The Mammoth Book of Perfect Crimes & Impossible Mysteries (70 page)

“This key is always in the possession of His Majesty or myself when His Majesty was not in this room. The room was always kept locked because of the presence of the jewels.”

“There is only one key?”

“So I am told by the abbot of this monastery.”

“And where were the jewels kept?”

Lord Glenbuchat led the way into the chamber, which was covered with frescoes from the time of Palladio who had built the church of San Giorgio Maggiore. Most of them were framed either in the ornate cornices of the ceiling or with raised plasterwork on the walls. There were copies of Tintoretto paintings such as the“Gathering of Manna” which had been executed by his students. The room was also sumptuously furnished. Volpe saw that there was one window, a small one that he knew only gave access of view to an inner courtyard, some ten metres below.

The Marchese went to the head of the bed, by the right hand side and leaned forward, pressing a panel, which slid aside and reveal a small iron door. He reached for a key on the table and unlocked the door, swinging it open to reveal a tiny metal safe beyond. Apart from some papers, it was empty.

“This is where the jewels were kept,” he said, standing aside.

Count Volpe glanced quickly at the safe. It would tell him nothing, except that the lock had not been forced.

“Where was the key kept?” he asked.

“So far as we knew, it was with His Majesty the entire time.”

“There being no other key?”

“Again I was assured by the abbot that there was none.”

Volpe moved to the window and noticed the latches were secured. He opened it and peered out. It was only a tiny window, no bigger than to allow one’s head to be put through. Certainly no one could exit nor gain access through this aperture, even if they had a ladder long enough to reach up from the courtyard.

“Who knew of this secret panel and the safe?”

“Apart from His Majesty and myself as chancellor, only Colonel O’Sullivan and the manservant.”

“I presume the previous occupants of this chamber and, of course, the abbot, would know of the safe,” Volpe dryly pointed out.

“But they would not have known of the valuables that had been placed there,” replied Lord Glenbuchat.

Volpe conceded that it was a point.

“Who knew about these jewels? I do not mean their exact location but of their existence?”

“Of the existence of the Stuart Crown Jewels? I would say, countless people. Now and then emissaries from the usurper Hanoverian court came to make offers to His Late Majesty, when I served him.”

“His Late Majesty?” frowned Volpe.

“Charles the Third,” replied Glenbuchat irritably. “And, when his brother succeeded, twice they came with offers. The House of Hanover would like possession of the jewels in order to boost the legitimacy of their claims. But the exact whereabouts was only known to we of the household. Indeed, Colonel O’Sullivan deemed it best, when we fled from Frascati, to put it abroad that the French had taken the jewels when they sacked the villa at Frascati.”

Volpe was thoughtful.

“Are you saying that no one outside the four of you knew that these jewels were here in the monastery?”

“That I am.”

“Then this makes my work either very easy or very hard.”

Lord Glenbuchat turned with a quizzical gaze.

“Let us return to His . . . His Eminence,” Volpe suggested. “I would like to hear when the jewels were last seen and when and how they were discovered to be missing.”

The elderly Cardinal was still sitting before the fire but now there was a young man in attendance to him, serving a pewter goblet whose contents proved to be with mulled wine. Volpe presumed, with accuracy, that this was the Cardinal’s servant, Iain, and sought confirmation after he had withdrawn from the room.

“Now, Eminence, would you recall for me the last time you saw the jewels secured in your room?”

Cardinal York pursed his lips.

“I think I ascertained their safety late yesterday.”

“It was in the evening, Majesty,” added Glenbuchat quickly. “You will recall the evening Angelus was sounding but you had felt a distemper, deciding to retire early for the night.”

“Ah, so I did, so I did.”

“And why were the jewels inspected?” queried Volpe.

“Some papers had arrived, which I felt that His Majesty should lock away for safekeeping until we were able to deal with them.”

“Papers?”

“A report from our chief agent in London which was not for eyes other than myself and His Majesty,” replied Glenbuchat.

“And did they also disappear?”

“They did not. Only the jewels.”

“So, Eminence, you retired to bed early last night . . . and then what?”

“My servant Iain had brought me some hot brandy and, having partaken of it, I fell asleep and was not roused until this morning.”

Volpe unconsciously stroked his chin in thought.

“So you were not disturbed during the night?”

“I slept soundly.”

“And, Marchese, you told me it was the custom for His Eminence’s bedchamber to be secured?”

Glenbuchat nodded.

“There have been, from time to time, agents of the Hanoverians who might believe assassination was a solution to the claims of His Majesty to the throne of England. This is the first time in years that we have been in a more public place than in the confines of the villa at Frascati. We have to be vigilant. Indeed, you must know that there are some representatives of the clergy attending this conclave who declare their allegiance to the Hanoverian usurpers. Even the Irish bishops have had their allegiance bought by promises of seminaries and an easing of the Penal Laws against the Catholic population in Ireland.

“The Archbishop of Dublin, for example, Troy, is bending over backwards claiming that only those expressing loyalty to the Hanoverian Kings in London should be promoted as Irish bishops. He has condemned the uprising of the Irish last year and is even preaching legislative union of Ireland with England and Scotland. If such is the position of Irish Catholics, then the Stuart cause is lost forever. Such supporters of Archbishop Troy have the effrontery to come here to Venice to support the election of the new Holy Father.”

It was clear that Lord Glenbuchat was impassioned with his cause.

“So the bedchamber was secured?”

“We ensure that His Majesty secures his bedchamber door from the inside. And when he retires for the night O’Sullivan or Iain take it in turn to stay outside the door.”

“And this was faithfully carried out last night?”

“It was.”

“So when were the jewels discovered missing?”

“About mid-morning,” replied Glenbuchat.

“In what circumstances?”

It was the Cardinal who answered.

“I arose early and Iain helped me to dress so that I could go to the church to attend the early morning Angelus and mass. As I left my chamber, I locked the door behind me, as was my custom. When I returned I opened the chamber door so that Iain could clean my bedchamber and prepare the bed.”

“You were in the chamber when this was being done?”

The Cardinal shook his head.

“I was sitting here with Lord Glenbuchat on matters of business. I dictated some letters, for his lordship acts in the position of my secretary as well as chancellor.” The old man smiled wanly. “Thus have the Kings of England and Scotland in exile fallen on hard times.”

“It was the secret report from our agent which prompted me to open the safe,” added Glenbuchat. “I saw the jewellery box was gone. We questioned the household first. His Majesty was reluctant to send for outside assistance in case the news was spread abroad. But I hope we have your assurance of discretion.”

If it was an implied question, Volpe chose to ignore it.

“So, what you are saying is that the theft must have occurred in the hours when His Eminence left the bedchamber and went to attend early morning mass and the time when he returned to this apartment, there being no other opportunity for anyone to enter the chamber and remove the jewels?”

Glenbuchat shrugged helplessly.

“It would seem so. But His Majesty had taken both keys. Iain was here, as was I, awaiting the return of His Majesty. O’Sullivan had accompanied His Majesty to the mass as bodyguard. So we would have surely heard if anyone had forced an entry and remember that there were no signs of a forced entry.”

“No, whoever took the jewels had a key,” agreed Volpe.

“And we have been assured that there was no other key. Neither key to the safe nor to the bedchamber.”

“With your permission, Eminence, I would like a word with your servant, Iain, and also with Colonel O’Sullivan,” Volpe said rising.

“They can tell you nothing more than what my lord Glenbuchat and myself have furnished you with,” the old Cardinal pointed out.

Volpe smiled softly.

“In such an investigation as this, Eminence, it is always best to confirm things at first hand. A word here, a gesture there, may tell one far more . . . And, with your permission, I would like to see them alone, in their own quarters.”

He questioned the manservant Iain, a lad whose great-grandfather had come from Scotland to serve the House of Stuart, but whose connection with that country was solely his name. He was a young, excitable man with a Roman accent and a fast way of speaking, uttering half a dozen words in one breath, pausing and uttering half a dozen more. To Volpe, he seemed rather naïve. At first, Volpe thought he might be somewhat simple but then realized it was due to the youth’s unworldly attitude. He confirmed everything that the Cardinal and Glenbuchat had said. During the morning he had not stirred outside the apartments, as his task was to clean and maintain them for the Cardinal’s entire household. He was in and out of the main chamber, where the Marquess of Glenbuchat was working on some papers, within sight of the locked bedchamber door, until the return of Cardinal York and Colonel O’Sullivan.

Count Volpe then went to see Colonel O’Sullivan.

O’Sullivan was a tall man with a mane of golden-red hair, flushed fair features and a ready smile. Unlike the others of the Cardinal’s household who were descended from exiles, O’Sullivan was an Irishman born but had spent ten years in Dillon’s Regiment of the Irish Brigade in French service until the French Revolution had caused the Brigade to be disbanded in 1792. Too many Irish families, in service with the Irish Brigade of France, had risen to be ennobled in the French aristocracy. The new National Assembly of the French Republic did not trust the loyalty of the Irish regiments as many of their commanders had declared themselves as royalists.

Colonel O’Sullivan had made for Rome and offered his service to the Stuart household. He was too bombastic for Volpe’s liking. A man quick to temper and equally quick to humour. He was of too ephemeral a nature.

Volpe interviewed him in the colonel’s small, rudely furnished bedchamber in which there was room for scarcely anything other than a camp bed, a canvas campaign chair and a travelling chest. Volpe perched himself on the chest and motioned the big man to be seated. O’Sullivan dropped to the bed with a grin.

“Well, it seems as if this is the last throw of the dice for the Stuarts. After this I scarce imagine His so-called Majesty will be able to employ the likes of me.”

Volpe’s brows drew together. There seemed a certain amount of disrespect in O’Sullivan’s tone for one whom, so Volpe presumed, he regarded as his rightful king.

Catching sight of his expression, O’Sullivan slapped his hand on his knee and let out a laugh.

“Lord bless you, but I am a pragmatist. Sure, the Stuarts have provided me with an income after the French disbanded my regiment. But I am not the fool to forget that they never did my poor benighted country any good. Wasn’t it the Stuart king who sent the English and Scottish colonists pouring into Ireland and driving the likes of me to their deaths by the thousands? Thousands more of us had to escape to France, Spain or Austria. I serve the money, not the man.”

Volpe’s eyes widened.

“You are either an honest fellow or a fool,” he observed. “You have just provided me with a reason why I should suspect you of this theft.”

O’Sullivan grinned.

“You are at liberty to search my room. What you see is all I have. But as for stealing these jewels . . . why, I might have done had I known of their whereabouts. I didn’t know until this morning of the cunning hiding hole in the wall. Then that plumped-up jackanapes, Glenbuchat, started his ranting and raving. The old man was a closed mouth. As for Iain, God help him, he knows his station and will not depart from it. If he had found the Crown Jewels in a dark alley he would have come obediently to his master and handed them over without thought of recompense.”

“Are you saying that you did not know of their existence?”

“Sure, my Italian is not fluent but I think I made myself clear,” chided the other. “I knew of their existence. I knew the Cardinal had them but I did not know where he had hid them until this morning when I was told they had gone.”

“So you were told after you returned with His . . . His Eminence from mass this morning?”