For defense against secret attack the rubber ball filled with acid Rayne always compelled me to carry, as being far preferable to revolver, knife or sword-cane. It is easily carried, easily concealed in the palm of the hand, makes no noise, and if used suddenly is entirely efficacious.
My assailant, blinded, shrieking with pain, and his face forever scarred, quickly disappeared to make what excuse he might. Later I found that he had previously tampered with the brass bolt of my door by removing the screws of the socket, enlarging the holes and embedding the screws in soft putty so that on turning the handle and pressing the door the socket gave way and fell noiselessly upon the carpet!
This attempt upon me at once proved that I was on the right scent, and according to Rayne’s instructions I that day followed Madame and Lola back to Salerno.
On changing trains at the Central Station at Rome I bought a newspaper, and the first heading that met my eyes was one which told of a mysterious robbery of the wonderful pearls of the Princess di Acquanero.
With avidity I read that the young Princess, as noted for her beauty as for her jewels, the only daughter of the millionaire Italian shipowner Andrea Ottone, of Genoa, who had married the Prince a year ago, had been robbed of her famous string of pearls under most mysterious circumstances.
Two days before she had been staying at the great Castello di Antigniano, near Bari, where her uncle, the Baron Bertolini, had been entertaining a party of friends. On dressing for dinner she found that her jewel-case had been rifled and the pearls, worth twenty thousand pounds sterling, were missing!
“The police have a theory that the guilty person was introduced into the castello by one of the many servants,” the report went on. “The thief, whoever it was, must, however, have had great difficulty in reaching the Princess’ room, as the Baron, knowing that his lady guests bring valuable jewelry, always sets a watch upon the only staircase by which the ladies’ rooms can be approached.”
With the paper in my hand the train slowly drew out of Rome on its way south. My mind was filled with suspicion. I was wondering vaguely whether the Marchesa Romanelli had been among the guests, for I recollected those words of Fra Pacifico that “the woman had committed sacrilege in the House of God.”
Could it be possible that he knew the Marchesa to be a thief who had stolen some valuable church plate from one or other of the ancient churches in Italy? If so, then, though the wife of the Admiral, she was also a thief.
On arrival at Salerno I took Madame aside, and telling her of my adventure with the man Hauser, I showed her the newspaper and declared my suspicions.