Vatican Cameos

T. Ryan Richard

Description

When the papal apartments are burgled in 1901, Sherlock Holmes is summoned to Rome by Pope Leo XII. After learning from the pontiff that several priceless cameos that could prove compromising to the church, and perhaps determine the future of the newly unified Italy, have been stolen, Holmes is asked to recover them. In a parallel story, Michelangelo, the toast of Rome in 1501 after the unveiling of his Pieta, is commissioned by Pope Alexander VI, the last of the Borgia pontiffs, with creating the cameos that will bedevil Holmes and the papacy four centuries later. For fans of Conan Doyle's immortal detective, the game is always afoot. However, the great detective has never encountered an adversary quite like the one with whom he crosses swords in "The Vatican Cameos.".

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 24 août 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781780929903
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Vatican Cameos
A Sherlock Holmes Adventure
By
Richard T. Ryan




First edition published in 2016 by
MX Publishing
335 Princess Park Manor
Royal Drive, London, N11 3GX
www.mxpublishing.co.uk
Digital edition converted and distributed in 2016 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2016 Richard T Ryan
The right of Richard T Ryan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The opinions expressed herein are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect those of MX Publishing or Andrews UK.
Cover design by Brian Belanger.
Grateful acknowledgment to Conan Doyle Estate Ltd. for the use of the Sherlock Holmes characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.




This book is dedicated with love my wife, Grace, who has been an unwavering source of support in all my literary efforts, and to my children, Katlin and Michael and my son in-law, Daniel.



Introduction
Playing the Old Course at St. Andrew’s probably ranks pretty high on every golfer’s bucket list. Having recently retired after nearly 30 years as a newspaper editor, I decided to visit the birthplace of the game and fulfill a dream I had harbored for many years.
Making things considerably easier was the fact that my older brother, Ed, had purchased a small cottage in St. Andrew’s, not too far from the course, some 20 years ago.
I planned carefully because getting to play the Old Course is no easy task. I decided to shoot for a round in the late fall, after the local tournaments had been concluded. My brother was all in because while he had played St. Andrew’s many times, we had never done it together.
I arrived in Scotland on Monday and Ed picked me up at Edinburgh Airport. I prevailed upon my brother, so that even before we drove to his cottage, we stopped by the course and entered the lottery for Wednesday. I checked online that night and learned to my dismay that we had not been selected for a tee time.
On Tuesday, we played the Castle Course, and I had one of the best rounds of my life. Feeling psyched, we entered the lottery for Thursday.
Tuesday night, I saw that once again we had not been selected. So, on Wednesday, we played the new course, and although it is a great layout and quite challenging, it’s not St. Andrew’s.
After finishing, we swung by the Old Course and I entered the lottery for Friday. And so it was that that on Wednesday night, I checked online and learned that we had been chosen to play on Friday.
We had been assigned a 10:10 a.m. tee-off time, and my excitement was nearly palpable. All day Thursday, I busied myself with helping my brother in his garden, reading and watching the sky.
Even though the forecast called for showers, my enthusiasm remained unshaken. That night, I felt like a youngster waiting for Christmas morning. As you might expect, I slept very little.
On Friday, we rose at 8, enjoyed a hearty breakfast of pancakes and coffee and then drove to the course where we were joined by Mike and Daniel, two Americans, who like myself were living the dream.
After arranging for caddies, we headed for the first tee. The first hole at St. Andrew’s is a fairly short par 4. The tee shot is one of the easiest in golf. Feeling loose and relaxed, I placed my drive right in the center of the wide fairway. Although the clouds looked ominous, I stubbornly ignored their threatening presence.
As I walked to my ball, I recalled a college philosophy course from my youth. Channeling either Hume or Kant, I couldn’t remember which, I reasoned that if I denied the existence of the clouds, they would cease to be. However, as I stood over my ball preparing for my second shot, there was no way to ignore the clap of thunder and the jagged lightning bolt that ripped across the sky. As the rail began to fall in buckets, I stood there adamantly refusing to admit defeat.
After an agonizing five minutes, during which I saw other foursomes fleeing for the shelter of the clubhouse, I gave in to the urging of my brother and our caddies. I finally decided there was no logical way that I could continue to deny the existence of the storm. After all, I was standing there soaking wet.
After trudging back to the clubhouse, we sat around waiting patiently for the storm to pass, but it never did. Eventually, we drove home where I enjoyed a hot shower and a change of clothes. Then I asked my brother for suggestions on how to kill a rainy day in a small town.
He told me there was an estate sale that afternoon. The contents of a large Victorian home on nearby Bogward Road, were being auctioned off. With nothing else to do but read and wallow in self-pity, I said, “Let’s go.”
Thirty minutes later, we were standing inside the auction room at MacGregor’s on Largo Road. There were only a few other people at the sale.
Most of the people there seemed to know exactly what they wanted because the bidding on some of the various pieces of furniture and artwork was spirited while other items attracted few, if any, bids at all. Eventually, my brother got involved in trying to obtain a Tiffany lamp, which he eventually lost when the price reached 25 pounds.
As the sale wound down, the auctioneer produced a small trunk.
“We are taking a chance with this piece,” he intoned. “It is locked, and the contents are unknown. Let’s start the bidding at 5 pounds, shall we?”
After no one matched his opening bid, he dropped it to 4 pounds. I nodded, and he said, “I have 4 pounds. Will anyone bid 5?” Looking across the room, I saw a man on the other side of the room gesture discreetly, and suddenly I realized that I had competition.
Despite my brother’s protests, I won the bidding war and paid 22 pounds for the trunk.
As we drove home, I offered to split the contents with him - for 11 pounds.
“It’s all yours,” he replied.
The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle as we made our way into his garage. The locks on the trunk couldn’t hold up under the pry bar I employed on them.
Lifting the top, I saw a tin dispatch box inside. Odd, I thought - a box within a box. After wiping away layers of caked on dirt and grime, I saw the name “John H. Watson” painted on the lid. Although faded, it was clearly discernable. This can’t be that box, I thought.
Opening the latch, I saw that the inside was crammed with papers and folders. I picked up one of the folders and upon opening it, I was greeted by a title page that read:
The Vatican Cameos: A Sherlock Holmes Adventure by Dr. John H. Watson.
Having been a devotee of Conan Doyle’s great creation my entire life, I knew that this tin box must be the same one that Dr. Watson had kept locked securely away in the vaults at Cox and Company.
The deep disappointment I felt earlier about St. Andrew’s had been eclipsed by unbounded joy as I realized that I was holding one of the untold tales of Sherlock Holmes.
From my reading, I knew that the great detective had handled several cases for the Vatican, and later, I checked and verified that the case of “The Vatican Cameos” is referenced by Watson at the beginning of “The Hound of the Baskervilles.”
After another sleepless night - this one spent reading - I was determined to share this untold Holmes’ exploit with others. I can only hope that you derive as much joy from this story as I did.
Richard T. Ryan



Chapter One
London, 1901
“Two weeks, Watson! We have been two full weeks without a case!” exclaimed Sherlock Holmes. “Is the entire criminal underworld so in awe of my abilities that its members have given up their nefarious enterprises? Does the world no longer need Sherlock Holmes?”
He cast a surreptitious glance at the mantel where he had once kept his syringe and a vial of cocaine.
“Well here’s one criminal who appears to be going about his business as usual,” I remarked.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Police discovered the body of a teenage Asian boy floating in the Thames yesterday,” I said, referring to an article in the Guardian. “His hands were tied and his face had been disfigured with some sort of sharp instrument.”
“Let me see,” Holmes exclaimed, snatching the paper from my grasp. Throwing himself into his chair, he began perusing the report. As the minutes passed, I could only assume that he was reading the article several times over.
Finally throwing the paper aside, he remarked, “This is not a case for us, Watson.”
“What do you mean? A young boy murdered and mutilated and you have no interest? I must say, I am rather surprised - and disappointed - at you Holmes.”
“Lestrade stopped by earlier while you were out. In addition to his face, the young man’s stomach had been cut open, a fact either ignored or omitted by the Guardian’s reporter. Obviously, the boy had smuggled something into this country, concealing it by swallowing it. Whoever he was working for wanted the goods immediately, and the young man paid dearly for his criminal tendencies. The good inspector informed me that the Yard has a pretty fair idea of who is running the smu