“No. If they’ve joined up since leaving England, what you’re looking for is an older couple and a young couple,” Deirdre said.
“Yes,
if
they’ve joined up. Any reports I’ve had of Jalbert dropping bad coin along the trip describe him as traveling alone. Listen to this, Deirdre,” he added, and read another item. “As well as false coin, the Jalberts have also been active in selling forged paintings. An alleged Carpaccio they sold to a woman in London has been proven to be forged.”
She knew by his excitement that he considered this a clue. “You’re thinking of Elvira’s painting,” she said, “but she can’t be one of them.”
“She could be Claude’s wife,” Dick suggested, and looked for her reaction.
“Then why would she be traveling with the Suttons?”
“The gang has broken up for the trip. They’re less likely to be captured if they travel with innocent tourists. I suspect the Suttons had planned this trip before the Jalbert gang was captured and Claude induced the Suttons to come along so he could be near his wife.”
“How could she have even met Claude when she was in the seminary and he was in London?”
“Getting counterfeit money into circulation is the hardest part of the operation. When the fakes are spotted in one county, they must move on to another one. I daresay the Jalberts have been all over England, leaving their steel guineas behind them. Elvira could have met Claude in Bath or Cornwall. I wish we were back in England where I could check on some of these suppositions. Elvira’s in this up to her
beaux yeux
and laughing at me from the side of her mouth.”
“The Suttons are rich. Mrs. Sutton paid a thousand guineas in cash for the pearl.”
“The Suttons aren’t the Jalberts,” Dick countered. “Their having money wouldn’t do the Jalberts any good unless it was in Elvira’s hands. Quite possibly Mrs. Sutton doesn’t even know about the marriage.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t. They would have made some slip during all the time we were with them. They seem like such ordinary people.”
“I wouldn’t call Elvira ordinary. She may have run away and married Claude, and her mama brought her here to get away from him. I don’t know the details, but I know that woman is up to something.”
“Just because she doesn’t like you.” Deirdre shrugged.
“The feeling is entirely mutual. She didn’t leave me that note in Paris. But Claude
did
leave a note telling someone that they were all leaving earlier than planned. The way I see it, Claude paid a running visit to Elvira that morning, and she told him about the early departure. The Licorne was their meeting place. Styger-Jalbert kept in touch with them there, and very likely with Claude, too. I didn’t think to ask if Styger ate alone. Whose idea was it to go to the Licorne?”
“It was Elvira’s,” Deirdre admitted. “It was Elvira who particularly wanted to come to Venice, too. She chose the Léon Bianco. She had a friend who recommended the two hotels.”
“A husband is more like it. The great attraction in Venice was that the Jalberts are here. Who is this friend?”
“It’s a girl she knew from Bath. Her name is Jane something—she’s in Italy. It could be the friend who’s married to Claude.”
“Is she in Venice?”
“She’s somewhere nearby.”
Dick considered it a moment and shook his head. “No, it don’t fadge. If Claude’s in Venice and married to Elvira’s friend, Elvira wouldn’t have to be acting as go-between. He could see Jane himself. It’s Elvira he’s married to. That would account for all her odd behavior.”
“Oh, dear!” Deirdre exclaimed, and set her coffee cup down with a thump. “Pronto!” she said, with a wild eye at Belami. “He’s in love with a married woman.”
“Good lord! He’s courting her to the top of his bent. You may be sure there’s a jealous husband out there, keeping an eye on him. I’d best warn him.”
“Oh, my, yes,” she agreed. They gathered up their papers and dashed off to the gondola to go to the hotel. They found Pronto taking a leisurely breakfast alone in the dining room.
“Bonjouro,
Deirdre, Dick. Care for a
caffé?
They make a decent breakfast here, if you can stomach bread and fruit. Stay away from the meat,” he added behind his hand.
“We haven’t come for breakfast,” Belami told him.
Pronto narrowed his eyes and said, “I knew. it. You’ve been deducing again. What have you found now?”
“It’s about Elvira, Pronto,” Deirdre said gently. In his concern, Belami began to empty his budget much less gently.
Pronto bridled like an angry horse. “Now see here, you’re way out of line, traducing an innocent girl. I won’t hear a word against her. Whatever you’ve got to say, bear in mind you’re saying it about the woman I love.”
“Don’t be a sapskull,” Dick said. “She’s making a May game of you. We have reason to believe she’s already married.”
“What reason?”
Belami explained his reasoning in some detail. Pronto’s face went from anger to incredulity to contempt. “And I thought you was a clever man. This is a bag of moonshine. All your clues are based on this old piece of newspaper from England saying that Claude Jalbert’s married. It don’t say he’s married to my Elvira. You’d best come up with some new coincidences, for it don’t wash that Elvira’s married to a counterfeiter just because she made a fool of you. That’s what burr you’ve got under your saddle.”
Belami took a deep breath and tried again. “She is. I feel it in my bones,” he insisted. “She stole that guinea from my pocket. She lied to Deirdre about leaving me a note. She led the ladies to the Licorne where Alfred Jalbert picked up notes. She was in Saint Mark’s Square the other night when Jalbert was there. And how do you account for her knowing so much about counterfeiting—the Trial of the Pyx? How did she know that? And,” he added importantly, “she had plaster of paris in her paint box. Does she use that in her work?”
“How should I know? We have better things to talk about than plaster of paris!”
“She doesn’t do sculpture, only painting,” Deirdre said.
“Well, it’s used for making molds in counterfeiting,” Belami said.
Pronto just shook his head. “You’ve made a fool of yourself once already, Dick. That business of bouncing Mrs. Sutton’s money around the table yesterday—don’t mean to rub it in your nose, but you looked nohow. Don’t do it again. Your rubbishing clues are all circumstantial. You lost your coin yesterday. Don’t blame Elvira because you’re clumsy. She
did
leave you the note in Paris. Those demmed Frenchies misplaced it. You know about the trials and pixies and all that—I don’t see us calling you Mr. Jalbert. Your nose is out of joint because she likes me better than you, and that’s the top and bottom of it.”
“Perhaps she finds you easier to fool,” Belami said.
“Maybe you’re wrong, Dick, “ Deirdre said. “Elvira wouldn’t lead Pronto on if she didn’t care for him—if she were already married, I mean.”
“Would she not? She knows I’m after the Jalbert gang. Their little business is no longer viable. When Claude’s clamped into irons, she’ll want some other protector.”
“You
do
admit I’m number two with her, then, do you? Big of you.” Pronto scowled.
“No,
bigamy,”
Belami joked. “A lady’s only allowed one husband at a time.”
“Where is Elvira, Pronto?” Deirdre asked. “I’ll run up and say hello to her while you and Belami talk.”
“She’s gone.”
Dick and Deirdre exchanged a wild stare. “Where? When?” Dick asked.
“She’s gone to visit a friend. Left this morning.”
“Was it Jane, her friend from England?” Deirdre asked.
“That’s it. Miss Blackwell. It’s some place that starts with a v. Just between Verona and Vicenza. Or was it outside Valdagno? Something like that. Italy has too many v’s to suit me. The place is full of them. It’s via this and via that, Venice and Vesuvius.
Veni, vidi, vici.”
His voice petered out.
“Why?” Dick asked.
“Demmed if I know,” Pronto replied, shaking his head. “Do you remember in the old schoolbooks, they was always sticking in a
v
instead of
u,
making it impossible to read?”
“Why did Elvira go away?” Deirdre asked, as Dick seemed in some danger of exploding.
“Visting her friend,” Pronto said. “Already told you.”
“When will she be back?” Deirdre asked.
“Two or three days.”
“When did she leave?” Belami said.
“This morning, around eight-thirty. I walked her down to the landing and saw her into the gondola. They only have the one servant, and she didn’t want to leave her mama short handed. Watched her start out for Mestre. That’s where you’ve got to go first to get out of this place,” he explained.
“You sent her off alone in a gondola?” Belami frowned.
“Dash it, I hadn’t had a bite of breakfast. I offered to go with her. Elvira insisted I go in and have my breakfast. But I didn’t. I hobbled back up to bed instead.”
“I expect Claude was missing her,” Belami said archly. “A man likes to have his wife with him in romantic Italy.” His glance turned to Deirdre, where it softened.
“He will if I have anything to say about it,” Pronto said. “I mean to pop the question when she gets back.”
A sense of urgency was added to Belami’s worry. He remembered his spies, and hoped Réal might have more detailed information as to who had met Elvira at Mestre. He and Deirdre left a very disgruntled Pronto behind, muttering into his cup.
“What do you make of this?” Deirdre asked.
“She’s gone off to meet Claude and report that I’m making waves here in Venice. If they planned to dump their guineas here, they’ll have to change their plans.”
“I wonder if she intends to come back at all. It would almost be best if she didn’t.”
“Possibly she was just waiting to collect that jewelry from her mother and take it to her husband to finance their journey elsewhere,” Belami suggested.
They went directly to the Palazzo Ginnasi, where Réal was pacing the dock, waiting for them.
“Réal, any news from the Léon Bianco?” Belami asked. “Did you happen to see Miss Sutton leave this morning?”
“But yes, I see everythings,” Réal said comprehensively. “She goes in the boat to Mestre, where she hires a carriage.”
“Hires?” Belami asked. “You’re sure it wasn’t there waiting for her?”
“She hired a carriage, with very bad horses, like all the horses in Italy.”
“Where did she go from there?” Belami asked eagerly. He felt the blood pulsing in his veins, pacing his heart faster.
“She went west, to some place starting with a v,” Réal said, and looked fearfully for his master’s approval.
“You mean you let her get away!” Belami gasped.
“You said. ‘If Styger shows up, follow him.’ Styger, he don’t show up. I come back to the hotel. Nick—he was late,” Réal said, hoping to dissipate the blame. “H’as usual.”
Belami grimaced. “I wish you’d stayed with her. She could have led us to the gang. I wager she’s meeting Claude.”
Réal was racked with grief. For five minutes he had stood, trying to determine which course he should take at Mestre. What victory he could have brought home, if only he’d followed Miss Sutton. Regret turned to anger and he lashed out. “If some peoples would say what they mean, it will be making my job much easier. Follow Styger, you said.”
“You’re right,” Belami said placatingly. “The trouble is, I need a dozen men, not just you and Nick. Did anything of interest happen last night at the hotel? Any callers?” he asked hopefully.
“No callers. Miss Lucy and the mother went out—to visit churches. I hear talkings of Saint Mark’s.”
“Hmm—I wonder who they met there. You didn’t—”
“I stayed watching the hotel, like I am told to do,” Réal answered grimly. More coals of shame were heaped on his head that he hadn’t read his master’s mind from afar. He left very soon, his body so suffocated with remorse and regrets that there was only one way to subdue it. He must hire a boat immediately and return to Mestre, to see what he could learn of the travels of Miss Sutton.
It was late in the evening when Réal returned. He didn’t know whether he had real news or whether he would add to his shame by the unlikely tale to be told. He found Belami with all the others in a small saloon sorting through costumes from the contessa’s attic for the masquerade ball. Réal stood, willing Belami to look at the doorway. Such was the intensity of his wish that Belami turned at once and discovered his groom.
Belami hastened to the door and asked, “Why aren’t you at the hotel?’’
“I am just going. Before I leave, I have other newses for you. I went to Mestre this afternoon,” he said.
Belami was hard pressed to imagine why Réal was shifting uneasily on his feet. He feared some ill news was about to be revealed. “Well, what is it?”
“The hired carriage of Miss Sutton, it goes to Mira, a short distance from Mestre. There it goes to a small inn. Miss Sutton hires a room.”
“That’s odd. Did she meet the Blackwells?”
“She meets no one,” Réal said.
“Is she still there?”
“No, she disappeared. She locks herself into the room carrying one small case from the carriage. The maids, they think she is sleeping. Many hours later they are worrying, and knock. There is no answer. They open the door with the key—Miss Sutton, she is gone. Her case is gone. No one is going to visit her all day, and Miss Sutton isn’t leaving her room also. She disappeared,” he said, and stifled the urge to cross himself, for obviously the forces of Satan were at work here.
Réal stood trembling with anxiety to see the effect of his news. A rush of glory entered his breast when Belami clipped him on the arm and said, “Good work, Réal!”
But Réal was never one to take undue credit. “Possibly I am misunderstanding the servants,” he admitted. “I do not speak the Italian very good, though I know the paternoster and Ave Maria by heart.”
“Hmm, that’s a distinct possibility. I have the deuce of a time understanding the language myself. What’s the name of the inn at Mira and where is it, exactly?”
He got the name and the directions. Réal went to the hotel and Belami returned to the saloon to tell Deirdre what he had heard.
“We must go to Mira at once,” she said. “I’ll sneak out tonight. You can question the servants at the inn.”