CHAPTER XI. PRINCE DJEM
The master of Chadlands was both drawn and repelled by his guest. SignorMannetti revealed a type of mind entirely beyond the other's experience,and while he often uttered sentiments with which Sir Walter foundhimself in cordial agreement, he also committed himself to a greatmany opinions that surprised and occasionally shocked the listener.Sir Walter was also conscious that many words uttered flew above hisunderstanding. The old Italian could juggle with English almost asperfectly as he was able to do with his own language. He had hiscountry's mastery of the phrase, the ironies, the double meanings,half malicious, half humorous, the outlook on humanity that delights tosurprise--the compliment that, on closer examination, proves really tobe the reverse. Mary's father voiced his emotions when the visitor hadgone to bed.
"If it didn't seem impossible," he told Henry, "I could almost imaginethat 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 athousand times more subtle."
"But he's very fascinating," declared Mary.
"He's a gentleman," answered Henry--"an Italian gentleman. They'redifferent from us in their ideas of good form, that's all. Good form islargely 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 suchextraordinary 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'simmensely clever; but his cleverness belongs to the past. He has notmoved with the times any more than I have."
"His eye flashes still, and you know he has claws, but, like a dear oldPersian cat, he would never dream of using them."
"I think he would," answered her cousin. "He might spring onanybody--from behind."
"He is, at any rate, too old to understand democracy."
"He understands it only too well," replied Sir Walter. "Like myself, heknows that democracy is only autocracy turned inside out. Human natureisn't constructed to bear any such ideal. It might suit sheep andoxen--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 notkind. But I don't doubt his cleverness. One must be on one's guardagainst first impressions, Mary."
"No, no one mustn't, when they're so pleasant. There is nothing smallor peddling about him. It was angelic of such an old man to take so muchtrouble."
Henry Lennox reminded them of practical considerations.
"The first thing is to get the room opened for him. He is going to seeUncle Walter at eleven o'clock, and he'll want to visit the Grey Roomafterwards. If we get Chubb and a man or two from the village the firstthing in the morning, they can help Caunter to open the room and have itready for him after lunch."
Sir Walter rang and directed that workmen should be sent for at theearliest hour next day.
"I feel doubtful as to what the authorities would say, however," he toldHenry, when his orders had been taken.
"What can they say, but be well pleased if the infernal thing is clearedup?"
"It is too good to be true."
"So I should think, but I share Mary's optimism. I honestly believe thatSignor Mannetti knows a great deal more about the Grey Room than he haslet 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 thefollowing morning the visitor appeared. He walked with a gold-headed,ebony cane and dressed in a fashion of earlier days. He was alert andkeen; his mind had no difficulty in concentrating on his subject. Itappeared that he had all particulars at his fingers' ends, and he wentback into the history of the Grey Room as far as Sir Walter was able totake 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 samedeath and under the same circumstances."
"Four victims, signor."
"You forget your aged relative--the lady who came to spend Christmaswith your father, when you were a boy, and was found dead on the floor.Colonel Vane, however, recollected her, because you had mentioned herwhen 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 destroythree 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 ofshowing you presently."
"It would seem, then, that the malignant thing is really undying--aspoor May believed--a conscious being hidden there, but beyond our sightand knowledge?"
"No, no, my friend. Let me be frank. I have no theory that embraceseither a good or evil spirit. Believe me, there are fewer things inheaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy. Man has burdenedhis brain with an infinite deal of rubbish of his own manufacture. Muchof his principle and practice is built on myths and dreams. He is acredulous creature, and insanely tenacious to tradition; but I sayto you, suspect tradition at every turn, and the more ancient thetradition, the more mistrust it. We harbor a great deal too much of thesavage still in us--we still carry about far more of his mental lumberand nonsense than we imagine. Intellect should simplify rather thancomplicate, and those to come will look back with pity to see thisgeneration, like flies, entangled in the webs of thought their rudeforefathers spun. But the eternal verities are few; a child could countthem. We are, however, a great deal too fond of believing what ourancestors believed. Alas, nobody sins more in this respect than I. Letus, then, throw overboard the supernatural, once and for all, so far asthe Grey Room is concerned. No ghost haunts it; no succubus or succubais hidden there, to harry the life out of good men and women."
"It is strange that you should take almost the identical line of thoughtthat 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 worldout of our calculations."
He asked various questions, many of which did not appear to bear on thesubject, but he made no suggestions as yet, and advanced no theories. Hesuspected that Peter Hardcastle might have arrived at a conclusion hadnot death cut short his inquiry. From time to time he lifted his handgently for silence, and permitted a reply to penetrate his mind.
"I think very slowly about new things now," he said. "An idea must sinkin gradually and find its place. That is the worst of new ideas. Thereis so little room for them when you are eighty. The old and settledopinions 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 forthe workers.
"Let them have a care," he said, "for, if I am right, the danger isstill present. Let them work with despatch, and not loiter about."
"No harm has ever undertaken more than one, when in the room alone. Thedetectives saw and felt nothing."
"Nevertheless, the assassin was quite equal to smudging out thedetectives, 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 forher 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. "Hewill do good deeds in the happy hunting gr
ounds, 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 andparalysis 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 thethought gives me very genuine pain."
"He has earned euthanasia, surely. What is that fine tree with greatwhite flowers? I have seen the like before, but am sadly ignorant ofhorticulture."
"A tulip-tree," said Mary. "It's supposed to be the finest inDevonshire."
"A beautiful object. But all is beautiful here. An English spring canbe divine. I shall ask you to drive me to primroses presently. Those areazaleas--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 ofcigarettes, Signor Mannetti rose, bowed to Sir Walter, and said:
"Now, if you please."
They accompanied and watched him silently, while his eyes wandered roundthe Grey Room.
The place was unchanged, and the dancing cherubs on the great chairsseemed to welcome daylight after their long darkness.
The visitor wandered slowly from end to end of the chamber, nodded tohimself, 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 thecontents. If, indeed, he had found a clue, he appeared in no haste topursue it. He entered now upon a disquisition concerning the furniture,and they listened patiently, for he had showed that any interruptiontroubled him. But it seemed that he enjoyed putting a strain upon theirimpatience.
"Beautiful pieces," he said, "but not Spanish, as you led me to suppose.Spanish chestnut wood, but nothing else Spanish about them. They areof the Italian Renaissance, and it is most seemly that Italiancraftsmanship of such high order should repose here, under an Italianceiling. Strange to say, my sleeping apartment at Rome closely resemblesthis room. I live in a villa that dates from the fifteenth century, andbelonged to the Colonna. My chests are more superb than these; but yoursuite--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 goto Prato. These groups of children dancing and blowing horns are verycleverly copied from Donatello's famous pulpit in the duomo. The designis carried on from the chairs to the footboard of the bed; but in theirmidst upon the footboard is let in this oval, easel-picture, paintedon wood. It is faded, and the garlands have withered in so many hundredyears, as well they might; but I can feel the dead color quite well, andI 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 thegay bands of variegated patterns, the arabesques and fruits. Their hueshave vanished, but their forms and certain mannerisms of the masterare unmistakable. These dainty decorations were the sign manual of suchquattrocento painters as Gozzoli and Pinturicchio; and to these menhe, for whom these works of art were created, assigned the paintingand adornment of the Vatican. We will come to him directly. It was forMichelangelo to make the creations of these artists mere colored bubblesand froth, when seen against the immensity and intellectual grandeur ofhis future masterpieces in the Sistine. But that was afterwards. We areconcerned 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 heexpected and deserved. But it did not come. Unhappily for SignorMannetti's great moment, his words conveyed no particular impression toanybody.
Sir Walter asked politely:
"And was he a good, or a bad Pope? I fear many of those gentlemen hadlittle to their credit."
But the signor felt the failure of his great climax. At first heregretted it, and a wave of annoyance, even contempt, passed unseenthrough his mind; then he was glad that the secret should be hidden foranother four-and-twenty hours, to gain immensely in dramatic sensationby delay. Already he was planning the future, and designing wonderfulhistrionics. He could not be positive that he was right; though now theold 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 conscientiousstudent achieve if his activities are confounded by ignorance? Theamazing thing to me is that nobody should have had the necessaryinformation to lead them at least in the right direction. And yet I runon too fast. After all, who shall be blamed, for it is, of course, theGrey Room and nothing but the Grey Room we are concerned with. Am Iright? The Grey Room has the evil fame?"
"Certainly it has."
"And yet a little knowledge of a few peculiar facts--a pinch ofhistory--yet, once again, who shall be blamed? Who can be fairly askedto 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 historyeverywhere around us--not only here, but in every other department ofthis noble house. Take these chairs. By the accident of training, I readin them a whole chapter of the beginnings of the Renaissance; to youthey are only old furniture. You thought them Spanish because they werebought in Spain--at Valencia, as a matter of fact. You did not knowthat, Sir Walter; but your grandfather purchased them there--to thedespair and envy of another collector. Yes, these chairs have speakingfaces 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 thishome. If I knew more history than I do, then other beautiful thingswould talk to me as freely as these chairs--and as freely as thetrophies of the chase and the tiger skins below no doubt talk to SirWalter. But are we not all historical--men, women, even children? Toexist is to take your place in history, though, as in my case, the factwill not be recorded save in the 'Chronicles' of the everlasting. Yes,I am ancient history now, and go far back, before Italy was a unitedkingdom. Much entertaining information will be lost for ever when I die.Believe me, while the new generation is crying forth the new knowledgeand glorying in its genius, we of the old guard are sinking into ourgraves and taking the old knowledge with us. Yet they only rediscoverfor themselves what we know. Human life is the snake with its tail inits mouth--Nietzsche's eternal recurrence and the commonplaces ofour forefathers are echoed on the lips of our children as greatdiscoveries."
Henry Lennox ventured to bring him back to the point.
"What knowledge--what particular branch of information should a manpossess, signor, to find out what you have found?"
"Merely an adornment, my young friend, a side branch of witheredlearning, not cultivated, I fear, by your Scotland Yard. Yet I haveknown country gentlemen to be skilled in it. The practice of heraldry.I marked your arms on your Italian gates. I must look at those gatesagain--they are not very good, I fear. But the arms--a chevron betweenthree 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'dseen it before somewhere, but where I know not--a bull's head of gold ona red field."
Signor Mannetti started and laughed.
"Ha-ha! We will come to the golden bull presently, Sir Walter. You shallmeet 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 brainnow, or it will rattle in my head like a dry walnut. When it begins torattle, I know that I have done enough for the present. May I walk inthe 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 GreyRoom but myself. Not a soul must go or come without me."
Sir Walter spoke.
"You still believe the peril is material then--an active, physicalthing, 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 inthe sun, decided to stop there. Henry and his uncle exchanged glances,and the latter found his faith weakening, for the Italian's mindappeared to wander. He became more and more irrelevant, as it seemed. Hespoke again of the old dog who was at his master's feet.
"Euthanasia for the aged. Why not? For that matter, I have consideredit for myself in dark moments. Have you ever wondered why we destroyour pets, for love of them, yet suffer our fellow creatures to exist andendure to the very dregs Nature's most fiendish methods of dissolution?Again one of those terrible problems where mercy and religion cannot seeeye to eye."
They uttered appropriate sentiments, and again the old man changed thesubject and broke new ground.
"There was a prince--not your old dog--but a royal lad of theEast--Prince Djem, the brother of the Sultan Bajazet. Do you know thatstory? Possibly not--it is unimportant enough, and to this day thesequel of the incident is buried in a mystery as profound as that of theGrey Room. Our later historians whitewash Alexander VI. concerningthe matter of Prince Djem; but then it is so much the habit of laterhistorians to whitewash everybody. A noble quality in human natureperhaps--to try and see the best, even while one can only do so byignoring the worst. Certainly, as your poet says, 'Distance makes theheart grow fonder'; or, at any rate, softer. There is a tendency to sidewith 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 theygrow 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 shouldbe more severe with me and keep me to my point. Sultan Bajazet wantedhis younger brother out of the way, and he paid the Papacy fortythousand ducats a year to keep the young fellow a prisoner in Italy.It was a gilded captivity and doubtless the dissolute Oriental enjoyedhimself quite as well at Rome as he would have done in Constantinople.But after Alexander had achieved the triple tiara, Bajazet refused topay his forty thousand ducats any longer. The Pope, therefore, wrotestrongly to the Sultan, telling him that the King of France designed toseize Prince Djem and go to war on his account against the Turks. Thisdoes not weary you?"
"No, indeed," declared Mary.
"Alexander added, that to enable him to resist the French and spareBajazet's realms the threatened invasion, a sum of forty thousand ducatsmust be immediately forthcoming. The Sultan, doubtless appalled by sucha threat, despatched the money with a private letter. He was as greata diplomat as the Pope himself, and saw a way to evade this giganticannual impost by compounding on the death of Djem. Unfortunately forhim, however, both the papal envoy and Bajazet's own messenger werecaptured upon their return journey by the brother of Cardinal dellaRovere--Alexander's bitterest enemy. Thus the contents of the secretletter became known, and the Christian world heard with horror howBajazet had offered the occupant of St. Peter's throne three hundredthousand ducats to assassinate Prince Djem!
"Time passed, and the Pope triumphed over his enemies. He preparedto abandon the person of the young Turk to Charles of France, andeffectively checkmated the formidable Rovere for a season. But then, aswe know, Prince Djem suddenly perished, and while latest writers declarethat he actually reached France, only to die there, ruined by his owndebaucheries, I, for one, have not accepted that story. He never reachedFrance, my friends, for be sure Alexander VI. was not the man to letany human life stand between his treasury and three hundred thousandducats."
Signor Mannetti preserved silence for a time, then he returned in verysurprising fashion to the subject that had brought him to Chadlands. Hehad 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 somehours in the Grey Room after dark, and learn what the medieval spiritshave to tell me. Shall I see the wraith of Prince Djem, think you? Orthe ghost of Pinturicchio hovering round his little picture? Or thosebygone, cunning workers in plaster who built the ceiling? They will atleast 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 theold gentleman calmly. "You need not fear for me, Sir Walter. I jestabout the spirits. There are no spirits in the Grey Room, or, ifthere 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 ofyour house--a potent, sleepless, fiendish thing; and far from wonderingat all that has happened, I only marvel that worse did not befall. ButI have the magic talisman, the 'open sesame.' I am safe enough even ifI am mistaken. Though my fires are burning low, it will take more thanyour 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 amright."
"I confess that any such plan is most disagreeable to me. I have beenspecially directed by the authorities to allow no man to make furtherexperiments alone."
Vergilio Mannetti showed a trace of testiness. "Forgive me, but yourmind moves without its usual agility, my friend. Have I not told youeverything? What matters Scotland Yard, seeing that it is entirely inthe dark, while I have the light? Let them hear that they are bats andowls, and that one old man has outwitted the pack of them!"
"You have, as you say, told us much, my dear signor, and much thatyou have said is deeply interesting. In your mind it may be that thesevarious facts are related, and bring you to some sort of conclusionbearing on the Grey Room; but for us it is not so. These statementsleave us where they find us; they hang on nothing, not even upon oneanother in our ears. I speak plainly, since this is a matter for plainspeaking. It is natural that you should not feel as we feel; but I neednot remind you that what to you is merely an extraordinary mystery, tous is much more. You have imagination, however, far more than I have,and can guess, without being told, the awful suffering the past hasbrought to my daughter and myself."
"Our slow English brains cannot flash our thoughts along so quickly asyours, signor," said Mary. "It is stupid of us, but--"
"I stand corrected," answered the other instantly. He rose from hisseat, and bowed to them with his hand on his heart.
"I am a withered old fool, and not quick at all. Forgive me. But thusit stands. Since you did not guess, through pardonable ignorance of acertain fact, then, for the pleasure of absolute proof, I withhold mydiscovery a little longer. There is drama here, but we must be skilleddramatists and not spoil our climax, or anticipate it. To-morrow itshall be--perhaps even to-night. You are not going to be kept longin suspense. Nor will I go alone and disobey Scotland Yard. Your agedpet--this spaniel dog--shall join me. Good Prince and I will retireearly and, if you so desire it, we shall be very willing to welcomeyou in the Grey Room--say some six or seven hours later. I do not sleepthere, but merely sustain a vigil, as all the others did. But it will bebriefer than theirs. You will oblige me?"
Mary spoke, seeing the pain on her father's face. She felt certain thatthe old man knew perfectly what he was talking about. She had spokenaside 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 themfor their stupidity, he was deliberately withholding the key, half fromlove of effect, half in a spirit of mischief. He was planning somethingtheatrical. He saw himself at the centre of the stage in this tragicdrama, and it was not unnatural that he should desire to figure thereeffectively after taking so much trouble. Thus, while Sir Walter stillopposed, 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 ina nutshell, my friends. Trust a clever woman's intuition. I am indeedright. Never was consciousness of right so impressed upon my mind--proneas I am always to doubt my own conclusions. I am, in fact, right becauseI cannot be wrong. Trust me. My own safety is absolutely assured, forwe are concerned with the operations of men like ourselves--at least, Ihope very different from ourselves, but men, nevertheless. It was yourfate to revive this horror; it shall be my privilege to banish it outof the earth. At a breath the cunning of the ungodly shall be broughtto nought. And not before it is time. But the mills of God grind slowly.Our achievement will certainly resound to the corners of the civilizedworld."
"I'm as positive as the signor himself that he is safe, uncle," saidHenry Lennox.
"Let us go to tea," replied Sir Walter. "These things are far too deepfor a plain man. I only ask you to consider all this must mean to me whoam the master of Chadlands and responsible to the authorities. Reflectif ill overtook you."
"It is impossible that it can."
"So others believed. And where are they? Further trouble would unhingemy mind, signor."
"You have endured enough to make you speak so strongly, and your bravegirl also. But fear nothing whatever. I am far too deeply concerned andcommitted 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 thealtar 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 housetogether.
Mannetti evidently assumed that his wishes were to be granted.
"I will go and sleep awhile," he said. "Until an early dinner, excuseme, and let Mrs. May and Mr. Lennox convince you, as they are themselvesconvinced. These events have immensely excited my vitality. I littleguessed that, at the end of my days, a sensation so remarkable lay instore for me. I must conserve my strength for to-night. I am well--verywell--and supported by the consciousness of coming triumph. Such anachievement 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 ina wonderful though melancholy romance. Let us dine at seven, if youplease."
His excitement and natural levity strove with the gloomy facts. Heresembled a mourner at a funeral who experiences pleasant rather thanpainful emotions but continually reminds himself to behave in a mannerappropriate to the occasion.
They sent for his man, and, on Stephano's arm, the old gentlemanwithdrew.
He returned for a moment, however, and spoke again.
"You will do exactly as I wish and allow no human being to enter theGrey Room. Keep the key in your pocket, Sir Walter; and do not go thereyourself either. It is still a trap of death for everybody else in theworld but myself."