“Of course, Bartholomew. When her ladyship returns, please tell her I am in here, will you?”
“I will, sir. You want any more coffee, you just ring.”
Bartholomew breezed away with his youthful energy, and I returned to my puzzle.
If I’d hoped to find an orderly inventory of all goods in de Luca’s house as well as the neatly laid out list of de Luca’s contacts James Denis sought, I was disappointed.
The ledgers were filled with scrawls of barely readable handwriting. Each item—I assumed—was listed on the left, with notes and symbols to the right. I was reminded of the catalog done of the Prince Regent’s collection by Mr. Higgs, his librarian, which had led us to stolen objects.
But while those lists had been neat and methodical, I struggled to understand these numbers and letters and even to read what objects were listed.
Not until I’d gone through several pages and growled over them, did I realize that the language de Luca had used was not Italian, but French.
Once I saw that, my eyes were opened a bit. I sprang up, clutching a page, dashed to Grenville’s room, declared, “They’re in French!” and dashed away again.
Grenville’s “Ah, of course,” floated triumphantly behind me.
That a Roman man wrote in French was not surprising. It was a language spoken over much of the Continent, and de Luca and his confederates, whoever they were, must have found using it more convenient.
I returned to my room, certain I’d cleared up everything, but of course I hadn’t. I could read the lists better now and went back to the beginning, but they were still a mess.
De Luca hadn’t documented anything in a straightforward fashion. He’d list tables from the court of Louis the Fourteenth of France next to ancient Greek vases and Roman statuary, then a bronze by an eighteenth-century artist. Comparing his lists to mine, I saw that he hadn’t even divided up the things by room.
The annotations were likewise puzzling. For example, one next to an Etruscan vase readPVI, V, 04. A Roman statue,UVII, PBar, 07.
I threw my pen down after a time, rubbing my eyes. Nowhere had we found a list of de Luca’s contacts, though I consoled myself that it might still be in the trunk. Brewster was also leafing through a pile, and I hoped he’d be better at breaking codes than I was.
A scent of night air mixed with perfume wafted over me, and a soft kiss landed on the top of my head.
“I heard you snarling all the way up the stairs,” Donata said in her soothing voice.
“It is impossible.” I turned in my chair and took her hands, my fingers cramped. My wife was a much better thing to study than de Luca’s scrawled code. “I am ready to throw it all in the river and retire to Grenville’s villa. I miss the children.”
Donata squeezed my hands. “You will prevail,” she said with far more confidence than I felt. “You have despaired plenty of times before.”
This was not much comfort. “Are you fatigued?” I asked. “Or will you sit with me for a while? Your logical mind might help.”
“Heaven forbid you state this before members of thehaut ton.” Donata pressed her hand to her silk-clad bosom in mock horror. “A lady with a logical mind is an oddity, a bluestocking, much to be pitied.”
“I am sorry to learn this.” I gave her a little smile. “I hoped my daughters would have greatly logical minds, but I see that they must be featherheads or be condemned.”
“I will teach them to hide it.” Donata’s eyes sparkled. “Now, let us employ my logic.”
We sat side-by-side, and between us, a pattern emerged. Most of the codes were a mystery, but I deciphered a few of them and began to form a hazy idea about what the lists told us.
I wasn’t certain and wanted to ponder it and discuss it with Grenville and Donata, but if I was right, this was an amazing case of theft, larger than any I’d ever heard of before. All parties to this theft—most of them, anyway—were now dead. Trevisan’s interest became almost, though not quite, clear.
Before I could voice my speculations to Donata, Bartholomew interrupted us.
“Begging your pardon, Captain, your ladyship. His lordship, Conte Trevisan, is asking for you—he’s in the downstairs hall.” Bartholomew’s brows pinched into a frown. “He is greatly agitated and told me to say it was very urgent. I almost couldn’t stop him charging up here after me, except that I said your ladyship mustn’t be disturbed.”
Donata rose. “You’d better go down, Gabriel,” she said decidedly. “Call for me if I might assist.”
I reluctantly left her and the task that had suddenly grown very interesting, but I did need to ask Trevisan a few questions.
Trevisan forestalled any greeting by rushing to me as soon as I came off the stairs. He was indeed agitated, his color high, his breath quick.
“You must come, Captain. They’ve taken her. Dear God, they’ve taken her.”
