fortunately, the donna marchesi was at home. i might have met her before, but i now saw her ethereal beauty for the first time. at least, it seemed ethereal at the first moment. in some ways she was the most beautiful woman that i had ever seen: skin white as milk, hair a tawny red, piled in great masses on her head, and eyes of a peculiar green, with pupils that were slots instead of circles. she wore her nails long, and they were tinted red to match the titian of her hair. she seemed surprized to have me call on her, and more surprized to hear of my errand.
"you bought the villa?" she asked.
"yes. though, when i bought it, i did not know that you were the owner. the agent never stated whom he was acting for."
"i know," she said with a smile. "franco is peculiar that way. he always pretends that he owns the place."
"no doubt he has used it more than once."
"i fear so. the place seems to be unfortunate. i sell it with a reserve clause. the owner must live there. and no one seems to want to stay; so the place reverts back to me."
"it seems to be an old place."
"very old. it has been in my family for generations. i have tried to get rid of it, but what can i do when the young men will not stay?"
she shrugged her shoulders expressively. i countered with,
"perhaps if they knew, as i do, that you owned the property, they would be content to stay, for ever, in sorona."
"prettily said," she answered. then the room became silent, and i heard her heavy breathing, like the deep purr of a cat.
"they come and go," she said at last.
"and, when they go, you sell to another?" i asked.
"naturally, and with the hope that one will stay."
"i have come for the key," i said bluntly, "the key to the cellar door."
"are you sure you want it?"
"absolutely! it is my villa and my cellar and my door. i want the key. i want to see what is on the other side of the door."
and then it was that i saw the pupils of her eyes narrow to livid slits. she looked at me for a second, for five, and then opening a drawer in a cabinet near her chair, she took out the key and handed it to me. it was a tool worthy of the door that it was supposed to open, being fully eight inches long and a pound in weight.
taking it, i thanked her and said good-bye. fifteen minutes later i was back, profuse in my apologies: i was temperamental, i explained, and i frequently changed my mind. whatever was on the other side of the door could stay there, as far as i was concerned. then again i kissed her hand farewell.
on the side street i passed through the door of a locksmith and waited while he completed a key. he was following a wax impression of the original key. an hour later i was on the way back to the villa, with the key in my pocket, a key that i was sure would unlock the door, and i was confident that the lady with the cat eyes felt sure that i had lost all interest in that door and what was beyond it.
the full moon was just appearing over the mountains when i drove my car up to the villa. i was tired, but happy. taking the candlestick in my hand, which candlestick was handed to me with a deep bow by the old woman, i ascended the stairs to my bedroom. and soon i was fast asleep.
