“Si. Please come in.” She led him into a parlor made dim by curtains still drawn out of respect to the recent dead. “I ask them to send a locksmith trained in Italy,” she said when they were seated. “You have had such training?”
“Si. I was born and raised in Genoa. My grandfather and father were locksmiths before me. They instructed me in my craft from the time I was a lad. And, since coming to America, I have spent much time studying American locks. I believe you will find me well qualified to handle your problem, whatever it is.”
“I hope so, Signor. It is your early training which will prove most valuable. Still,” she mused, “I could wish that you were not quite so young and handsome.”
“This will not interfere with my efficiency, I assure you.”
“I hope so. I most devoutly hope that is true. You see, the problem is of quite a delicate nature.”
“Have no fear. A locksmith is sworn to discretion. To him, the secrets of his trade are as sacrosanct as the confessional.”
“Very well then, Signor. My problem has to do with my husband who just died.”
“My condolences, Signora.”
“Grazie. Now, like yourself, my husband was born in Italy. He spent most of his life there. Our only child, my daughter Marie, was born there. Please do not be impatient. I tell you all this because it has much relevance to the task you have been summoned to perform.”
“Si, Signora. Take your time. Tell it in your own way. Continue.”
“I shall. Now, my late husband met his death unexpectedly. It was most untimely, as you shall see. He was crossing the street in the middle of the block when he was struck by a large truck.”
“Very sad,” Vito sympathized. “He should have crossed at the green, not in between.”
“Si. But I fear it wouldn’t have helped, anyway. He was color-blind. In any case, he was killed instantly. The truck threw him fifty feet. And, alas, in the course of his flight, the contents of his pockets were strewn all over the street. Among these contents was a key. A very important key. I have searched that street over and over again, but I have been unable to find that key.”
“What did the key open?” Vito asked.
“I am coming to that. My husband, because of his upbringing and environment, was a very old-fashioned man. He honored his father and his father’s father by following their precepts even after he came to this country. In particular, his attitudes regarding women were old-country attitudes. And in the part of Italy from which he came, this meant that a man who fathered a daughter took certain precautions when that daughter reached the age of puberty.”
“You don’t mean—?”
“Exactly. A chastity belt. It has been in my husband’s family for generations. It was made by a master craftsman of Verona more than five hundred years ago. And from the time she was eleven years old, my daughter Marie was forced to wear it by my late husband.”
“But how did she—?”
“He would unlock it in the morning, at lunchtime, and in the evening. Thus he regulated her natural functions. At all other times, however, Marie had to wear it.”
“And now the key is lost,” Vito mused. “What a terrible predicament !”
“Si. It is a terrible predicament. My husband has been dead three days now.”
“And do you mean that in all that time your daughter hasn’t—?”
“Si. That is why I called you. It is imperative that you unlock the belt as quickly as possible.”
“I should say. Where is she? Take me to her quickly.”
“She is in her room. Come. I will take you there.”
Vito’s first glimpse of Marie was of a pretty but wan girl of about nineteen years of age. She had the blonde hair and light complexion typical of northern Italy. Her figure was slender with well-shaped breasts and hips. Her face was well-sculpted, the features classic. But it was pinched now, held tight and distorted, which was understandable considering her predicament.
“Lie down flat on the bed, please,” Vito instructed her. “Do not worry. I shall be as gentle as possible,” he reassured her when an expression of alarm came into her deep-set brown eyes.
“Do you have to do that?" Marie’s mother objected when Vito reached to pull Marie’s skirt up over her knees.
“I can’t examine the lock if it’s covered, can I?” he asked reasonably.
“No. I suppose not,” she granted, still unable to keep the reluctance from her voice.
The skirt pushed up out of the way, Vito started to pull down Marie’s panties.
“That, too!” The mother’s voice climbed the scale.
“It is necessary.”
“My husband will surely turn over in his grave.”
“Good!” Marie spoke for the first time. “It serves him right, leaving me in a fix like this!”
“Don’t be disrespectful!”
“I don’t care if it is disrespectful. Three days now I haven’t been able to—”
“Hush! There is a man present.” The mother turned her attention back to Vito. The lock was uncovered now, and he was bending over to examine it. “Is it really necessary to get so close?” she asked suspiciously. ‘
“Si.” Vito drew himself up and adopted his most haughtily and professional manner. “I cannot work under these conditions, Signora. If I am to help your daughter, you must trust me. You must have faith in the ethics of the locksmith profession. You must place her entirely in my hands. I cannot relieve her discomfort if you persist in hovering over me and questioning my every move. I must insist that you leave us alone so that I may pursue my examination and take whatever steps I deem necessary to relieve this condition.”
“Very well.” The mother was intimidated. “But I’ll be right outside the door,” she assured Marie. “If anything untoward occurs, call out, and I shall respond immediately.” She left the room.
When she was gone, Vito continued his examination. Using a minutely calibrated tool with a tiny light on the end, he investigated the keyhole of the ancient device.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha,” Marie giggled. “That tickles.”
“Sorry, I—”
“This is not for fun!” The mother’s bulk filled the doorway again. “Control yourself, Marie! And you, young man, be more careful!”
“Signora! Will you please leave us alone!”
“Very well, but—”
“I know! But you’ll be right outside the door.” Vito pushed her out into the hallway and shut the door behind her. He returned to Marie. “I am going to see if I can feel the trip mechanism now,” he told her. “Please try to lie absolutely still.”
“All right.”
Vito inserted his pinky finger in the keyhole. When it was in past the first knuckle, he wriggled it searchingly. “I see,” he murmured. “What an odd mold. Yes, a very tricky shape. Ah, yes.”
“Ah, yes,” Marie echoed.
“Now, if I can just locate the dowel-pin that makes the mechanism respond . . . Aha!”
“Ah! Ah! Ah!” Marie sighed.
“I think I’ve got it!”
“I think he’s got it!” Marie sang out.
“Yes, I’ve got it now.”
“I’ll say you do! Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh!”
“Now, if I can just flick it with my fingernail . . .”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“What’s going on in there?” Marie’s mother called through the door. “Marie, are you all right?”
“Oh, yes, Mama! Yes! Yes! Yes!”