Page 73 of Vengeance in Venice
Constance caught her breath. “Did you?”
Elena’s face twisted in distress, in memory, no doubt, and Constance caught her hand again, as if in both comfort and apology. “No, listen. Only two were ever made.”
Solomon’s skin prickled with excitement. They were on the verge of discovery, of solution. “They were originally a pair.”
“Itold them that,” Elena said impatiently. “Angelo grew up knowing it. The dagger has been in his family for centuries, only one. Yet the tradition is that two identical daggers were made for his ancestor for some ceremonial occasion. Angelo traced the ownership of this one through the ages—it has always been in Venice in one branch of the Savelli family or another. But he never found any sign of the other. It might never have existed. Who would want two such daggers?”
“Who would wantone?” Constance asked, wandering over to stare again at the beautiful, deadly thing. “Surely no one would take into actual battle?”
“It was never about battle, it was about status, wealth, ostentation. Venice was rich and gaudy when this was made. Her merchants ruled the world. Or at least the Mediterranean world. It was the center of Angelo’s collection.”
“He was proud of it,” Solomon said, feeling his way. “Did he ever look for its twin?”
“Not that I know of. It was not in Venice. I expect he kept an ear out, but he assumed the twin had been lost centuries ago, even broken up and sold for its jewels. You are seriously thinking that he was killed with the lost twin of his own dagger? Would that not be rather fanciful coincidence?”
Or a deliberate message of vengeance.“Perhaps… Signora, are these cases kept locked?”
Constance tried the lid and failed to open it.
“Of course,” Elena said. “They are all locked. The key is in the safe.” She waved at a locked walnut cabinet beneath a beautiful glass vase.
“Would you see if it is still there?” Solomon asked.
Shrugging, Elena took the ring of surprisingly small keys from some hidden pocket of her gown and advanced on the safe. Even the lock of the safe was cleverly disguised, and it seemed to take several turns and half turns of the key to open it.
Clever,thought Solomon, who had recent experience of a much larger and more conspicuously impregnable set of locks. In this case, most people would quickly give up on the correct key as being the wrong one.
Elena put her hand inside and brought out a single, small key. She walked to the nearest glass case, opened and closed it again, then moved to the jeweled dagger’s case and did the same.
“How many keys are there for the cases?” Constance asked.
“Just this one. So the theory is wrong. Angelo wasnotpolishing the dagger when he was enticed outside. He can’t have just shoved it into his belt for quickness. The cabinets were all locked.”
“Could anyone have smuggled it back in? Who else has a key to the safe?”
“Just Angelo. The police still have those, too.”
Constance’s gaze flew to Solomon’s.
“Nothisdagger,” Elena mused. “But he is no less dead. What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” Solomon said, “but for your own sake, let us keep the matter strictly between ourselves.”
Elena frowned. “But the police should be informed…”
“Not yet,” Solomon said quickly. He focused on the dagger, trying to memorize every facet, every tiny scratch on the polished blade. “Tomorrow. Tell me, would you recognize your husband’s dagger beside its twin?”
“Clearly not,” Elena said.
*
As they leftthe Palazzo Savelli, Constance was aware of a powerful urge to walk briskly in the fresh air. However, since she doubted her body was up to it, she accepted Solomon’s hand and then Alvise’s back onto the boat.
While Alvise rowed, she and Solomon sat beneath the awning and talked in low, urgent voices.
“But the fabric of Savelli’s clothes was torn by a blade,” Constance said. “The daggerhadto have been in his belt.”
“Adagger,” Solomon corrected her. “At one time, not necessarily that night. It could even have been after his death. We never saw the body or what he was wearing.”
