The master of Chadlands was both drawn and repelled by his guest. Signor
Mannetti revealed a type of mind entirely beyond the other's experience,
and while he often uttered sentiments with which Sir Walter found
himself in cordial agreement, he also committed himself to a great
many opinions that surprised and occasionally shocked the listener.
Sir Walter was also conscious that many words uttered flew above his
understanding. The old Italian could juggle with English almost as
perfectly as he was able to do with his own language. He had his
country's mastery of the phrase, the ironies, the double meanings,
half malicious, half humorous, the outlook on humanity that delights to
surprise--the compliment that, on closer examination, proves really to
be the reverse. Mary's father voiced his emotions when the visitor had
gone to bed.
"If it didn't seem impossible," he told Henry, "I could almost imagine
that Signor Mannetti was trying to pull my leg sometimes."
"He tries, and succeeds," answered young Lennox. "He is built that way.
His mind is as agile as a monkey, despite his age. He's a sly old bird;
his thoughts move a thousand times faster than ours, and they're a
thousand times more subtle."
"But he's very fascinating," declared Mary.
"He's a gentleman," answered Henry--"an Italian gentleman. They're
different from us in their ideas of good form, that's all. Good form is
largely a matter of geography--like most other manners and customs."
"I believe in him, anyway."
"So do I, Mary. I don't think he would ever have put himself to such
extraordinary trouble if he hadn't felt pretty hopeful."
But Sir Walter doubted.
"He's old and his mind plays him tricks sometimes. No doubt he's
immensely clever; but his cleverness belongs to the past. He has not
moved with the times any more than I have."
"His eye flashes still, and you know he has claws, but, like a dear old
Persian cat, he would never dream of using them."
"I think he would," answered her cousin. "He might spring on
anybody--from behind."
"He is, at any rate, too old to understand democracy."
"He understands it only too well," replied Sir Walter. "Like myself, he
knows that democracy is only autocracy turned inside out. Human nature
isn't constructed to bear any such ideal. It might suit sheep and
oxen--not men."
"He is an aristocrat, a survival, proud as a peacock under his humility,
as kind-hearted as you are yourself, father."
"I rather doubt his kindness of heart," said Henry. "Latins are not
kind. But I don't doubt his cleverness. One must be on one's guard
against first impressions, Mary."
"No, no one mustn't, when they're so pleasant. There is nothing small
or peddling about him. It was angelic of such an old man to take so much
trouble."
Henry Lennox reminded them of practical considerations.
"The first thing is to get the room opened for him. He is going to see
Uncle Walter at eleven o'clock, and he'll want to visit the Grey Room
afterwards. If we get Chubb and a man or two from the village the first
thing in the morning, they can help Caunter to open the room and have it
ready for him after lunch."
Sir Walter rang and directed that workmen should be sent for at the
earliest hour next day.
"I feel doubtful as to what the authorities would say, however," he told
Henry, when his orders had been taken.
"What can they say, but be well pleased if the infernal thing is cleared
up?"
"It is too good to be true."
"So I should think, but I share Mary's optimism. I honestly believe that
Signor Mannetti knows a great deal more about the Grey Room than he has
let us imagine."
"How can he possibly do that?" asked his uncle.
"Time will show; but I'm going to back him." At eleven o'clock on the
following morning the visitor appeared. He walked with a gold-headed,
ebony cane and dressed in a fashion of earlier days. He was alert and
keen; his mind had no difficulty in concentrating on his subject. It
appeared that he had all particulars at his fingers' ends, and he went
back into the history of the Grey Room as far as Sir Walter was able to
take him.
"We are dealing with five victims to our certain knowledge," he said,
"for there is very little doubt that all must have suffered the same
death and under the same circumstances."
"Four victims, signor."
"You forget your aged relative--the lady who came to spend Christmas
with your father, when you were a boy, and was found dead on the floor.
Colonel Vane, however, recollected her, because you had mentioned her
when telling the story of Mrs. Forrester--Nurse Forrester."
"I never associated my aged aunt with subsequent tragedies--nobody did."
"Nevertheless, it was not old age and a good dinner that ended her life.
She, too, perished by an assassin."
"You still speak of crime."
"If I am not mistaken, then 'crime' is the only word."
"But, forgive me, is it imaginable that the same criminal could destroy
three men last year and kill an old woman more than sixty years ago?"
"Quite possible. You do not see? Then I hope to have the privilege of
showing you presently."
"It would seem, then, that the malignant thing is really undying--as
poor May believed--a conscious being hidden there, but beyond our sight
and knowledge?"
"No, no, my friend. Let me be frank. I have no theory that embraces
either a good or evil spirit. Believe me, there are fewer things in
heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy. Man has burdened
his brain with an infinite deal of rubbish of his own manufacture. Much
of his principle and practice is built on myths and dreams. He is a
credulous creature, and insanely tenacious to tradition; but I say
to you, suspect tradition at every turn, and the more ancient the
tradition, the more mistrust it. We harbor a great deal too much of the
savage still in us--we still carry about far more of his mental lumber
and nonsense than we imagine. Intellect should simplify rather than
complicate, and those to come will look back with pity to see this
generation, like flies, entangled in the webs of thought their rude
forefathers spun. But the eternal verities are few; a child could count
them. We are, however, a great deal too fond of believing what our
ancestors believed. Alas, nobody sins more in this respect than I. Let
us, then, throw overboard the supernatural, once and for all, so far as
the Grey Room is concerned. No ghost haunts it; no succubus or succuba
is hidden there, to harry the life out of good men and women."
"It is strange that you should take almost the identical line of thought
that poor Peter Hardcastle took. I hope to God you are right!"
"So far I am most certainly in the right. We can leave the other world
out of our calculations."
He asked various questions, many of which did not appear to bear on the
subject, but he made no suggestions as yet, and advanced no theories. He
suspected that Peter Hardcastle might have arrived at a conclusion had
not death cut short his inquiry. From time to time he lifted his hand
gently for silence, and permitted a reply to penetrate his mind.
"I think very slowly about new things now," he said. "An idea must sink
in gradually and find its place. That is the worst of new ideas. There
is so little room for them when you are eighty. The old and settled
opinions fill the space, and are jealous and resent newcomers."
Sir Walter explained to him presently that the room was being opened,
and would be ready after luncheon. Whereupon he expressed concern for
the workers.
"Let them have a care," he said, "for, if I am right, the danger is
still present. Let them work with despatch, and not loiter about."
"No harm has ever undertaken more than one, when in the room alone. The
detectives saw and felt nothing."
"Nevertheless, the assassin was quite equal to smudging out the
detectives, believe me, Sir Walter."
The day was fine, and Signor Mannetti expressed a wish to take the air.
They walked on the terrace presently, and Mary joined them. He asked for
her arm, and she gave it.
Prince padded beside her, and the visitor declared interest in him.
"Like myself, your dog is on the verge of better things," he said. "He
will do good deeds in the happy hunting grounds, be sure."
They told him the feats of Prince, and he appeared to be interested.
"Nevertheless, the faithful creature ought to die now. He is blind and
paralysis is crippling his hinder parts."
Sir Walter patted the head of his ancient favorite.
"He dies on Friday," he said. "The vet will come then. I assure you the
thought gives me very genuine pain."
"He has earned euthanasia, surely. What is that fine tree with great
white flowers? I have seen the like before, but am sadly ignorant of
horticulture."
"A tulip-tree," said Mary. "It's supposed to be the finest in
Devonshire."
"A beautiful object. But all is beautiful here. An English spring can
be divine. I shall ask you to drive me to primroses presently. Those are
azaleas--that bank of living fire--superb!"
He praised the scene, and spoke about the formal gardens of Italy.
Then, when luncheon was finished and he had smoked a couple of
cigarettes, Signor Mannetti rose, bowed to Sir Walter, and said:
"Now, if you please."
They accompanied and watched him silently, while his eyes wandered round
the Grey Room.
The place was unchanged, and the dancing cherubs on the great chairs
seemed to welcome daylight after their long darkness.
The visitor wandered slowly from end to end of the chamber, nodded to
himself, and became animated. Then he checked his gathering excitement,
and presently spoke.
"I think I am going to help you, Sir Walter," he said.
"That is great and good news, signor."
Then the old man became inconsequent, and turned from the room to the
contents. If, indeed, he had found a clue, he appeared in no haste to
pursue it. He entered now upon a disquisition concerning the furniture,
and they listened patiently, for he had showed that any interruption
troubled him. But it seemed that he enjoyed putting a strain upon their
impatience.
"Beautiful pieces," he said, "but not Spanish, as you led me to suppose.
Spanish chestnut wood, but nothing else Spanish about them. They are
of the Italian Renaissance, and it is most seemly that Italian
craftsmanship of such high order should repose here, under an Italian
ceiling. Strange to say, my sleeping apartment at Rome closely resembles
this room. I live in a villa that dates from the fifteenth century, and
belonged to the Colonna. My chests are more superb than these; but your
suite--the bed and chairs--I confess are better than mine. There is,
however, a reason for that. Let us examine them for the sake of Mrs.
May. Are these carved chairs, with their reliefs of dancing putti,
familiar to her--the figures, I mean?"
Mary shook her head.
"Then it is certain that in your Italian wanderings you did not go
to Prato. These groups of children dancing and blowing horns are very
cleverly copied from Donatello's famous pulpit in the duomo. The design
is carried on from the chairs to the footboard of the bed; but in their
midst upon the footboard is let in this oval, easel-picture, painted
on wood. It is faded, and the garlands have withered in so many hundred
years, as well they might; but I can feel the dead color quite well, and
I also know who painted it."
"Is it possible, signor--this faint ghost of a picture?"
"There exists no doubt at all. You see a little Pinturicchio. Note the
gay bands of variegated patterns, the arabesques and fruits. Their hues
have vanished, but their forms and certain mannerisms of the master
are unmistakable. These dainty decorations were the sign manual of such
quattrocento painters as Gozzoli and Pinturicchio; and to these men
he, for whom these works of art were created, assigned the painting
and adornment of the Vatican. We will come to him directly. It was for
Michelangelo to make the creations of these artists mere colored bubbles
and froth, when seen against the immensity and intellectual grandeur of
his future masterpieces in the Sistine. But that was afterwards. We are
concerned with the Pope for whom these chairs and this bed were made.
Yes, a Pope, my friends--no less a personage than Alexander VI.!"
He waited, like a skilled actor, for the tremendous sensation he
expected and deserved. But it did not come. Unhappily for Signor
Mannetti's great moment, his words conveyed no particular impression to
anybody.
Sir Walter asked politely:
"And was he a good, or a bad Pope? I fear many of those gentlemen had
little to their credit."
But the signor felt the failure of his great climax. At first he
regretted it, and a wave of annoyance, even contempt, passed unseen
through his mind; then he was glad that the secret should be hidden for
another four-and-twenty hours, to gain immensely in dramatic sensation
by delay. Already he was planning the future, and designing wonderful
histrionics. He could not be positive that he was right; though now the
old man felt very little doubt.
He did not answer Sir Walter's question, but asked one himself.
"The detectives examined this apartment with meticulous care, you say?"
"They did indeed."
"And yet what can care and zeal do; what can the most conscientious
student achieve if his activities are confounded by ignorance? The
amazing thing to me is that nobody should have had the necessary
information to lead them at least in the right direction. And yet I run
on too fast. After all, who shall be blamed, for it is, of course, the
Grey Room and nothing but the Grey Room we are concerned with. Am I
right? The Grey Room has the evil fame?"
"Certainly it has."
"And yet a little knowledge of a few peculiar facts--a pinch of
history--yet, once again, who shall be blamed? Who can be fairly asked
to possess that pinch of history which means so much in this room?"
"How could history have helped us, signor?" asked Henry Lennox.
"I shall tell you. But history is always helpful. There is history
everywhere around us--not only here, but in every other department of
this noble house. Take these chairs. By the accident of training, I read
in them a whole chapter of the beginnings of the Renaissance; to you
they are only old furniture. You thought them Spanish because they were
bought in Spain--at Valencia, as a matter of fact. You did not know
that, Sir Walter; but your grandfather purchased them there--to the
despair and envy of another collector. Yes, these chairs have speaking
faces to me, just as the ceiling over them has a speaking face also.
It, too, is copied. History, in fact, breathes its very essence in this
home. If I knew more history than I do, then other beautiful things
would talk to me as freely as these chairs--and as freely as the
trophies of the chase and the tiger skins below no doubt talk to Sir
Walter. But are we not all historical--men, women, even children? To
exist is to take your place in history, though, as in my case, the fact
will not be recorded save in the 'Chronicles' of the everlasting. Yes,
I am ancient history now, and go far back, before Italy was a united
kingdom. Much entertaining information will be lost for ever when I die.
Believe me, while the new generation is crying forth the new knowledge
and glorying in its genius, we of the old guard are sinking into our
graves and taking the old knowledge with us. Yet they only rediscover
for themselves what we know. Human life is the snake with its tail in
its mouth--Nietzsche's eternal recurrence and the commonplaces of
our forefathers are echoed on the lips of our children as great
discoveries."
Henry Lennox ventured to bring him back to the point.
"What knowledge--what particular branch of information should a man
possess, signor, to find out what you have found?"
"Merely an adornment, my young friend, a side branch of withered
learning, not cultivated, I fear, by your Scotland Yard. Yet I have
known country gentlemen to be skilled in it. The practice of heraldry.
I marked your arms on your Italian gates. I must look at those gates
again--they are not very good, I fear. But the arms--a chevron between
three lions--a fine coat, yet probably not so ancient as the gates."
"It was such a thing as bothered me in Florence," said Sir Walter. "I'd
seen it before somewhere, but where I know not--a bull's head of gold on
a red field."
Signor Mannetti started and laughed.
"Ha-ha! We will come to the golden bull presently, Sir Walter. You shall
meet him, I promise you!"
Then he broke off and patted his forehead.
"But I go too quickly--far too quickly indeed. I must rest my poor brain
now, or it will rattle in my head like a dry walnut. When it begins to
rattle, I know that I have done enough for the present. May I walk in
the garden again--not alone, but with your companionship?"
"Of course, unless you would like to retire and rest for a while."
"Presently I shall do so. And please permit nobody to enter the Grey
Room but myself. Not a soul must go or come without me."
Sir Walter spoke.
"You still believe the peril is material then--an active, physical
thing, controlled by a conscious human intelligence?"
"If I am right, it certainly is active enough."
They went into the garden, and Signor Mannetti, finding a snug seat in
the sun, decided to stop there. Henry and his uncle exchanged glances,
and the latter found his faith weakening, for the Italian's mind
appeared to wander. He became more and more irrelevant, as it seemed. He
spoke again of the old dog who was at his master's feet.
"Euthanasia for the aged. Why not? For that matter, I have considered
it for myself in dark moments. Have you ever wondered why we destroy
our pets, for love of them, yet suffer our fellow creatures to exist and
endure to the very dregs Nature's most fiendish methods of dissolution?
Again one of those terrible problems where mercy and religion cannot see
eye to eye."
They uttered appropriate sentiments, and again the old man changed the
subject and broke new ground.
"There was a prince--not your old dog--but a royal lad of the
East--Prince Djem, the brother of the Sultan Bajazet. Do you know that
story? Possibly not--it is unimportant enough, and to this day the
sequel of the incident is buried in a mystery as profound as that of the
Grey Room. Our later historians whitewash Alexander VI. concerning
the matter of Prince Djem; but then it is so much the habit of later
historians to whitewash everybody. A noble quality in human nature
perhaps--to try and see the best, even while one can only do so by
ignoring the worst. Certainly, as your poet says, 'Distance makes the
heart grow fonder'; or, at any rate, softer. There is a tendency to side
with the angels where we are dealing with historic dead. Nero, Caligula,
Calvin, Alva, Napoleon, Torquemada--all these monsters and portents,
and a thousand such blood-bespattered figures are growing whiter as they
grow fainter. They will have wings and haloes presently. Yet not for me.
I am a good hater, my friends. But Prince Djem--I wander so. You should
be more severe with me and keep me to my point. Sultan Bajazet wanted
his younger brother out of the way, and he paid the Papacy forty
thousand ducats a year to keep the young fellow a prisoner in Italy.
It was a gilded captivity and doubtless the dissolute Oriental enjoyed
himself quite as well at Rome as he would have done in Constantinople.
But after Alexander had achieved the triple tiara, Bajazet refused to
pay his forty thousand ducats any longer. The Pope, therefore, wrote
strongly to the Sultan, telling him that the King of France designed to
seize Prince Djem and go to war on his account against the Turks. This
does not weary you?"
"No, indeed," declared Mary.
"Alexander added, that to enable him to resist the French and spare
Bajazet's realms the threatened invasion, a sum of forty thousand ducats
must be immediately forthcoming. The Sultan, doubtless appalled by such
a threat, despatched the money with a private letter. He was as great
a diplomat as the Pope himself, and saw a way to evade this gigantic
annual impost by compounding on the death of Djem. Unfortunately for
him, however, both the papal envoy and Bajazet's own messenger were
captured upon their return journey by the brother of Cardinal della
Rovere--Alexander's bitterest enemy. Thus the contents of the secret
letter became known, and the Christian world heard with horror how
Bajazet had offered the occupant of St. Peter's throne three hundred
thousand ducats to assassinate Prince Djem!
"Time passed, and the Pope triumphed over his enemies. He prepared
to abandon the person of the young Turk to Charles of France, and
effectively checkmated the formidable Rovere for a season. But then, as
we know, Prince Djem suddenly perished, and while latest writers declare
that he actually reached France, only to die there, ruined by his own
debaucheries, I, for one, have not accepted that story. He never reached
France, my friends, for be sure Alexander VI. was not the man to let
any human life stand between his treasury and three hundred thousand
ducats."
Signor Mannetti preserved silence for a time, then he returned in very
surprising fashion to the subject that had brought him to Chadlands. He
had been reflecting and now proceeded with his thoughts aloud.
"You must, however, restrain your natural impatience a little longer,
until another night has passed. I will, if you please, myself spend some
hours in the Grey Room after dark, and learn what the medieval spirits
have to tell me. Shall I see the wraith of Prince Djem, think you? Or
the ghost of Pinturicchio hovering round his little picture? Or those
bygone, cunning workers in plaster who built the ceiling? They will at
least talk the language of Tuscany, and I shall be at home among them."
Sir Walter protested.
"That, indeed, is the last thing I could permit, signor," he said.
"That is the first thing that must happen, nevertheless," replied the
old gentleman calmly. "You need not fear for me, Sir Walter. I jest
about the spirits. There are no spirits in the Grey Room, or, if
there are, they are not such as can quarrel with you, or me. There is,
however, something much worse than any spirit lurking in the heart of
your house--a potent, sleepless, fiendish thing; and far from wondering
at all that has happened, I only marvel that worse did not befall. But
I have the magic talisman, the 'open sesame.' I am safe enough even if
I am mistaken. Though my fires are burning low, it will take more than
your Grey Room to extinguish them. I hold the clue of the labyrinth,
and shall pass safely in and out again. To-morrow I can tell you if I am
right."
"I confess that any such plan is most disagreeable to me. I have been
specially directed by the authorities to allow no man to make further
experiments alone."
Vergilio Mannetti showed a trace of testiness. "Forgive me, but your
mind moves without its usual agility, my friend. Have I not told you
everything? What matters Scotland Yard, seeing that it is entirely in
the dark, while I have the light? Let them hear that they are bats and
owls, and that one old man has outwitted the pack of them!"
"You have, as you say, told us much, my dear signor, and much that
you have said is deeply interesting. In your mind it may be that these
various facts are related, and bring you to some sort of conclusion
bearing on the Grey Room; but for us it is not so. These statements
leave us where they find us; they hang on nothing, not even upon one
another in our ears. I speak plainly, since this is a matter for plain
speaking. It is natural that you should not feel as we feel; but I need
not remind you that what to you is merely an extraordinary mystery, to
us is much more. You have imagination, however, far more than I have,
and can guess, without being told, the awful suffering the past has
brought to my daughter and myself."
"Our slow English brains cannot flash our thoughts along so quickly as
yours, signor," said Mary. "It is stupid of us, but--"
"I stand corrected," answered the other instantly. He rose from his
seat, and bowed to them with his hand on his heart.
"I am a withered old fool, and not quick at all. Forgive me. But thus
it stands. Since you did not guess, through pardonable ignorance of a
certain fact, then, for the pleasure of absolute proof, I withhold my
discovery a little longer. There is drama here, but we must be skilled
dramatists and not spoil our climax, or anticipate it. To-morrow it
shall be--perhaps even to-night. You are not going to be kept long
in suspense. Nor will I go alone and disobey Scotland Yard. Your aged
pet--this spaniel dog--shall join me. Good Prince and I will retire
early and, if you so desire it, we shall be very willing to welcome
you in the Grey Room--say some six or seven hours later. I do not sleep
there, but merely sustain a vigil, as all the others did. But it will be
briefer than theirs. You will oblige me?"
Mary spoke, seeing the pain on her father's face. She felt certain that
the old man knew perfectly what he was talking about. She had spoken
aside to Henry, and he agreed with her. Mannetti had solved the mystery;
he had even enabled them to solve it; but now, perhaps to punish them
for their stupidity, he was deliberately withholding the key, half from
love of effect, half in a spirit of mischief. He was planning something
theatrical. He saw himself at the centre of the stage in this tragic
drama, and it was not unnatural that he should desire to figure there
effectively after taking so much trouble. Thus, while Sir Walter still
opposed, he was surprised to hear Mary plead on the visitor's behalf,
and his nephew support her.
"Signor Mannetti is quite right, father; I am positive of it," she said.
"He is right; and because he is right, he is safe."
"Admirably put!" cried the Italian. "There you have the situation in
a nutshell, my friends. Trust a clever woman's intuition. I am indeed
right. Never was consciousness of right so impressed upon my mind--prone
as I am always to doubt my own conclusions. I am, in fact, right because
I cannot be wrong. Trust me. My own safety is absolutely assured, for
we are concerned with the operations of men like ourselves--at least, I
hope very different from ourselves, but men, nevertheless. It was your
fate to revive this horror; it shall be my privilege to banish it out
of the earth. At a breath the cunning of the ungodly shall be brought
to nought. And not before it is time. But the mills of God grind slowly.
Our achievement will certainly resound to the corners of the civilized
world."
"I'm as positive as the signor himself that he is safe, uncle," said
Henry Lennox.
"Let us go to tea," replied Sir Walter. "These things are far too deep
for a plain man. I only ask you to consider all this must mean to me who
am the master of Chadlands and responsible to the authorities. Reflect
if ill overtook you."
"It is impossible that it can."
"So others believed. And where are they? Further trouble would unhinge
my mind, signor."
"You have endured enough to make you speak so strongly, and your brave
girl also. But fear nothing whatever. I am far too deeply concerned and
committed on your behalf to add a drop to the bitter drink of the past,
my dear Sir Walter. I am as safe in that room as I should be at the
altar steps of St. Peter's. Trust old Prince, if you cannot trust me.
I rely largely on your blind pet to aid me. He has good work to do yet,
faithful fellow."
"The detectives took animals into the room, but they were not hurt,"
said Lennox.
"Neither shall the dog be hurt."
He patted the sleeping spaniel, and they rose and went into the house
together.
Mannetti evidently assumed that his wishes were to be granted.
"I will go and sleep awhile," he said. "Until an early dinner, excuse
me, and let Mrs. May and Mr. Lennox convince you, as they are themselves
convinced. These events have immensely excited my vitality. I little
guessed that, at the end of my days, a sensation so remarkable lay in
store for me. I must conserve my strength for to-night. I am well--very
well--and supported by the consciousness of coming triumph. Such an
achievement would have rewarded my long journey and these exertions,
even had not your acquaintance been ample reward already. I will, then,
sleep until dinner-time, and so be replenished to play my part in
a wonderful though melancholy romance. Let us dine at seven, if you
please."
His excitement and natural levity strove with the gloomy facts. He
resembled a mourner at a funeral who experiences pleasant rather than
painful emotions but continually reminds himself to behave in a manner
appropriate to the occasion.
They sent for his man, and, on Stephano's arm, the old gentleman
withdrew.
He returned for a moment, however, and spoke again.
"You will do exactly as I wish and allow no human being to enter the
Grey Room. Keep the key in your pocket, Sir Walter; and do not go there
yourself either. It is still a trap of death for everybody else in the
world but myself."