Malipieri was beginning to realize that his work in the vaults had been
watched with much more interest than he had supposed possible, and that
in some way or other news of his progress had reached various quarters.
In the first place, his reputation was much wider than he knew, and
many scholars and archaeologists throughout Europe had been profoundly
impressed both by what he had discovered and by the learning he had
shown in discussing his discoveries. It followed that many were curious
to see what he would do next, and there were paragraphs about him in
grave reviews, and flattering references to him in speeches made at
learned conventions. He had friends whose names he had never heard, and
enemies, too, ready to attack him on the one side and to defend him on
the other. Some praised his modesty, and others called it affectation.
His experience of the wider world was short, so far, and he did not
understand that it had taken people a year to appreciate his success.
He had hoped for immediate recognition of his great services to
archaeology, and had been somewhat disappointed because that
recognition had not been instantaneous. Like most men of superior
talent, in the same situation, when praise came in due time and
abundantly, he did not care for it because he was already interested in
new work. To the man of genius the past is always insignificant as
compared with the future. When Goethe, dying, asked for "more light,"
he may or may not have merely meant that he wished the window opened
because the room seemed dark to his failing eyes; the higher
interpretation which has been put upon his last words remains the true
one, in the spirit, if not in the letter. He died, as he had lived, the
man of genius looking forward, not backward, to the last, crying for
light, more light, thinking not of dying and ending, but of living,
hoping, doing, winning.
Besides the general body of students and archaeologists, the Italian
government was exceedingly interested in Malipieri's explorations. The
government is rightly jealous in such matters, and does its very best
to keep all artistic objects of real value in the country. It is right
that this should be so. The law relating to the matter was framed by
Cardinal Pacca, under the papal administration many years ago, and the
modern rulers have had the intelligence to maintain it and enforce it.
Like other laws it is frequently broken. In this it resembles the Ten
Commandments and most other rules framed by divine or human
intelligence for the good of mankind and the advancement of
civilization. The most sanguine lovers of their fellow-men have always
admitted the existence of a certain number of flagitious persons who
obstinately object to being good. David, who was hasty, included a
large proportion of humanity amongst "the wicked"; Monsieur Drumont
limited the number to David's descendants; and Professor Lombroso,
whatever he may really mean, conveys the impression that men of genius,
criminals and lunatics are different manifestations of the same thing;
as diamonds, charcoal and ham fat are all carbon and nothing else. We
should be thankful for the small favours of providence in excepting us
from the gifted minority of madmen, murderers and poets and making us
just plain human beings, like other people.
There is no international law forbidding a man from making digressions
when he is telling a story.
Malipieri was watched by the government, as Volterra had told him,
because it was feared in high quarters that if he found anything of
value under the palace, he would try to get it out of the country. He
had always hated the government and had got himself into trouble by
attacking the monarchy. Besides, it was known in high quarters that
Senator Baron Volterra held singular views about the authenticity of
works of art. It would be inconvenient to have a scandal in the Senate
about the Velasquez and the other pictures; on the other hand, if
anything more of the same sort should happen, it would be very
convenient indeed to catch a pair of culprits in the shape of
Malipieri, a pardoned political offender, and his ex-convict servant.
Then, too, in quite another direction, the Vatican was very anxious to
buy any really good work of art which might be discovered, and would
pay quite as much for it as the government itself. Therefore the
Vatican was profoundly interested in Malipieri on its own account.
As if this were not enough, Sabina's brother, the ruined Prince Conti,
had got wind of the excavations and scented some possible advantage to
himself, with the vague chance of more money to throw away on
automobiles, at Monte Carlo, and in the company of a cosmopolitan young
person of semi-Oriental extraction whose varied accomplishments had
made her the talk of Europe.
Lastly, the Russian embassy was on the alert, for the dowager Princess
had heard from her maid, who had heard it from her sister in Rome, who
had learned it from the washerwoman, who had been told the secret by
the porter's wife, that the celebrated Malipieri was exploring the
north-west foundations of the palace. The Princess had repeated the
story, and the legend which accounted for it, to her brother Prince
Rubomirsky, who was a very great personage in his own country. And the
Prince, though good-natured, foresaw that he might in time grow tired
of giving his sister unlimited money; and it occurred to him that
something might turn up under the palace, after all, to which she might
have some claim. So he had used his influence in Saint Petersburg with
the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and the latter had instructed the
Russian Ambassador in Rome to find out what he could about the
excavations, without attracting attention; and Russian diplomatists
have ways of finding out things without attracting attention, which are
extremely great and wonderful. Also, if Russia puts her paw upon
anything and declares that it is the property of a Russian subject, it
often happens that smaller people take their paws away hastily.
It follows that there must have been a good deal of quiet talk, in
Rome, not overheard in society, about what Malipieri was doing in the
Palazzo Conti, and as the people who occupied themselves with his
affairs were particularly anxious that he should not know what they
said, he was in ignorance of it. But Volterra was not. He had valuable
friends, because his influence was of value, and he was informed of
much that was going on. If he was anxious to get rid of the architect,
it was not so much because he wanted for himself the whole price which
the statue or statues might bring, as because he feared lest the
government should suddenly descend upon Malipieri and make an enquiry
which would involve also the question of the pictures. So far, Volterra
had created the impression that the young man had been concerned with a
dealer in smuggling them out of the country; but in case of an
investigation it could easily be proved that they were gone before
Malipieri had arrived in Rome in answer to Volterra's invitation.
Besides, the Senator had discovered that the young archaeologist was
much more celebrated than was convenient. In private affairs there is
nothing so tiresome and inconvenient as the presence of a celebrity.
Burglars, when exercising their professional functions, are not
accompanied by a brass band.
Toto was very docile and quiet all that day. Masin thought him
philosophical, and continued to like him, after his fashion, providing
him with a plentiful supply of tobacco, a good meal at noon, and a
bottle of wine. The man's stony face was almost placid. At rare
intervals he made a remark. After eating he looked out of the window
and said rather regretfully that he thought the rain was over for the
day.
Masin took this to mean that he wished he might go out, and offered him
more wine by way of consolation. But Toto refused. He was a moderate
man. Then he asked Masin how many rooms Malipieri occupied, and learned
that the whole of the little apartment was rented by the architect. The
information did not seem to interest him much.
In the morning, when Malipieri had come back from his visit to Sassi,
he had given Masin the keys of the vaults, and had told him to buy a
stout ladder and take it into the dry well. But Toto said that this was
a useless expense.
"There is a strong ladder about the right length, lying along the wall
at the other end of the west cellar," he said. "You had better take
that."
Malipieri looked at him and smiled.
"For a prisoner, you are very obliging," he said, and he gave him a
five-franc note, which Toto took with a grunt of thanks.
Masin was gone an hour, during which time Malipieri busied himself in
the next room, leaving the door open. He went out when Masin came back.
When the two men were together Toto produced the five francs.
"Can you change?" he enquired.
"Why?" asked Masin with some surprise.
"Half is two francs fifty," answered Toto. "That is your share."
Masin laughed and shook his head.
"No," he said. "What is given to you is not given to me. Why should I
share with you?"
"It is our custom," Toto replied. "Take your half."
Masin refused stoutly, but Toto insisted and grew angry at last. So
Masin changed the note and kept two francs and fifty centimes for
himself, reflecting that he could give the money back to Malipieri,
since he had no sort of right to it. Toto was at once pacified.
When Malipieri returned, Masin went out and got dinner for all three,
bringing it as usual in the three tin cases strapped one above the
other.
Toto supposed that he was not to be left alone in the apartment that
day; but at half-past four Malipieri entered the room, with a padlock
and a couple of screw-eyes in his hand.
"You would not think it worth while to risk jumping out," he said in a
good-humoured tone. "But you might take it into your head to open the
window, and the porter might be there, and you might talk to him. Masin
and I shall be out together for a little while."
Masin shut the tall window, screwed the stout little eye-bolts into the
frame and ran the bolt of the padlock through both. He gave the key to
Malipieri. Toto watched the operation indifferently.
"If you please," he said, "I am accustomed to have a little wine about
half-past five every day. I will pay for it."
He held out half a franc to Masin and nodded.
"Nonsense!" interposed Malipieri, laughing. "You are my guest, Master
Toto." Masin brought a bottle and a glass, and a couple of cigars.
"Thank you, sir," said Toto politely. "I shall be very comfortable till
you come back."
"You will find the time quite as profitable as if you were working,"
said Malipieri.
He nodded and went out followed by Masin, and Toto heard the key turned
twice in the solid old lock. The door was strong, and they would
probably lock the front door of the apartment too. Toto listened
quietly till he heard it shut after them in the distance. Then he rose
and flattened his face against the window pane.
He waited some time. He could see one half of the great arched
entrance, but the projecting stone jamb of the window hindered him from
seeing more. It was very quiet, and he could hear footsteps below, on
the gravel of the courtyard, if any one passed.
At the end of ten minutes he heard a man's heavy tread, and knew that
it was Masin's. Masin must have come out of the great archway on the
side of it which Toto could not see. The steps went on steadily along
the gravel. Masin was going to the vaults.
Toto waited ten minutes, and began to think that no one else was
coming, and that Malipieri had left the palace, though he had been
convinced that the architect and his man meant to go down to the vaults
together. Just as he was beginning to give up the idea, he saw Sassi
under the archway, in a tall hat, a black coat and gloves, and
Malipieri was just visible for a moment as he came out too. He was
unmistakably speaking to some one on his right, who was hidden from
Toto's view by the projecting stonework. His manner was also distinctly
deferential. The third person was probably Baron Volterra.
The footsteps took a longer time to reach the other end of the court
than Masin had occupied. After all was silent, Toto listened
breathlessly for five minutes more. There was not a sound.
He looked about him, then took up a chair, thrust one of the legs
between the bolt and the body of the padlock and quietly applied his
strength. The wood of the frames was old, and the heavy strain drew the
screw-eyes straight out.
Toto opened the window noiselessly and looked out with caution. No one
was in sight. By this time the three were in the vaults, with Masin.
Toto knew every inch of the palace by heart, inside and out, and he
knew that one of the cast-iron leaders that carried the rain from the
roof to the ground was within reach of that particular window, on the
left side. He looked out once more, up and down the courtyard, and
then, in an instant, he was kneeling on the stone sill, he had grasped
the iron leader with one hand, then with the other, swinging himself to
it and clutching it below with his rough boots. A few moments later he
was on the ground, running for the great entrance. No one was there, no
one saw him.
He let himself out quietly, shut the postern door after him, and
slouched away towards the Vicolo dei Soldati.