Mission To Siena

Chapter VI

EBONY COLOSSUS

Satisfied that he was now on the track of the Tortoise, Don went into action with a whirlwind rush that completely disorganized the placid calm of 25a, Upper Brook Mews.

Three hours after he had returned from Scotland Yard, Marian had been rushed to the London airport to catch a plane to Rome. With her went Cherry, pop-eyed with excitement, and delighted to be at last escaping from the rain and fog of London. Their instructions were to find and rent a villa either in or near Siena.

Harry was left in charge of 25a while Don cleared up outstanding business, swept half his correspondence into the waste paper basket and cancelled the numerous invitations that were the bane of his life1 during the London season.

On Thursday morning, two days after her departures Marian telephoned to tell Don she had found a villa and he could move in when he was ready.

"It's on a hill a mile outside Siena," she told him. "There's a wonderful view, no neighbours and the villa is completely screened from the road. The rent is horrifying, but I didn't think you would want to cut corners so I've taken it for a month with an option to run another three months if we want it."

On Saturday midday, a dusty Bentley nosed its way up a twisting lane, lined on either side by olive trees, through a massive archway, up a drive of flowering shrubs to a villa, red-roofed with dark-green shutters, that stood on rising ground overlooking Siena.

As Harry pulled up before the front entrance, Cherry appeared, his pink and white face wreathed in smiles. He came down the wide stone steps and opened the car door, giving Don a dignified bow.

"You look pretty pleased with yourself, Cherry," Don said. He stared at the villa. "My, my, this is quite a place."

"It is eminently satisfactory, sir," Cherry said. "Miss Rigby is waiting for you. Lunch will be ready in ten minutes."

An hour later, Don, Marian, Cherry and Harry were on the veranda that overlooked a magnificent view of Siena.

They had just finished a lunch prepared and cooked by Cherry: a lunch of ravioli, veal steaks with white truffles and ice-cream encrusted with candied fruits.

Don and Marian sat in basket chairs. Cherry rested his large haunches against the balustrade of the balcony: the furthest he would go to sitting in the presence of his employer. Harry was perched on the balustrade, his hands gripping his knees.

"You've done a good job," Don said, fanning aside the smoke from his cigar. "This is just the place for our headquarters. Somewhere in Siena is the man we are looking for. I'm sure of it. Now we've got to find him. It might not be too difficult if we could go around asking questions haphazardly, but we can't do that. He's bound to have a grapevine and he'd know fast enough we were making inquiries. Once he does know, we're sunk."

"So what do we do?" Harry asked, shifting impatiently.

"You and Cherry don't do anything for the moment. You'll run the villa and keep up the standard that's already been set." Don looked over at Cherry. "That meal was right out of the book, Cherry. It's obvious you haven't lost your continental touch."

Cherry preened himself and coughed behind his hand.

"If either of you could speak Italian," Don went on, "I'd let you loose in the city to see what you could pick up, but as you don't, the spade work1 must be done by Miss Rigby and myself." He turned to Marian. "We're going to dig into the history of Siena again. We'll go to the local bookshop and get all the books on the history of Siena they have in stock. I want to find out a lot more about the ward that represents the tortoise than we know already. When we have some facts, I can then ask questions, but they have got to be the harmless kind of questions a tourist interested in the history of Siena would ask, and not the kind of questions a policeman would ask."

Marian nodded.

"There's a bookshop in Via Pantaneto. They should have all we want."

"Okay, let's make a start. Harry, keep out of town. The less anyone sees of you the better. There may come a time when a new face will be useful, and that goes for you too, Cherry. Sooner or later, the Tortoise will find out, I am after him.

What I don't want him to know is I have you two helping me. Do you follow?"

Cherry, who hadn't forgotten the part he played in the Tre-garth affair, leaned forward, his fat face alight with excitement.

"I have come prepared, sir," he said. "I have my sword stick with me. If you will remember it came in useful in Venice last year."

The picture of fat Cherry tackling an armed thug with his sword stick jumped into Don's mind and he had to make an effort to suppress a grin.

"I remember all right. Keep it handy, Cherry. You never know. You may need it."

Marian and Don spent the next two days poring over the dozen or so books they had found at Pedoni's bookshop.

They sat together hour after hour on the veranda in the warm sunshine, oblivious of the view, searching for some clue that might ¦ lead to the Tortoise.

Harry busied himself in the garden and helped Cherry run the villa. Both he and Cherry cast anxious eyes at the other two as they turned page after page, waiting hopefully for a discovery that would give them some action.

On the evening of the second day, Don laid down his book and suppressed a yawn!

"Phew! I'm getting bored with this," he said. "Let's give it a rest. I'm going for a stroll in the town. Come on, Marian, keep me company."

Marian shook her head.

"I've nearly finished," she said, patting the large, dry-as-dust tome she held on her knees. "Another couple of hours and I'm through. I really can't face it again tomorrow. I must finish it."

"Your appetite for work is horrifying," Don said, heaving himself out of his chair. "All right, I'll go and find a nice blonde and paint the town red1. Don't say you didn't get the first offer."

Marian waved him away.

"Some chance you've got to find a nice blonde in Siena," she said.

"Well, okay, I'll settle for a brunette. Come on: change your mind."

"Don't tempt me, please," Marian said firmly. "I intend to finish this tonight."

Shaking his head, Don went down to the garage and got out the car. Harry came out of the darkness and looked hopefully at him.

"You're out of luck, Harry," Don said. "I can't take you with me."

Harry rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

"Okay, sir; just as you say."

"Go and play gin-rummy with Cherry. You might win some money off him."

Harry snorted.

"Some hopes," he said in disgust. "He's got that sword stick out and he is cutting and thrusting like someone on the movies. I told the old goat if he didn't watch out, he'd have a stroke."

Don laughed.

"Leave him alone, Harry. He has an adventurous spirit. He did damn well last time he produced that sword stick."

He drove down the drive and out into the lane. A mile of moonlit road brought him to the Porto Camollia over which was the inscription in Latin: Siena opens her heart still wider to you.

Leaving the car, Don walked towards the Piazza del Campo. It was just after half-past nine, and the narrow streets were already thronged with people aimlessly walking, filling the night air with the sound of their voices, moving aside indifferently as the cars with an impatient bep-bep on their horns forced their way through the solid crowd.

Don found his way to the Campo and over to a cafe where he sat down.

A brilliant scene lay before him. The shell-shaped Campo around which, twice a year, the Patio was raced for, was floodlit. The twelfth-century Palazzo Pubblico with its three hundred foot tower formed an impressive Hollywood-like background to the piazza.

Looking at this scene, Don thought how easy it was to put the clock back in Siena. He wouldn't have been the least surprised to see men in helmets and breastplates, arquebusiers and halberdiers, march into the piazza.

* A harassed waiter, carrying a laden tray, paused to take his order for a coffee espresso.

While waiting, Don glanced at the people sitting around him. There was the inevitable quota of American tourists, a number of Italians discussing politics at the tops of their voices, and two tables from him, a gigantic negro.

The negro held Don's attention. He had never seen a man built on such a colossal scale. He was a Michelangelo creation carved from ebony with a muscular development much larger than life.

Although he was seated, he was a good foot higher than the waiter who was placing before him an enormous pile of pink icecream. His bullet-shaped head grew out of shoulders as wide as a barn door without any apparent neck to join one to the other. There was a brutish, alert expression on his face that made Don think of a gorilla. His bloodshot eyes were constantly on the move. They flickered in Don's direction, ran over him with an insolent, inquisitive stare, passed on and came back to him and repeated the stare.

Don stared back and the negro shifted his glance. He picked up a spoon that seemed like a toy in his enormous hand and began to shovel ice-cream into his thick-lipped mouth.

What a beauty! Don thought. My goodness! I wouldn't like to tangle with him. He's the stuff nightmares are made of.

He lit a cigarette and shifted his attention from the negro to the slow-moving crowd walking to and fro across the Campo.

He was worried. Nothing had been achieved yet, and he had now only four more days before Dicks sent his report.

Somewhere, he was positive, in this ancient city, was the headquarters of the Tortoise. So far the books he and Marian had been studying had yielded no clue. Was he going about this search the right way? he asked himself. Should he take a risk and make some direct inquiries? Whom should he ask? If he went to the police, he would have to explain why he wanted the information, and he could imagine the reaction he would get. There was Pedoni, the bookseller. While Marian and he had been choosing books, they had talked with the old bookseller. He had told them he had lived in Siena all his life. He might be the man to consult.

Don finished his coffee. He glanced towards the negro who had suddenly risen to his feet. As he raised his great bulk to its full height of over seven feet, he seemed to enjoy the sensation he caused. The party of American tourists all stopped talking to stare at him. Even the Italians paused in their wrangling to gape. Slowly and with a jeering expression, the negro put a white slouch hat on his massive head, shot the cuffs of his cream silk shirt and strolled off into the crowd.

Head and shoulders above the crowd, it was easy to watch him cross the Campo until he disappeared through one of the dark archways that led into the labyrinth of the city's streets. Don signalled to the waiter, and while he was paying for his coffee, he asked casually, "Who was that negro? He looked like a prize fighter."

"For six months now," the waiter said, "every night without fail, he comes here to eat ice-cream. He works at one of the villas, so I am told. Some American perhaps employs him. He never speaks and I take care not to ask questions. To me he is a bad man."

Don grinned.

"You could be right," he said and got to his feet.

Deciding to explore the back alleys of the city, he left the Campo. He wandered through the narrow, crowded streets for an hour or so; aware that he was wasting time and that he should return to the villa and finish the book he was reading, but he was reluctant to leave the fascination of the pinched alleys, the massive Gothic-styled buildings that frowned down on him and the aimless, congested throng of people who surged around him like a sluggishly moving river.

It was nearly eleven o'clock when he began to make his way to where he had parked the Bentley. Cutting down a side alley to get away from the crowd, he came upon a steep dark hill that led to the Cathedral.

He walked up the hill, relieved to find that he had the place to himself. Ahead of him was a solitary street lamp that made a pool of yellow light on the cobbled road. Out of the shadows and into this pool of light a girl suddenly appeared.

Fifty or sixty yards behind her, Don was surprised to see her. He guessed she must have been moving ahead of him, but keeping to the dark shadows made by the high massive buildings. He had a brief glimpse of her as she walked through the pool of light before she disappeared again into the shadows.

Brief as the glimpse was, he recognized the Venetian red hair and the compact slim figure in its white sweater and black slacks. With his heart thumping with excitement, he lengthened his stride, his rubber-soled shoes making no sound.

Although he couldn't see the girl now, he was sure she was still.ahead of him and unaware he had recognized her.

At the top of the hill was an arch through which Don could see the lights of the piazza, del Duomo. Moving out of the darkness the girl passed under the arch and once again in the light from the piazza, Don caught the glint of her red hair.

She turned left and disappeared from Don's sight. He broke into a run, covering the last yards in five long strides. As he entered the archway, an enormous figure stepped squarely in his path and brought him to an abrupt standstill.

Steady as Don's nerves were, the sudden appearance of the giant negro startled him. He took a step back and looked up at the shadowy colossus who loomed before him.

"Got a match on you, bud?" the negro drawled.

Knowing that the girl was slipping through his fingers, Don attempted to sidestep the negro, but the negro moved the same way, again blocking his path.

Don had an alternative. He could give the negro a light and probably lose the girl or he could hang a punch on his jaw.

It occurred to him that he might easily break his fist against that massive jaw and there was no guarantee that he would knock the negro out. He decided to accept the situation. He took out his lighter and flicked up the flame.

The negro dipped a brown cigarette into the flame that lit up his face. His eyes looked like knobs of ebony dropped into the white of an egg.

"Thanks, bud," he said and chuckled. "Sorry if I held you up." His chuckle was the ugliest sound Don had ever heard.

Moving to one side, the negro went past Don and down the hill into the darkness.

As Don drove up the narrow lane towards the villa, his headlights picked out two figures sitting side by side on a low wall that overlooked the moonlit hills surrounding Siena.

He slowed down and leaned out of the window.

"Isn't it time you two were in bed?"

"Miss Rigby's got something," Harry said, an excited note in his voice. "We've been waiting for you."

He came over with Marian to the car.

"And I've got something too," Don said. "Hop in and let's get back. Where's Cherry?"

"We left him coping with his blood pressure," Harry said, as they got into the car. "I reckon he doesn't know his own age."

"Not entirely a bad fault," Don said and sent the car racing up the lane and to the villa.

A few minutes later, he pulled up outside the villa. "Go and get him," he said as they got out of the car. "This calls for a general conference."

As Harry hurried away, Don went on to Marian, "Have you really found something?"

"Yes, and just when I was giving up."

Cherry, looking hot and flushed and breathing heavily, came out on to the veranda, followed by Harry.

"Let's all sit down," Don said, sinking into a lounging chair. Seeing Cherry was about to prop himself up against the balustrade, he patted a chair near him. "Sit down here, Cherry."

"If you say so, sir," Cherry said and lowered his bulk into the chair, his back stiff with disapproval.

"Okay, Marian. Let's have it. What have you found?"

"I'm hoping this will be the lead we're looking for," Marian said. "The information I found is very scrappy, but it seems that in 1465 there were two powerful and rich families living in Siena. The heads of these two families were Niccolo Vaga and Jacopo Genga who were bitter enemies. They were chosen as candidates for the leadership of the Tortoise ward. The election was carried out with violence and hatred - I'm quoting from the book. Vaga won by a narrow majority. Genga plotted against him, and by some means not explained, succeeded in disgracing Vaga who was thrown into prison, his money and lands confiscated and his family exiled. Genga took over the leadership of the ward and had Vaga brutally murdered. Vaga's eldest son, Daniello, who had taken refuge with the other members of the family in Florence, vowed that neither he nor any male member of his family for generations to come would rest until his father's death had been avenged, the family fortune restored, and - and I think, this is important - the name of his family had become so powerful that it would strike terror into the heart of every Italian."

"Yes," Don said. "That could be it. It's just the kind of background a crackpot might pick on. If the Tortoise is related to the Vaga family,this could be his idea of levelling old scores . What happened to the family, Marian?"

She shook her head.

"I can't find any other reference to them in any of the other books."

"Well, okay, tomorrow we'll try the Records office and see if we can trace the Vaga family further." Don lit a cigarette and went on. "Lorelli is in Siena. I've seen her." He told them about the negro preventing him from going after Lorelli.

"I can't make up my mind, if he is one of them or if it was a coincidence that he appeared as he did. I think it is likely he is one of them, but we've got to make sure. This is where you two come in." He looked over at Cherry and Harry. "From now on, the villa is going to look after itself and we're going to take our meals out."

Harry's face lit up.

"That's the best bit of news I've heard since we came here, sir," he said. "What do we do?"

"This negro apparently goes every night to the cafe. There's no reason why he shouldn't be there tomorrow night. I want you two to find out where he goes. That's the first move. I don't have to tell you that it's essential he shouldn't know you are following him. You two get together and work out a plan. I suggest Cherry parks himself at the cafe, and you, Harry, at the other cafe across the Campo. When the negro leaves, you go on ahead of him and follow him from the front. Cherry will follow him from behind. Get a street map and study it. He's no fool, and if he gets an idea he's being watched, he'll try to shake you off; knowing all the alleys and side streets will be a help. Make sure he doesn't give you the slip and make doubly sure he doesn't spot you."

"We'll handle him," Harry said.

"Watch out. He could be a nasty customer ," Don said, then turning to Marian, he went on, "We'll continue our research tomorrow. Both of us and also Harry and Cherry will be on the look out for Lorelli. She's also easy to spot. If any of us sees her, drop everything and go after her. She's much more important than the negro. If you do have to follow her, you'll find she's up to every trick. When I was shadowing her in London, I was certain she hadn't spotted me, but she had."

"This should be a most interesting experience," Cherry said, beaming.

"I hope it's no more than interesting," Don said and got to his feet. "Well, let's break itup and go to bed. Tomorrow we'll really start work."

In spite of spending practically the whole of the next day in the Records office at Siena, neither Don nor Marian found any further information about the Vaga family. All trace of the family ceased at Florence.

Straightening his aching back, Don looked with exasperation at Marian.

"It certainly looks as if no member of the family ever came back to Siena," he said. "I think the next step is to check the records in Florence. Do you feel like having a crack at it? " Marian nodded.

"Of course. There's a train to Florence in an hour. If I hurry I can catch it."

Soon after six o'clock Don drove back to the empty villa after seeing Marian on to the train. Cherry and Harry had already gone separately into the city and were ostentatiously sight-seeing while keeping their eyes open for any sign of Lorelli or the negro.

Don booked a call through to Chief Superintendent Dicks, and then settled himself down with a highball and a cigarette to wait for Dicks to come on the line. After a twenty minute wait, the telephone bell rang.

"We're getting somewhere," Don said when he heard Dicks' voice. He went on to tell him about the Vaga family. "Can you get into touch with the Italian police without saying why and find out if there is any male member of the family still alive? It's my bet if there is, he's the Tortoise."

I'l see what I can do," Dicks said. "I like the idea. It hooks up with the facts."

"Although I'm making progress I'm not moving as fast as I had hoped. I want you to hold off that report for another week. If the police move in at this stage, our bird might vanish. If I locate him, I let you know at once and they can collar him."

Не purposely didn't tell Dicks that he had seen Lorelli nor did. he mention the negro. He knew if Dicks learned just how far he had progressed, he would be certain to call in the Italian police, and Don was equally certain this wasn't the way to play the hand.

"All right," Dicks said. "It's not as if you have any evidence I can act on yet."

"Fine," Don said. "I'll let you know how it goes. Find out about the Vaga family for me as fast as you can and call me here before ten o'clock in the morning. So long for now," and he hung up.

He sat for some minutes, thinking. He felt he could safely leave Harry and Cherry to take care of the negro. He decided it would be safer to keep clear of the Campo himself in case the negro became suspicious of him. A cautious talk with Pedoni, the bookseller, might be worth while.

Leaving the villa, he went down to the car. It took him twenty-five minutes of slow driving to reach Via Pantaneto, and then nearly as long again to find a place where he could leave the car.

It was getting on for half-past seven by the time he pushed open the bookshop door and stepped into the brightly lit, well-stocked bookshop.

The shop was empty, and Don wandered over to the history section and began to examine the titles.

"Good evening," Pedoni said, coming from behind a partition that screened the office from the shop. He spoke Italian.

"Is there something I can show you?"

Pedoni was a small fat man, swarthy and on the wrong side of sixty. His small eyes, half-hidden behind thick-lensed spectacles, reminded Don of two glistening black olives.

"I'm looking for a detailed history of.this city from 1400 to 1600," Don said. "There doesn't seem anything here."

"There's Cozarelli's history," Pedoni said. "That deals with the period or there's Mariano's history which also covers the period, although not in such detail." He fetched a short ladder, set it against one of the shelves and clambered up it. He found the volumes and brought them down. "Cozarelli is the better of the two."

"I'm interested in the history of the wards," Don said, taking the book. He examined the index. There was no mention of either Genga nor Vaga. "I want to find out how the wards acquired their names, who their leaders were and so on."

Pedoni pushed his glasses more firmly up his fat nose.

"Mariano has a chapter covering that, I believe."

Don began to examine the second volume.

"I was in the Cathedral library yesterday," he said casually, "and I was surprised to see a picture there depicting Piccolomini at the court of James I. How was it that Piccolomini got over to Scotland?"

Pedoni beamed. Don had already discovered, the little bookseller liked nothing better than to air his knowledge' of the great men of Siena, and for the next twenty minutes, he gave Don a detailed history of the life of Piccolomini.

"It was when he was elected pope in 1458 that the Sienese noblemen were re-admitted to a share in the government,"

Pedoni was saying when Don, seeing his opportunity, interrupted him.

"That would be in Jacopo Genga's time, wouldn't it?" he asked. "I was reading in one of the books I got from you that he grabbed power from a rival."

Pedoni's little black eyes turned cloudy.

"I don't recall Jacopo Genga," he said.

"He and this other fellow were candidates for the leadership of the Tortoise ward. He wasn't elected and he plotted against this other fellow - Vaga I believe his name was."

Pedoni shook his head.

"An obscure piece of history, signore. I know nothing about it"

"It doesn't matter," Don said, concealing his disappointment. He picked up Mariano's history. "I'll take this. It may give me what I'm looking for."

"I may be able to find exactly what you want," Pedoni said as he gave Don change from a five-thousand lira note. "If you will let me have your name and address, signore, I will send you a card if I am successful."

"Don't bother to do that," Don said, moving to the door. "I'll be in again."

"It is no bother, signore," Pedoni said, opening the door. "Besides I would like to send you my monthly lists. You are staying at the Continental Hotel perhaps?"

Don looked at the little man. There was a scarcely concealed tenseness about him that put Don on his guard.

"I'll be in again," he said. "Good night."

Pedoni stood for a long moment watching Don edge his way through the slow-moving crowd that packed the narrow street, then he shut the door, pulled down the blind and turned the key in the lock. He went quickly down the aisle to his office.

The office was small and lined with books from floor to ceiling. A desk, littered with papers and books and lit by a green-shaded lamp, stood in the middle of the room.

Pedoni paused in the doorway and looked at the girl with the Venetian red hair who sat behind bis desk, her face white and tense.

"That could have been the man who followed me last night," she said.

Pedoni flinched.

"Do you think he is from the police?" he asked, coming over to the desk.

"Don't talk like a fool. Does he look like a policeman?" She got to her feet and began to move slowly about the crowded room. "He may be the man who followed me in London. He has the same build." She paused, then picked up the telephone receiver. She called a number, waited a moment, then said, "Willie, there's a job I want you to do. Look out for a tall, heavily-built American, about thirty-five, dark, small moustache and a Z-shaped scar on his right cheek. He's wearing a bottle-green linen suit: no hat. I want to know who he is and where he is staying. Keep with him. Find out if he is alone or with others. If you are quick you might pick him up right away. He's only just left the shop."

She replaced the receiver, snatched up her coat that was lying on a chair and slipped it on.

"I must get back," she said. "This could be dangerous." The alarm in her eyes sent a twinge of fear through Pedoni that quickened the beat of his heart.