Oscar Wilde and the Vatican Murders Read Free Page A

looked about the empty lounge as I took up my
place facing Oscar across the card table. ‘Our fellow residents are all over at
the bathhouse taking the waters, I presume?’
    ‘Yes,’
he answered, drawing languorously on his little cigarette. ‘We shall have
nothing to disturb us now, except this correspondence and our consciences.’
    ‘Does
your conscience trouble you, Oscar?’ I enquired, untying the bundle of letters
before me.
    ‘Insufficiently,
I fear. Life’s aim, if it has one, is to be always looking for temptations —
and there are not nearly enough of them, I find. I sometimes pass the whole day
without coming across a single one. It makes one so nervous about the future.’
    I
smiled. ‘You’re on form today, my friend.’
    ‘I am
hungry for excitement,’ he answered, waving his first opened letter towards me.
His eyes scanned the paper and he sighed. ‘However, it seems I am not destined
to find it here.’ He drew more impatiently on his cigarette. ‘Listen to this.
“Dear Mr Holmes, I am secretary of the Godalming Gardening Society. During the
winter months, when gardening is not possible, we run a series of lecture
evenings and trust that you may be able to accept our invitation to address us
on either 3 November or 1 December next at seven o’clock. We meet on the
first Thursday of the month. We expect a talk of sixty minutes in duration,
followed by questions from the floor. We are not able to offer a fee, but will
cover all reasonable expenses and provide refreshment on the night. Our hope
would be to hear something about the cases of yours that have not yet been
reported in the Strand Magazine. We look for originality in all
our speakers. I look forward to hearing from you at your earliest convenience.
Yours most sincerely, Edith Laban (Miss).”’ Oscar let the letter fall from his
grasp. ‘Even the woman’s name is banal.’
    I
smiled. ‘A postcard simply saying “Mr Holmes regrets he cannot oblige” will
suffice, Oscar.’
    He
picked up the letter again. ‘She has underlined the word “originality”, Arthur.
The impertinence of the woman, the effrontery…’
    ‘Just
scribble a note of regret on a postcard and be done with it, Oscar.’
    ‘I’m
not sure we should reply at all — or perhaps I should reply on Holmes’s behalf
and explain that he is unavailable but that I am willing to come in his stead.
Yes, I think that Oscar Wilde should address the Godalming Gardening Society on
3 November. I am ready to be entirely original. I have things to tell the
members of the Godalming Gardening Society that they are certain never to have
heard before!’
    I
laughed. ‘Give me the letter, Oscar. I shall reply.’
    My
friend passed me the letter with a despairing snort and began to sort through
the remainder of the pile in front of him.
    ‘Be
warned,’ I said, ‘it’ll mostly be requests for autographs, photographs, and
the recipe for Mrs Hudson’s apple pie.’
    ‘Ah,’
cried Oscar, holding aloft a small packet, about eight inches long and four
inches wide. ‘This looks more promising.’
    ‘Do not
get too excited. It is probably a book of sentimental poetry — a gift from the
author. Sherlock Holmes has many female admirers.’
    ‘This
comes from Italy,’ said Oscar, inspecting the package more closely. He studied
the postmark. ‘From Rome. And the address is written out in capital letters. I
think it’s more likely to be from a man. It does not feel like a book. It’s
more malleable. Unbound proofs, perhaps.’
    He tore
open the brown wrapping paper. Inside the package was a large unsealed
envelope. Oscar shook the contents onto the table. What fell from the envelope
appeared to be a human hand, severed at the wrist.
     

 
     
    2
    The tell-tale hand

     
     
    O scar
recoiled in horror and pushed his chair back from the table. ‘This is
grotesque,’ he hissed.
    ‘It’s
certainly a surprise,’ I said.
    ‘Don’t
touch it, Arthur,’ cried