in one way, since it meant she would not have to face the others until the morning. That would be soon enough!
She rang the bell at the entrance door and after a long while the door was opened by a sleepy Guido. The midget showed a frown on his small, wrinkled face.
“You are very late, Miss Standish,” he observed in a tart voice.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was delayed.” And as he closed the door and stood there in his robe, she asked, “Has the Princess Irma returned?”
“No,” the little man said peevishly. “I expect she will be even later. I get little sleep on nights like this!”
“I know,” she said. “Do forgive me.” And she went on up to her own room.
She hesitated at her door. In the hope that Irma might have come home earlier without the midget being aware of it, she decided to check her sister’s room. She made her way quietly down the hall and finally reached Irma’s door. She tapped on it lightly and, receiving no answer, tried the door handle.
She opened the door and stepped inside cautiously. A candle burned on the dressing table and she saw that the bed had not been slept in. So Guido had been right. Her sister had not yet come home; perhaps she would remain with the young man all night!
Then something caught her eye. Another candle burning at the opposite end of the room, not far from the bed. It was burning before a carved figure of the Madonna set in a round shelf in the wall. The candle was unusual, set in a giant glass bowl almost two feet wide and three quarters filled with green wax. The candle likely burned day and night without interruption. When the wax was burned down it could easily be refilled.
The sight of this Christian shrine in her sister’s room made her eyes fill with tears. It proved that before Irma had been twisted and dragged down by the evil Barsini and his group, she had been a good young woman. Even now, in her degradation, she had not made any attempt to do away with this link to her Christian upbringing.
Della left the room filled with a great sadness. She wished she had somehow managed to get to Irma and saved her from the final disgrace of this evening. Now Irma would know she had witnessed it all. Indeed, without wanting to, she had herself been part of the orgy. Memory of the cruel giant who had raped her made her shudder involuntarily. She was making her way back to her own room when suddenly she knew she was not alone. She heard stealthy footsteps behind her.
Swinging around quickly, she saw the frightened figure of her Aunt Isobel, and gasped, “It is you!”
“Yes!” her aunt snapped. “And may I ask what you are doing roving about the palace at this hour?”
“I went to Irma’s room,” she said.
“Why?”
“I wanted to talk to her,” she said unhappily.
Her aunt frowned. “Didn’t you two go off to that dreadful Count Barsini’s together?”
“Yes.”
“Then where is she now?”
“We were parted during the evening. She went somewhere else. She’s not home yet.”
“And you have only just come in!” her aunt declared. “I was wakened when Guido let you in.”
“Please go back to your room,” she begged her aunt.
“What respectable young woman would stay out until this hour?” Aunt Isobel wanted to know.
“I’ll explain tomorrow.”
“Everyone was upset by you two girls sneaking away as you did,” the older woman said. “Prince Sanzio was badly worried. And Prince Raphael spoke of going to find you.”
“He didn’t,” she said bitterly.
“As for Henry,” her aunt went on, “he was more upset than all the rest of us together. He kept promising that we would begin packing tomorrow and leave for Paris as soon as he can make bookings on the express.”
Avoiding looking directly at Aunt Isobel, she said, “Do go back to bed!”
“You look ill!” her aunt worried. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Just let me alone!” she said with a tiny groan and she ran into her room and shut the door.
She sobbed quietly as she prepared for bed, feeling extremely sorry for herself yet knowing it would do no good. In the morning she would have to face the rage of her fiancé and the questions of the others. No doubt Raphael had guessed they’d gone to some sort of orgy and that was why he had been so uneasy. But he had not dared brave Barsini’s wrath to come interrupt the gathering and rescue them!
But Irma probably hadn’t wanted to be rescued. Nor had she until she’d come to grief. Now she could only hope it would somehow turn out all right. She would not argue with Henry if he wished them to return to England. But she would surely insist that he bring Irma along. For one thing, she wanted to try and save this sister whom she’d so recently found. In a strange way she had come to love her. Even though they had managed to have little time together, the pull of blood ties was strong. She wanted Irma to be taken from this evil place and recover at home in London.
Also, the business of the stolen Madonna had not been settled. Irma might tell the truth about that once Della had a chance to express her warm feelings for her. Surely her sister would turn on Barsini and tell the truth of the Madonna theft.
Della was still convinced that Barsini had stolen the Madonna from the original thief, Brizzi, and his henchman, the renegade priest. Somehow it had reached Barsini’s hands and he’d pretended to pass it on to Irma.
But how had Barsini managed to get the Madonna? All at once it hit her. Brother Louis! The follower of Barsini who had turned from the Church and his position in one of the Vatican museums! Brother Louis must have been the partner of Brizzi in the original theft and then he had gotten the Madonna away from Brizzi and given it to Barsini! Why not? Barsini was his new shepherd! Della fell asleep speculating on all these things.
Irma had been missing for almost two days!
The palace was in a state of turmoil as a result of Della’s lovely twin not returning. No one had seen her since the evening she and Della had gone to the Satanist gathering at the evil Count’s villa. Della had not dared tell the others of what had transpired at that party. She merely repeated Barsini’s explanation to her that her sister had gone off with one of the guests.
Now, in midmorning of the second day, Prince Sanzio had called them all together in the living room of the palace. Even Prince Raphael had been summoned for the occasion.
They stood in a semicircle before the old man’s wheelchair. Prince Sanzio looked more frail and ill than ever. He sat huddled in the chair like a lost soul.
He looked up at them and said, “You may well wonder why I have asked all of you here. The past thirty-six hours have been ones I shall never forget. Now, at last, I have word of some kind about Irma.”
“What sort of word?” Prince Raphael asked. He also looked as if he’d suffered sleepless nights.
The old Prince said, “A message was delivered to me this morning. Guido took it at the door. I will read the message to you.” He produced a crumpled sheet from a pocket of his robe and spread it open. He continued, “It is crudely printed and there is no signature. It says: “We have your daughter. Her ransom price is the Madonna. If you report this to the police we will kill her. If the Madonna is not left for us to pick up within the week we will kill her in any event. The signal for us to pick up the Madonna will be a pot of roses on the sill of one of the lower palace windows. We ask that it be left in a package on the table by the front door.”
Henry Clarkson gasped, “So they’ve actually taken her hostage!”
The old Prince nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Prince Raphael was standing with a stunned expression on his handsome face. “I didn’t think they would do it.”
“Outrageous!” Aunt Isobel said with proper British anger.
Della asked the old Prince, “Does Guido have any idea who delivered this?”
Prince Sanzio shook his head. “No. He did not know the contents of the message at the time so he paid no particular attention to the man who delivered it. He says he cannot recall seeing him before.”
“The police should be informed,” Henry said indignantly. “That is certain!”
The old Prince raised a thin hand in protest. “You have heard the letter. They will kill her if we call the police.”
“They threaten to kill her anyway,” Henry pointed out.
“But we will have at least a week to deal with them if we handle this privately,” the old Prince said. “And I think that is the best plan.”
Prince Raphael looked around at the others. “The key to all this is the Madonna. Whoever has taken her captive believes that we know where the stolen Madonna is hidden.”
“I have been the target,” Della said unhappily. “I didn’t think they’d strike at her!”
Prince Raphael said, “It is simple. They hope to wrest the secret from you by threatening her life.”
“If I knew anything about the Madonna I would gladly tell them,” she said unhappily. “The terrible thing is that they are mistaken. I never received it.”
Prince Sanzio asked, “Then why do they appear so sure that you did?”
“I can’t think,” Della said. “It must have been sent to me. But I never did receive it.”
Aunt Isobel wanted to know, “How can you deal with them?”
“I admit that is a grave question,” Prince Sanzio said. And glancing at Della, he said, “You were the last to see her.”
“Yes,” she replied in a small voice.
“Do you have any suggestions about finding her?” the old Prince asked.
“I think she is a prisoner of Barsini,” she said. “And I think he masterminded the theft of the Madonna from the Vatican Museum.”
“Don’t be too sure about that,” the slender Prince Raphael said worriedly.
“It seems to rest on their mistaken idea that you are the one possessing the Madonna,” the old Prince said.
“And I have not seen it!” Della replied. “Henry and my aunt can vouch for that!”
“That is so,” Aunt Isobel said.
“The hounding began back in London,” Della told the old Prince.
Henry was frowning. “It is obvious that someone here in Rome believes that Della knows where the Madonna vanished. And no matter what we say, they refuse to believe it isn’t in her keeping.”
Prince Sanzio addressed himself to Prince Raphael: “What do you think?”
“I think they mean their threat,” the young man said worriedly. “I’m inclined to agree with Della that Barsini is behind all this. But I also think it will be impossible to prove it.”
“Why didn’t they kidnap me instead of my sister?” Della wondered.
“They may think the Madonna is hidden somewhere and you are the only one with access to it,” the old Prince suggested.
“And if they threatened to kill you it would make small sense since you are their hope of retrieving the Madonna,” Prince Raphael pointed out.
“They needed someone to threaten and so bring pressure on you,” Henry said. “And obviously Irma is the one.”
Della bit her lip, then said, “We can’t let them harm her.”
“Nor can we, it seems, produce the Madonna,” Prince Raphael said grimly.
Aunt Isobel spoke up: “If the Madonna was sent to my niece and somehow lost along the way, wouldn’t the best plan be to trace it from the time of its leaving here?”
“You are right,” Prince Raphael said with a bitter note in his voice. “Unhappily we do not know who sent it. So there is no place to begin!”
“Why not begin with the theft?” Della said. “I have been told that a kind of superthief named Brizzi and a renegade member of the Vatican Museum staff are to blame.”
“Brizzi!” the old Prince gasped. “Who told you that story?”
“Count Barsini, when I asked him about the threats on me,” Della said.
Prince Raphael scowled. “Brizzi may have stolen the treasure, but I cannot imagine him allowing it to get in anyone else’s hands. He is a superthief, as you say; I doubt that once he had the Madonna anyone could get it away from him.”
“Such things do happen,” Henry Clarkson said. “Thieves fall out.”
“What do you think?” the old Prince appealed to Raphael.
“Barsini may know. He has close contact with the underworld. But I doubt he can put us in touch with Brizzi,” Prince Raphael said.
“Someone must talk to Count Barsini and at once,” the old Prince said. “I despise the man and what he has done to my foster daughter, but we have no choice but to turn to him.”
Della had been thinking about it all and now she spoke up, “Let me go! I think I might get some information from him.”
Henry glanced at her worriedly. “I don’t like the idea of your going there again.”
“I can protect myself,” she said. “Irma is my sister. I want to do what I can.”
“Let me go along with you,” Prince Raphael suggested.
“Thank you,” she told the handsome Prince. “But I feel I can accomplish more alone.”
Prince Sanzio nodded. “I agree with Della. I say, let her go at once and see if this man can help us.”
So it was settled. She left within a half-hour. As her carriage rolled through the streets she felt her spirits dropping and worried about what she would say to the arrogant Barsini. She was not nearly so certain of his help as she’d pretended.
Reaching the villa, she asked the carriage to wait. Then she went to the heavy oaken door with its giant rapper and knocked on it. After a slight delay the liveried servant opened it with an inquiring look on his aged face.
She said, “I wish to speak to Count Barsini for a little.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“Not exactly,” she admitted.
“What is your name?” the sober servant asked.
“My name is Della Standish,” she said.
“If you will come in and wait a moment,” the servant said politely.
She waited nervously in the same reception hall where it had all begun such a short time ago. She noted the dressing room where she had changed her clothes and memory of what had followed brought warmth to her cheeks. She had not dared tell anyone at the palace of her sordid adventures under Barsini’s roof or the way Irma had been treated.
After a little the servant returned and said, “The Count will see you.”
She found him waiting for her in the same room where they had first met. He was wearing a dressing gown and looked rather weary. He brought a chair forward for her to sit on but remained standing himself.