out a hand and pushed him back but the walls were shaking so violently now that it was almost impossible to get any purchase on him.
I looked up and saw Unmann levelling the pistol at me. I was a sitting duck.
Quibble’s withered head turned to look down at me and a strange look flitted over his pallid features. I suddenly knew what he was going to do. I pulled myself tight to the rungs in order to present as small a target as possible and flinched as I heard Unmann’s shot blast out. At the same instant, Quibble let go of the rungs and fell back into the void, taking the bullet that was meant for me. As he spiralled noiselessly down the shaft, all was confusion. I tried to clamber the last few feet towards the top of the shaft before Unmann had a chance to recover but was suddenly aware that Charlie, with a great bellow of rage had taken hold of the ripped fabric of Unmann’s robe that hung streamer-like over the lip of the shaft and pulled on it for all he was worth.
With a great disbelieving gasp, the lethal diplomat toppled forwards.
I caught a glimpse of his startled face as he sailed past me and then he was just a ball of swirling scarlet, plummeting down the shaft after the noble Quibble into the pulsating stream of molten rock.
Just before he hit, though, there was a bright flash and pain seared through my shoulder. I gasped and looked down at where Unmann’s parting shot had penetrated my flesh. I swayed on the iron rungs.
In a second, Charlie’s strong arms were under mine.
«Hang on, sir. I’ve got you!»
Waves of nausea began to pulse through me and I felt my senses swim. Charlie grasped at my shirt and heaved me out of the lift shaft. I staggered to my feet as the invaluable valet helped the others out and then we staggered as one unit through the volcanic tunnels towards the Pompeiian bath house.
As we emerged into that strange room, the pellucid lights were flickering and the ancient walls shuddering under the impact of the eruption. I was only dimly aware of all this as Charlie plunged on, dragging me with him, my whole body shot with pain. The others were merely a dim blur behind me.
Somehow he got me to the ladder and, weak as a kitten, I managed to pull myself up and up, every step an agony. Surely there must be an end to this climbing? All at once we were at the hatch and tumbling into the bleary dawn.
Of course, we were not yet safe. The livid sky told us what we already knew. Vesuvius was erupting and, whilst it was not the cataclysm Venus had hoped for, it was still not wise to hang about.
I chanced a look back as Charlie lugged me out through the Pompeiian ruins the way we had come. Above us, the great black hump of the mountain was belching smoke and a thin river of livid red was dribbling from the cone like Gorgon’s blood.
And then the five of us were part of a great fleeing mob. I received a confused impression of voices and smells and it was suddenly as though I were back there in ancient Pompeii. The dawn sky overheard was blackening with ash and the world was disappearing in a vortex of reds, ochres and yellows. My eyes fluttered and the canopy of my lids was a cool green. The blood flowing from my shoulder looked almost black, flowing in a stream over the snowy whiteness of my exposed arm. How strange, I thought, to die in such a terribly beautiful palette.
22. End Game
AND yet, gentle reader, (as I’m sure you’ve gathered) I did not die! A long week later and the great shuddering roar of that eruption was like a strange dream to me. After the removal of Unmann’s bullet from my shoulder and much rest I had been re-established in my room at the Santa Lucia where I was at least able to sketch a little. An easel was optimistically set up but I found myself quickly exhausted and it was far easier to drift off into sleep after some of Charlie’s nourishing soup than to work. It was fully a fortnight before I was able to receive visitors.
First came Joshua Reynolds, on a rare foreign trip, bearing the profound thanks of HMG and whispers of medals, which I nobly refused for fully two minutes until he started taking me seriously and I had to beg for them.
The next day brought the newly liberated Christopher Miracle. He looked a little drawn (but not badly drawn, ho-ho), as well he might and he beamed at me with what looked suspiciously like renewed respect.
«I owe it all to you, old man,» he said with a catch in his voice. «Flush would have strung me up if you hadn’t intervened. I’m most awfully grateful.»
I gave a heroic but modest smile. «We still don’t know quite what happened that day, do we?»
«Ah, yes,» said Miracle. «We do. If you’re not too tired, dear Lucifer, there’s another guest who is most anxious to speak to you.»
Charlie showed in the extraordinary apparition that was Mrs Midsomer Knight, once more swathed in veils and sporting a rather splendid new gown of deepest emerald. She took a seat by my blanketed form and inclined her head in greeting.
«Mr Box, how do I begin to thank you?»
«Please don’t even try,» I said manfully. In truth I didn’t have the strength to be gushed over. «It’s reward enough to know that my friend here is exonerated and that you and the professors — well, a quorum of them at least — are out of danger. That and the fact that a dangerous lunatic’s plans have come to nought.»
«Ah yes,» mused Mrs Knight. «My unfortunate son.»
I sat up on one elbow, wincing slightly. «It would please me greatly, however, if you could clear up one or two points in connection with this matter.»
«Anything.»
«Perhaps I can help you there,» came a booming voice from the doorway. The massive frame of the Duce Tiepolo emerged from the shadows.
«Your Grace,» I said quietly. «I fear I have done you a grave disservice. For I thought you behind this whole mad scheme.»
«I
He took Mrs Knight’s hand in his. «It was so long ago,» he croaked. «It is not an easy thing, Signor Box, to know that you have been born into wealth and privilege then see all that swept away. I was a hunted man. One day I arrived in Naples and I met a girl. She was only sixteen or so, and a little frightened of me. But I knew at once that I loved her… Loved her!»
«But she was married.»
The Duce nodded bitterly. «With a child. The husband, Morraine, was a good man, an honest man, but we could not help ourselves, could we, my dear? It was like a fire, the passion that burned within us!»
Mrs Knight sighed. «At first it was easy to see each other in secret. My husband, Maxwell, thought only of his work. He and his colleagues laboured from dawn to dusk. But finally our secret was betrayed! Maxwell was mad with jealousy. I went to see him. To tell him I must leave him… I found him in his laboratory. Told him that the Duce and I were in love. At first he seemed not to hear me. He was burning his papers after some scientific disappointment. He threw more and more paper on to the fire until suddenly it was out of control and…»
Mrs Knight pressed her hand to her mouth and sobbed. «It took away my youth, my beauty…»
The Duce clamped his huge arm around the delicate woman’s shoulders. «And I knew nothing of this for years. The authorities caught me and I was deported. I found out about the fire and believed Kate to be dead. How was I to know that she had been spirited away from Naples and was back in England? Years passed. I never expected to see my lover again.»
«But you did.» I drawled, taking a slow drag on my cigarette.
«I did! Can you imagine it, Signor Box? After all that time? I have roamed Europe like a vagrant. I was passing through London and, one day, as I was walking through the park, you saw me, didn’t you, my pet?»
He turned to his lost love, his weathered face wreathed in smiles.
Mrs Knight continued. «Even after all these years I knew him at once.»
«And you felt the same?» I asked the Duce.
«Once I knew it was her, of course! What did I care for her scars? Her „ugliness“? She was my darling girl. Restored to me when I thought her long dead.»
