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"Why, it's as plain as a pikestaff," I said triumphantly. "The intruders were after you, and spirited away your assistant by mistake."

"Good Lord, why?"

Since neither Holmes nor Orloff seemed disposed to offer a comment, I elaborated for the benefit of the startled cryptographer.

"Someone wishes to learn the code of the secret writings. That's rather obvious."

"I think," said Holmes gently, "that a discussion is called for."

Falling in with his thought, I rather led Andrade towards the stairs and the living room below.

Questions bubbled to the surface of my mind but were submerged by my medical training. Andrade seemed to be suffering a reaction from all the excitement, and I thought it well to get him seated below, securing some alcoholic stimulation for him from a well-stocked cabinet.

In a moment the Egyptologist's color improved, and he was able to regard the three of us with a whimsical expression.

"This rather bizarre occurrence is much more in your line, Mr. Holmes, than mine. Am I to assume that there might be more of the same?"

It was Wakefield Orloff who spoke up. "I think not, sir. At least, I shall take suitable precautions to make sure your domicile is not invaded again."

I well knew what that meant. More of Mycroft Holmes's faceless men would appear. For all I knew, Orloff might already have associates at his beck and call in Italy.

Andrade took another sizable sip of his libation. "What is the meaning of all this melodrama, gentlemen, and what about Aaron Lewis, my poor associate?"

Warned by the haunted look in his eyes and fearing palpitations, I spoke instantly and in my most soothing doctor manner.

"Once the hoodlums learn they have the wrong man, surely they will release Lewis from their clutches."

"Let us hope so," said Holmes. It struck me that his manner was surprisingly casual. "About your assistant, Mr. Andrade. How did he happen to come into your employment?"

"I am a bachelor, so it was easy for me to pull up stakes and come to Venice in search of solitude to complete my project. The house is mine by virtue of a generous, now departed, uncle, I knew that I was on the verge of a breakthrough, and my work was intensified. At this point, much filing was required. I was at my wits' end when Lewis appeared at my door, much as Mr. Orloff did but recently."

"Possibly for the same reason," commented Holmes quietly.

The Egyptologist did not notice this remark, but I filed it away.

"Lewis said he had heard of my project and had excellent references, including a rather glowing letter from Flinders Petrie. I know Petrie and recognized his distinctive script. Lewis seemed well up on the Egyptian picture and took charge of my files, putting them in workmanlike order. It was such a relief to have the paperwork attended to that I was able to progress much faster towards what is now the final solution."

"What did he look like?" asked Orloff.

"Lewis? Tall, thin-boned. I suppose 'cadaverous' is not amiss as a description. Very quiet chap, used to the simple life, but then those who have been on expeditions to the Nile most often are. Had a nasal problem and tobacco smoke bothered him. Fact is, that is why I suggested that he use my bedroom today. With the successful translation of the Mannheim tablets a fait accompli, I was terribly keyed up and smoking like a blessed steel mill. Lewis is along a bit, age-wise, and I was concerned for his physical well-being."

"As I am for yours right now," I interjected. "You've been on your feet for a day and a half, and the recent events have been wearing. I'm prescribing bed rest immediately."

There were other questions that Holmes wished to ask, possibly Orloff as well, but both stifled their instincts in consideration of Howard Andrade's condition. One of the dividends of my profession is the delight in having the last word. When a doctor says "that's it!" there are seldom arguments, from a prime minister on down.

We took Orloff in our gondola to the Grand Hotel, where I assumed he was staying. I had the idea that he would join us at the Venezia after resolving matters that claimed his attention, one being to throw a net round Howard Andrade. On our journey, Holmes pointed out the beautiful Palazzo Dario to me, planned by Pietro Lombardo, as well as the huge and luxurious Piazza Corner della Ca' Grande, planned by Jacopo Sansovino. Lombardo and Sansovino were unknown to me, but my friend seemed to place great store in their names. I recalled that he indulged in a passion for Renaissance architecture at one time. It was in relation to an old case, not without points of interest, which I may make available to readers someday.

The hour was late but Venice is cosmopolitan, and Holmes and I were able to secure a satisfying meal in the hotel dining room at an hour when most Englishmen would be dawdling over their last brandy and seriously considering their beds.

The same thought was crossing my mind as we occupied ourselves with a bowl of fruit augmented by some fine cheeses. It was then that we were joined by Orloff. Our waiter hastened to secure a chair for the security agent. Whether he knew Orloff, who was well traveled, or just reacted to the commanding presence of the deceptively rotund man I do not know. During dinner Holmes had been preoccupied and I had not disturbed his thoughts, but now revelations would be forthcoming, which delighted me.

Orloff was no Randolph Rapp, but then who was? However, his experience, honed to a fine edge in the shadow-land of international espionage, was extensive. Being a man of acute perception and few words, his conversations with Holmes frequently had a staccato quality, and I was invariably hard pressed to keep abreast of the two.

"Andrade is well covered?" This was more a statement than a question from Holmes as he sliced the peeling from an orange.

"Cooks himself. Simplifies things. Cleaning woman comes in three times a week. We'll check her out." Orloff accepted a wedge of cheese that I offered him. "May put a man on the premises. Butler, courtesy of Her Majesty's government. The cryptographer won't object. Rather keen, you know. Must realize that his discovery has touched off a bit of a chain reaction."

If not, I thought, you will convince him. Orloff was to the manor born, and I could picture said gentleman plying a thriving trade selling sand in the Sahara.

"What news of the Chinaman?" queried Holmes.

"His yacht should be here shortly."

"Hmm! You'd think Chu San Fu's arrival would have signaled the move on Andrade's residence."

"Whole thing was rushed. Sloppy job."

I had poured Orloff a tot of after-dinner liqueur, and he was regarding Holmes over the rim of a sparkling glass.

"I've a mind as to what hurried them. You."

It was at this point that I threw patience to the winds.

"Could you translate this interchange for my dull ears?" I fear my manner was somewhat huffy.

"Chu San Fu's agents are in Venice," explained Orloff. "They hastily removed Aaron Lewis from Andrade's home, ahead of schedule, I'd say. The answer has to be Sherlock Holmes."

"How do you figure that?"

Orloff's lips twitched, a sign of satisfaction rarely seen on his features.

"Noticed your friend here react when Howard Andrade described his assistant."

My gaze shifted to Holmes, whose eyes were twinkling.

"Dear me, I have become transparent, but Orloff is right. The description of the assistant, Lewis, bore a remarkable resemblance to Memory Max."

My inquisitive stare was undiminished, for I did not share Holmes's encyclopedic knowledge of members of the criminal classes.

"In his early years, Max did a turn in the music halls as a memory expert. Answered any question. Photographic memory, you see. However, he turned his not inconsiderable talents to less legitimate pursuits and became one of the leading forgers of our time."

"How strange," I exclaimed. "A man with a freak memory turning to forgery."