“Why?”
“There are many reasons. That is why he gloried in taking Irma from me.”
She said, “I only hope nothing happened to Father Anthony. He is such a good old man.”
“He is involving himself in a bad business when he tries to track down Brizzi.”
“Only to help me,” she said. “What is this Brizzi like?”
“Few people have ever seen him,” he said. “He is a Sicilian. Crime is his profession. And he is a master of disguise. So those few who have seen him generally are not able to recognize him when they meet again.”
They arrived at a series of gardens and she said, “What a lovely setting!”
“Only in these modern times,” the Prince told her. “In early days this was the execution spot of Rome. Here stood the gallows with their rotting corpses for all to see. Here were the machines for stretching, decapitation, ripping, cracking, disemboweling—all the most sophisticated torture devices of the time. Any unfortunate punished here died in dreadful agony. Eventually the executioners moved to the riverside, by the bridge of Sant’Angelo, but they left behind them, deep inside this Capitoline Hill, a last grim reminder of evil Rome, the Mamertine prison.”
“I don’t look forward to it,” she said with a shudder.
He checked his watch again. “You are just in time.”
They descended from the carriage and mixed with the sizable number of tourists. Raphael pointed out that the prison was now a chapel consecrated to St. Peter, who was said to have once been imprisoned there by Nero. They went to read the notice boards commending the faithful for visiting the shrine.
She looked around. “I do not see him.”
“Probably he will be somewhere inside,” the Prince said.
They entered the little church and Raphael knelt and crossed himself and she bowed her head. Then they moved on with the tourists and began a descent into the cells below. It was at this moment that fear began to crowd in on Della. She could almost sense the grim horror of history as they descended farther into the earth. Raphael, true to his promise, followed her at a short distance, so that he would not seem to be with her.
An old man with a straggly, gray beard appeared at her side so mysteriously that it seemed he might have come fully formed out of the shadows. He was bowing and shaking his head in awe, making Della even more nervous. She glanced back but could not see Raphael; others had come between them. For the moment her only company was to be this weird old man.
He sniffled and said, “I’m very devout. My sister is a nun.”
“How nice,” she said as distantly as possible.
They were descending another flight of worn stone steps and she wished she had not asked Raphael to keep a distance from her. She was so frightened and feeling worse every minute.
Seeming anxious to be helpful, the old man wheezed, “The dungeons lie one above the other and now are connected by these stairs.”
“I see,” she said tensely.
Still at her side, he rambled on, “We will finally reach the Apostle’s cell.”
She found herself in a long corridor of stone so silently menacing she felt she was in a tomb. There were openings to the dungeons on either side of the corridor. The bearded old man came close to her and she was alarmed to see that they had moved ahead of the others and were alone in this section of the dark, underground place.
“Used to take the bodies up from here and toss them in the sewers,” the old man wheezed.
It was not the sort of talk she wished to hear. She turned away from him as they passed another dungeon opening. Suddenly a terrifying and unexpected thing took place. She was given a vicious shove by the old man which sent her stumbling into the dungeon.
She cried out as he came in after and slammed the rusty iron door shut on the corridor. From the rear of the musty dungeon there rose a huge figure which she belatedly recognized as Gregorio.
“You!” she cried.
The giant smiled cruelly at her, his face visible in the narrow streams of light which seeped in from the torchlit corridor.
Behind her the old man hissed, “Make her talk!” Then he opened the rusty door a fraction and eased himself out, apparently to stand guard outside.
Gregorio came slowly toward her, saying, “Why don’t you be intelligent and tell us where it is?”
“I don’t know!” she protested.
“You have it,” he said grimly. “Either here or in England!”
“No!”
“Don’t lie!” he snarled, then seized her by the arms, pressing so tightly that she cried out in pain. “We know it was sent to you.”
“I didn’t get it! Believe me! I didn’t!”
“Keep that up and you’ll never see your sister alive again,” Gregorio warned her. And he tightened his grip on her arms so she screamed with pain again.
Her scream had not entirely died when the rusty door was burst open by an angry Raphael. The Prince’s eyes were blazing with fury as he leapt for the giant. Gregorio let her go and moved back to receive the attack. She fell onto the dungeon floor and crawled to the side to be away from their struggling.
In a moment they were on the floor. The battle now attracted some of the other tourists, who gathered by the dungeon door frantically to ask the two assailants to halt their battle. It seemed destined to be a struggle to the death.
Then Gregorio managed to get astride Raphael and deliver a punishing blow to the Prince’s face. He lay still. Gregorio gave her an evil look and jumped up and rushed out of the dungeon and past the spectators as he raced to make his escape before the police came.
Della went over to Raphael just as he was stirring and raising himself up. She said, “He’s gone! Made a run for it! Are you all right?”
“Hardly!” the Prince said with irony, standing up and ruefully surveying his dirtied and torn clothing. He pushed back his hair and she saw the bruise on his jaw and a cut above his left eye that was bleeding a little.
“What now?” she asked.
“Let us get out of here,” he said curtly. “I don’t want to have to answer police questions either.” And he took her by the arm and led her out into the corridor where a group of the other visitors to the prison were gathered.
An old woman asked, “Was it a quarrel over the girl?”
“Animals!” a thin young man said with disgust.
“More like criminals,” a big Englishwoman voiced her contempt.
“And in a sacred place,” another woman said. “You would expect them to know better!” There were other annoyed murmurings as Della and Raphael made their way back up to the chapel and then outside.
In the sunshine she halted and took a deep breath of fresh air. “I feel as if I had returned from the tomb!”
“You have,” Raphael said grimly. “That Gregorio is a giant and quite mad!”
“I know,” she said wearily. “He questioned me and threatened Irma would die if I didn’t talk.”
“I heard your scream,” Raphael said. “I rushed down the corridor and found an old man with a thin beard standing staring at the dungeon entrance. I threw him aside and went on in.”
“He was with Gregorio. One of them!”
“I didn’t know!”
She looked around grimly. “They’re both gone now. How are you?”
“I’ll manage,” Raphael said bleakly as he tightened his cravat and rearranged his clothing a little.
“There he comes!” Della said suddenly, seeing the little priest hurrying up toward them.
“A bit late!” her companion said with disgust.
“I’ll go talk to him,” she said. “You wait here.” And she was already on her way to meet Father Anthony.
When she reached him, his oval face was purplish and he was struggling for breath from his exertions. He said, “I’ve run most of the way.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “Catch your breath.”
He placed a hand on his heart. “I should not do this sort of rushing.”
“I intended to wait for you.”
“But I was late.”
She said, “Just as well. I think there was trap set for us.”
“A trap?”
“Yes,” she said. “Down below in the old prison section. Gregorio and another, older man abducted me and tried to torture me into talking.”
“All this happened before I reached here?” he asked in an incredulous tone.
“I think someone found out about our rendezvous and planned to attack us.”
“How did you escape them?”
She smiled. “I brought along a bodyguard, Prince Raphael.”
“That was very wise,” the old priest said, still having trouble with his breathing. “I’m sure he was a good deal more help than I would have been. You were lucky it happened before I arrived.”
“What now?” she asked.
“There is a small café back down the hill,” Father Anthony said. “Let us have coffee there.”
So it was that ten minutes later all three were seated at a sidewalk table of the small café. Prince Raphael had washed his face in cold water and it looked considerably less battered. He was in an interested mood as the little priest told Della of his progress.
Father Anthony said, “Would you believe it? I actually have been in the presence of Brizzi.”
Della asked, “What sort of person is he?”
“Very ordinary except for one thing,” Father Anthony said. “He has an obsession with his reputation as a master thief. He is enraged by the loss of the Madonna after having cleverly stolen it.”
Prince Raphael said, “The man must be reasonable. Even if the Madonna was sent to Miss Standish, she never received it.”
“Were there not so much at stake I think Brizzi would drop the whole thing,” Father Anthony said. “But he thinks his reputation is resting on how this turns out as well as a fortune in precious gems which he is loath to lose.”
Della said, “Perhaps if I could talk to him in person he would listen to me.”
“I doubt it,” Father Anthony said.
“Did you get anywhere with him?”
The priest said, “I made him promise not to harm your sister in any way. And I found out she is hidden here in Rome somewhere.”
Raphael asked, “Any approximate idea of the location? Was it here in the center of the city or on the outskirts?”
“Brizzi is a wily one,” the fat priest said. “He did not give me a hint of where she might be.”
“I’m amazed you were able to reach him at all,” Della said.
“Only because I am a priest,” he replied. “Brizzi likes to keep in good with men of the cloth.”
Raphael said wryly, “He apparently wasn’t all that worried about his accomplice, Brother Louis. He either killed him or had him killed.”
Father Anthony said, “I dispute that. I say that the unfortunate man was killed by someone else.”
“Did Brizzi know about it?” she asked.
“He was shocked to learn it,” Father Anthony said. “And I do not think his concern was mere playacting.”
“Who else would want to murder Brother Louis?” Raphael wanted to know.
“Many are involved in this game of trying to locate the jeweled Madonna,” the priest said. “I think he was killed by someone who received certain information from him which he didn’t want passed on to anyone else.”
“What is Brizzi’s next move?” Della asked.
“He is trying to search out the thief of thieves who stole the Madonna from him and who supposedly passed it on to you. He is still dubious of your insistence that you do not have it.”
She asked, “How can I convince him?”
“Give me a day or two more,” the priest said. “I will arrange a meeting with you.”
“Where?” she asked.
“I will think of a place,” he said. “Certainly not the Mamertine prison!”
Raphael frowned. “Which brings up the question of how did Gregorio and that old-man accomplice know Della was to be at the prison.”
“A good question,” Father Anthony said. “In my opinion you were followed here. They have been waiting for the right chance to get at you.”
“It’s possible,” she said.
“I don’t know,” Raphael complained. “It seems more likely someone told them we’d be there. Or at least Della would be.”
“Brizzi suspects her of having the Madonna,” the old priest said. “It may be that I made the mistake of saying where I was meeting Miss Standish. In that case he could have sent those evil people to harass you!”
“That sounds more like it,” the Prince said.
“I shall be more careful in future,” Father Anthony said. “I believe I have a clue as to where the Madonna went.”
“Oh?” she said.
He nodded. “Yes. I’m sure Count Barsini was mixed up in its theft. And since Brother Louis and Gregorio both have been henchmen of Barsini it is possible they were part of the double cross which took the Madonna from Brizzi.”
Della said, “You think Brother Louis may have been playing a double role, working for Brizzi and Barsini at the same time. That is likely why he was murdered.”
“I suspect so,” Father Anthony said. “He likely passed the Madonna on to Barsini, expecting a big share of it. Once Barsini had the treasure he coldly ordered Brother Louis killed.”
“Or Brizzi may have done it in revenge,” Raphael said.
“He denies it,” the priest said.
“Do you believe him?” Della asked.
“No,” Father Anthony said. “He lies when it suits him. It is possible he is lying in this instance.”
Raphael said, “So for all our trying we are back where we started. With this girl in as much danger as ever.”
“It is not through lack of effort on my part,” Father Anthony apologized.
“I’m sure it isn’t,” Della said generously. “Do continue your work on my behalf.”
“You may count on me, my girl,” the priest said.
They broke up their little discussion with Father Anthony again promising to be in touch with her. He went off somewhere on his own and they took the carriage back to the palace.
Prince Sanzio was completely frustrated. “I say we must risk them harming Irma and bring the police into this.”
“And if she is killed? What then?” Della asked.
The old man sank back into his wheelchair. “It is likely they will kill her in any case.”
Raphael said, “We mustn’t give up. I’m as disheartened as any of you. Yet I can see that something may happen to help us.”
Della said, “You might try to talk to Barsini?”
“I will,” the young Prince said. “I do not expect any good to come of it. But I shall try.”