“I’m sure it must be,” she agreed politely.
“That is why I have not had any parties lately,” Madame Guioni said. “And my parties were the talk of Rome.”
“I’m sorry I won’t be attending one.”
“And so am I, my dear,” the woman sighed. “My parties were wonderful! Everyone wanted to come! Everyone! But now I’m too old and tired to give another.”
“Perhaps one day,” Della said.
Madame Guioni brightened. “What a lovely child you are! You are quite wise as well. I may yet live to give another grand party. And I shall send you an invitation even if you’ve returned to England.”
“And I shall try to attend,” Della promised.
Madame Guioni gave an impatient gasp. “I really must go and find that impossible woman,” she declared. “No doubt she has lost herself somewhere.”
“The basilica is vast and takes a while to see.”
“Surely not this long,” Madame Guioni said. “You will excuse me, my dear, while I go look for her.”
“Of course,” she said, relieved to be left alone. “I hope we meet again before I leave Rome.”
Madame Guioni smiled at her. “How nice of you to say that. And I’m sure that we shall!” She waved daintily to her as she walked away toward the entrance to the basilica. Della remained in the square for a short while and then returned to the museum.
When she reached the desk she felt a surge of hope as she saw Father Walker standing talking with the elderly brother to whom she’d entrusted her message. She at once went to them.
“Father Walker,” she said with a smile.
The serious-faced young priest turned to her and studied her good-humoredly from behind his glasses. “Good day to you, Miss Standish.”
They shook hands. She said, “You received my message?”
“Yes. I hoped you might have brought something back to us.”
“Not quite that.”
“Too bad.”
“I agree,” she said. “But I think I may be getting closer to the details of the theft. And from there I may be able to locate the Madonna.”
Father Walker said, “That would be fine.”
She hesitated, then asked, “I feel weak. Is there anyplace near where we can get good food and drink?”
“Yes,” he said. “There’s an excellent sidewalk café not far from here with umbrellas at all the tables. Let us go there.”
“You shall be my guest,” she said.
“My vow of poverty isn’t all that encompassing,” the young priest smiled. “I insist on being the host for the occasion.”
“If you insist,” she said with a smile.
The walk proved longer than she had expected. But it was a pleasant one in the company of the friendly young priest. He pointed out places of interest all along the way and when they reached the outdoor café with its many tables, she felt the journey well worthwhile.
Across the table, she said, “I feel I want to help your Cardinal get his Madonna back. He was kind to me and he accepted what I told him as the truth.”
Father Walker looked amused. “The Cardinal is a shrewd judge of character. He did believe you.”
“It meant a great deal to me,” she said with a sigh. “So few other people have. Are you still looking for the Madonna?”
“Yes. We are working in our own way.”
She looked down at the table. “My luck has all been bad. My sister is still missing and they still threaten us with worse if the Madonna is not turned over to them.”
“So they are of an opinion opposite to the Cardinal’s. They continue to think you have the Madonna.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Well, you must make the best of it. In their very desperation they may foolishly reveal themselves. We have much to discuss. But first let us order.”
Both chose light salads and wine. The food and drink proved excellent and set the mood for conversation.
Father Walker smiled at her. “As I recall our last meeting, I rescued you from defrocked Father Anthony and his thumbscrew torture weapon.”
“I’m not liable to forget that night,” she said. “Did you know he was murdered?”
“Yes,” Father Walker said. “A pity! But he was living a sinful life.”
“I know.”
“So he joined Brother Louis in death,” the priest said.
“Do you think he was murdered by the same person who murdered Brother Louis?”
“No question.”
“Who?”
“Brizzi,” Father Walker said.
“There has been still a third murder,” she told him. “One of Barsini’s staunch Satanists, named Gregorio, was stabbed to death last night.”
The priest nodded. “In a brothel.”
She gasped. “How do you know?”
“I told you we are still working on the return of the Madonna. Gregorio was a partner with Barsini in its theft. They took it from Brizzi with the help of Brother Louis and Father Anthony. It seems Father Anthony persuaded Brother Louis to steal the Madonna from Brizzi, this after he’d helped in its theft.”
“So Brother Louis turned the Madonna he and Brizzi had stolen over to Father Anthony.”
“Exactly. Father Anthony promised him a larger share of the proceeds when it was broken into pieces and sold. It had been their plan to sell the precious stones and the gold separately. The Madonna is of pure gold decorated with a treasure in precious stones. Fabulous enough to attract the most jaded.”
“Then Brother Anthony turned the Madonna over to Barsini and his group.”
“Which includes Gregorio and your sister,” the priest said. “Somehow, after Barsini got hold of it and decided to send it to you in London, the Madonna was stolen by someone else. The question is who.”
“And that someone left the impression that I had actually received it.”
“To throw the jackals off his trail,” Father Walker said. “With Gregorio finished, it could easily be Barsini’s turn next. Brizzi is vindictive; whether he gets the Madonna back or not he will murder them all!”
She gave a tiny shudder. “I think I have met him.”
“Brizzi?”
“Yes,” she said. “He’s an old man, sallow with a wispy gray beard.”
The priest looked grim. “That’s one of his disguises. Actually he is not old but middle-aged. He is a most ordinary-looking person. No one ever notices him when he is not in one of his disguises.”
She said, “I want to ask you something. This old man told me I should find someone called Pasquale Borgo. Have you ever heard of him?”
Father Walker showed interest. “I have.”
“This man I think is Brizzi told me I should find Pasquale Borgo.”
“Excellent advice,” the priest said. “The unfortunate thing is that nobody has been able to find him.”
“Who is he?”
“The messenger.”
“The messenger?” she repeated.
The priest said, “Yes. The one hired to take the Madonna to you in England.”
“So he was the one!”
“Yes. Unhappily he seems to have decided to skip and keep the Madonna.”
“That must be what happened,” she exclaimed.
Father Walker studied her with keen eyes from behind his glasses. “Unless the Cardinal is wrong. That you do have it. That Borgo delivered it to you and then something happened to him.”
“You mean that I arranged for something to happen to him?”
“It is possible.”
“Possible but not the truth!” she protested. “I never saw or heard from this Borgo. As far as I know he never came to London.”
“Barsini still thinks that he did. Which is why he is holding your sister.”
“But he is wrong!”
“Do not be upset,” the friendly priest said. “I believe you as much as the Cardinal does. I was only testing you just now.”
She sat back in her chair. “Please don’t do it again. I have so few friends. I can’t afford to lose them.”
“Prince Raphael is your friend.”
“Yes.”
“Did you mention Pasquale Borgo to him?”
“I decided not to until I talked it over with you,” she said.
“That was very wise,” Father Walker said. “Please do not tell him about Borgo.”
“Why?”
The young priest shrugged. “Shall we say I have a few reservations about handsome Prince Raphael.” There was irony in his voice as he said this.
She wrinkled her brow. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Barsini and Raphael have known each other for a long period of time. Raphael introduced your sister to Barsini.”
“He openly regrets that.”
“I wonder if he doesn’t protest too much,” the priest said quietly.
“Are you telling me not to trust Raphael? He has fought this battle with me! Saved my life on occasion.”
“I merely suggest discretion,” he said. “Assuming that Raphael is truly opposed to Barsini. He still could find himself a captive of that evil man. And he might be tortured into telling anything he knows. Raphael would break easily under torture.”
“You do not have a good opinion of him, I fear.”
“I believe I have his measure,” Father Walker said. “So I think it in all our interest that he not be told everything.”
She pondered on this. Then she said, “How can I work with him if I don’t trust him?”
“Trust him. But only to a point.”
“We have a plan to try and get inside Barsini’s villa tonight,” she said. “He is having one of his Satanist gatherings.”
“Orgies is the proper term.”
“I agree,” she said. “You know that everyone dons black, cowled robes. Raphael has access to robes. He thinks we can get in.”
“And?”
“Then break away from the crowd and try to find my sister,” Della said. “She is bound to be locked up there somewhere.”
“It sounds likely,” he agreed.
“Then we hope to escape with her and perhaps she will be able to tell us if Barsini has the Madonna and where he has it hidden.”
“I do not think he has it,” Father Walker told her. “Unless he intercepted the messenger and killed him and then took the treasure. All the while pretending he knows nothing about it.”
Della said, “Then there would be no dividing. He would have it alone.”
“Exactly,” Father Walker said. “Greed for wealth is at the bottom of all this. All have been tainted by it. The only one who cares truly for the Madonna itself is my Cardinal.”
“I understand,” she said.
“He will be badly upset if it falls into evil hands to be broken and sold in bits.”
“Of course.”
“I’m not sure I like your plan of attempting to get into Barsini’s villa,” the priest said. “There could be great danger in it for you.”
“And for Raphael if we’re caught.”
“I think only of you,” the priest said. “I cannot prevent you from doing this. But I can warn you against it.”
“Our plans are pretty well made.”
“Think carefully before you go ahead with them.”
“I will,” she promised. But she knew that she would make the attempt however foolhardy it might be.
“We come back to Pasquale Borgo,” the priest said. “He is the key to it all. Your strange friend was right.”
“What sort of man is Borgo?”
“A failed artist,” Father Walker said with a hint of disgust. “He has wound up being somewhat notorious in Rome for his pen-and-ink studies of erotic nudes. I understand his pornography sells well at modest prices. That is how he became a member of the Satanist group. He is their official artist.”
“I have seen some of his murals on their meetingplace walls,” she said. “Not pretty!”
“Pasquale is the sort of man easily bought,” the priest went on. “Barsini selected him as messenger to take the Madonna to you in London. What took place after that is anyone’s guess?”
She said, “What does this Pasquale Borgo look like?”
Father Walker gave her a glance of grim amusement. “You gave me an excellent description of him earlier. He is an elderly, sallow man with a wispy gray beard.”
Wide-eyed, Della gasped, “Are you saying that I have seen Pasquale Borgo. That he is the man who came to my aid more than once?”
Father Walker shook his head. “No. The man you have seen is Brizzi disguised to resemble the man he murdered.”
“I see,” she said.
“Part of his clever game to confuse,” the priest said. “Now I fear I must return to the museum. I hope I have been of some help.”
“You have,” she said earnestly as she rose from the table. “I will remember all you told me.”
He was on his feet and facing her. “Please remember my warning about your plans for tonight.”
“I shall,” she said.
“And be cautious about Prince Raphael. Do not place too much dependence on him.”
“I will keep that in mind,” she promised.
Father Walker sighed. “I wish I could do more to help. But since I represent the Church I must be extremely discreet.”
“I understand. It was good of you to talk with me.”
The priest smiled. “I have my Cardinal’s approval. He has shown great interest in you.”
“He seems a fine old man, though his dog did terrify me.”
“Bruno?” Father Walker said with amusement. “The Cardinal has to interview many kinds of people. Bruno is his loyal protector.”
Della said, “You are enjoying your time in Rome.”
“Very much,” the earnest priest said. “I had been working in the library. Would you believe that one day I actually touched the manuscript of Dante’s
Divine Comedy.
Now I’m being transferred to the Pinacoteca, the gallery of art. It is the newest building and it is filled with priceless paintings.”
Della said, “I wish I were under less pressure and had more chance to enjoy all the wonders of this city.”
“Perhaps the Madonna will soon be found and this grim business of murders and double-crossing will be at an end,” Father Walker said.
He saw her to a carriage and then left her as he made his way on foot to the Vatican. She sat back in the open carriage so besieged by troubling thoughts she paid scarcely any attention to the busy streets and the volatile people. She was lost in consideration of what the priest had told her. The most disturbing thing of all was his seeming lack of faith in Prince Raphael.
She knew Father Walker to be fair and if he were suspicious of Raphael, there must be a sound reason. He did not condemn the handsome young man completely but suggested there was a wide swath of weakness in him. And she realized that she had come to understand this and allow for it. The most severe test of Raphael would come tonight when they attempted to enter Barsini’s villa in search of Irma.