The Sixth Key(118)

La Dame and Eva soon found the framed veil and Rahn, following behind, put a hand to his brow where a cold sweat had gathered and was snaking its way over his face.

‘Come see this!’ La Dame called out to him.

When Rahn joined them he gave another sneeze and it was a moment before he realised they were looking at an engraving hung precariously from a long nail protruding from the stonework. It was too dark in this corner to see it clearly.

‘Take it down, La Dame, so we can have a closer look,’ Rahn asked.

It was an image of a bearded face drawn over a stretched cloth. Below it was written:

VERA EFFIGIES SACRI VULTUS DOMINI

NOSTRI JESU CHRISTI QUAE ROMAE

IN SACROSANCTA BASILICA S.PETRI IN

VATICANO RELIGIOSISSIME ASSERVATUR

ET COLITUR

‘Veronica’s print of the face of our Lord Jesus Christ, guarded in the Basilica of Saint Peter in the Vatican,’ Rahn translated it under his breath.



‘That’s it!’ Eva said. ‘On the way to the crucifixion a woman called Veronica took an impression of the face of Christ on her veil – Veronica’s veil!’

‘Veronica must be the goddess the clue is referring to.’ Rahn turned the print around and looked at the back of it. He lifted the backing up a little and gave another sneeze, which bounced off the walls at them. ‘There’s nothing behind it.’ He gave it back to La Dame, who replaced it on its hook.

‘Wait!’ Eva said. ‘Beneath is not behind. Maybe it means underneath the print. Maybe on the floor . . . A print can be moved but a mark on the stone is there to stay and can go unnoticed.’

Rahn took the candle and squatted to look at the flagstone at his feet. He put his hand to it to see if he could feel any marks that may have been covered up by grime or wear. Nothing. But as he was rising something caught his eye on the wall directly below the painting. He found what looked like a plugged-up hole the size of a small walnut in the wall. He gave the candle to La Dame, took out his penknife and carefully inserted the end of it into the hole. It took a moment but he soon teased out the plug and what lay behind it: a narrow glass vial.

There was the noise of a latch as the sacristy door opened.

‘All right! I have to close the church now!’

Rahn hid the vial in his coat pocket. ‘A wonderful specimen!’ he said to him.

‘The veil?’ The thin man came over to them. ‘No, it isn’t so rare. Other churches around these parts have them: Bugarach, Saint-Paul-de-Fenouillet . . . Brenac.’

‘Saint-Paul-de-Fenouillet, that’s Abbé Grassaud’s church?’ Rahn said, surprised.

‘Yes.’ The man’s face opened into a toothless grin. ‘Do you know him? He grew up in this town. He went to seminary school and was accepted into Saint Sulpice in Paris. He is a doctor of theology now. We are very proud of him!’

Rahn tried to take this in and wondered if it was coincidence or design. Saint Sulpice! Could Grassaud be a member of Association Angelica?

They thanked the sacristan and left. Once outside, Rahn felt both relieved to be out of the church and encouraged that they were one step closer in their search. ‘We’ve got it!’ he said.

‘We’ve got what, dear Rahn?’ La Dame said, whining. ‘We don’t know what it is yet.’

‘Well, I aim to find out. We need light to have a look at this, and besides I think we deserve something to eat and a glass of brandy. What do you say?’

All were in agreement. They took the road out of the dismal little town and headed back to Granes. But they had only been driving a short time when they came up behind a hearse travelling at a snail’s pace over the mist-laden road.

‘What’s a hearse doing about at this hour?’ Rahn said.

‘It is rather odd!’ La Dame agreed. ‘Perhaps it’s like the curious incident of the dog in the night time, Rahn!’

‘What?’ Eva asked.

‘From a Sherlock Holmes story – “Silver Blaze”’ Rahn informed her.

‘What did the dog do?’ Eva said.

‘The dog did nothing,’ Rahn replied. ‘Actually, it didn’t bark when it should have and that was the curious incident.’

‘In other words,’ La Dame added, ‘if something is odd or curious, there may be a good reason for it.’

Rahn nodded. La Dame was right. The forest of partially denuded trees stood sombre on either side of the narrow country road and there was no way to pass the hearse safely – if someone came from behind them, they would be trapped. Every now and again they would lose the hearse around a corner, but they could still see the fog glowing from its headlamps. The road narrowed even further and at this point headlights appeared in the opposite direction. The hearse stopped and began to reverse, forcing Rahn to follow until they had reached a point where the oncoming car could squeeze past them.