help you? I am a helpless cripple,” Peccati said bitterly. “If I could, I would. It is not possible.”
Don sat down.
“You can help me perhaps by giving me some information. Did you know your daughter and Tregarth knew each other?”
The old man nodded.
“Il signor Tregarth is a very good friend of ours,” he said. “He saved the life of my son during the war. My son was an active leader of the resistance movement in Milan. If il signore hadn’t supplied arms and money the movement would have failed.”
“Where is your son now?” Don asked.
The old man lifted his shoulders.
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard or seen him for six years. The last I heard of him he was in Rome.”
“Is Tregarth in Venice now?” Don asked.
“I think he must be,” the old man returned. “He may have got away, but I think it is unlikely.”
“Will you tell me what happened? Did he come to see you?”
“Yes, he came.”
“When was this?”
“Seven days ago. We had gone to bed. About two o’clock in the morning I woke to hear someone knocking on the door. Louisa came into my room. I told her not to answer the door, but she said it was someone who knew the old signal we used during the war: a sign that help was needed. I didn’t like her going to the door. As you see, signore, I am old and helpless. There was nothing I could do to protect her, but she insisted on going. It was il signor Tregarth. He was ill and exhausted. Before he collapsed he managed to tell her someone was after him and that he might have been seen coming here. Louisa locked and bolted the door. She dragged il signore into the back room and made him as comfortable as she could. He had been shot: a bad flesh wound across his ribs. It wasn’t a new wound: perhaps a fortnight or three weeks old, but it was infected and very painful. He was feverish too. While she dressed the wound, I sat by the windows of the front room in the darkness and watched. I saw two men: a tall man and a short man come along the Fondamente. They passed the house, then after a little while, they returned and went the other way.”
“One of these men wore a white hat?” Don asked.
The old man nodded.
“Those two men murdered your daughter,” Don said quietly.
“I guessed it,” Peccati said. “They must be punished, signore.”
“They will be.” Don got up and began to move about the room while he considered the information the old man had given him. “How long did Tregarth stay with you?”
“For one day only. He recovered a little of his strength after Louisa had dressed his wound and had given him a meal. I don’t know what he told her; not much, I think. I spent most of the time at the window of the front room, keeping watch. She told me a ‘little of what was said when he had gone. He was in bad trouble. He had been followed all the way from Vienna, and twice attempts had been made on his life. He managed to reach Venice, but by then they were close on his heels. They nearly caught him, but he remembered Louisa lived close by and he got under cover just in time.”
“Did he say who these people were who are hunting him?”
The old man shook his head.
“We didn’t ask. We have learned that no mouth is to be relied on not to talk under pressure. Some talk under little pressure; some talk under great pressure, but sooner or later, they all talk.”
“There are exceptions,” Don said quietly. “He remained with you for the whole of the next day? Then what happened?”
“He was able to remain with us all that day because it was Sunday, and Louisa didn’t have to go to work. Il signor Tregarth said it was necessary for him to find another hiding place.
He refused to risk our lives although we both wanted him to stay. He insisted. Louisa knew of this house in the Calle della Mondello. No one ever went there. One of the rooms had a bed in it, left by the previous occupier. That night she and il signore went there. It took them a long time as il
Don sat down.
“You can help me perhaps by giving me some information. Did you know your daughter and Tregarth knew each other?”
The old man nodded.
“Il signor Tregarth is a very good friend of ours,” he said. “He saved the life of my son during the war. My son was an active leader of the resistance movement in Milan. If il signore hadn’t supplied arms and money the movement would have failed.”
“Where is your son now?” Don asked.
The old man lifted his shoulders.
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard or seen him for six years. The last I heard of him he was in Rome.”
“Is Tregarth in Venice now?” Don asked.
“I think he must be,” the old man returned. “He may have got away, but I think it is unlikely.”
“Will you tell me what happened? Did he come to see you?”
“Yes, he came.”
“When was this?”
“Seven days ago. We had gone to bed. About two o’clock in the morning I woke to hear someone knocking on the door. Louisa came into my room. I told her not to answer the door, but she said it was someone who knew the old signal we used during the war: a sign that help was needed. I didn’t like her going to the door. As you see, signore, I am old and helpless. There was nothing I could do to protect her, but she insisted on going. It was il signor Tregarth. He was ill and exhausted. Before he collapsed he managed to tell her someone was after him and that he might have been seen coming here. Louisa locked and bolted the door. She dragged il signore into the back room and made him as comfortable as she could. He had been shot: a bad flesh wound across his ribs. It wasn’t a new wound: perhaps a fortnight or three weeks old, but it was infected and very painful. He was feverish too. While she dressed the wound, I sat by the windows of the front room in the darkness and watched. I saw two men: a tall man and a short man come along the Fondamente. They passed the house, then after a little while, they returned and went the other way.”
“One of these men wore a white hat?” Don asked.
The old man nodded.
“Those two men murdered your daughter,” Don said quietly.
“I guessed it,” Peccati said. “They must be punished, signore.”
“They will be.” Don got up and began to move about the room while he considered the information the old man had given him. “How long did Tregarth stay with you?”
“For one day only. He recovered a little of his strength after Louisa had dressed his wound and had given him a meal. I don’t know what he told her; not much, I think. I spent most of the time at the window of the front room, keeping watch. She told me a ‘little of what was said when he had gone. He was in bad trouble. He had been followed all the way from Vienna, and twice attempts had been made on his life. He managed to reach Venice, but by then they were close on his heels. They nearly caught him, but he remembered Louisa lived close by and he got under cover just in time.”
“Did he say who these people were who are hunting him?”
The old man shook his head.
“We didn’t ask. We have learned that no mouth is to be relied on not to talk under pressure. Some talk under little pressure; some talk under great pressure, but sooner or later, they all talk.”
“There are exceptions,” Don said quietly. “He remained with you for the whole of the next day? Then what happened?”
“He was able to remain with us all that day because it was Sunday, and Louisa didn’t have to go to work. Il signor Tregarth said it was necessary for him to find another hiding place.
He refused to risk our lives although we both wanted him to stay. He insisted. Louisa knew of this house in the Calle della Mondello. No one ever went there. One of the rooms had a bed in it, left by the previous occupier. That night she and il signore went there. It took them a long time as il
Similar Books
