[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

"No," replied the sergeant. "I didn't because as soon as I saw them I had casts taken. When I
compared the casts with the various local cars, I discovered that those tracks had been made by
the Mayor's truck. Moreover, I observed that Pizzi had shot himself in the left temple although he
was holding the gun in his right hand, an awkward position at best. And when I searched in the
fireplace, I found the bullet that was discharged from his revolver when he fell after being shot
through the window."
Don Camillo looked at him sternly. "And why have you not reported all this?"
"I have reported it. And I was told that if the Mayor was arrested, the matter would
immediately acquire a political significance. When such things get mixed up with politics there are
complications. Therefore, I had to wait for an opportunity and you have supplied it. I was not
evading my responsibility. I just didn't want this business to get bogged down because some
people want to turn it into a political issue."
Don Camillo replied that the sergeant had acted very intelligently.
"But I can't detail two men to guard your back, Don Camillo."
"It isn't necessary, Sergeant. Almighty God will protect me."
"Let's hope He'll be more careful than He was of Pizzi," the sergeant retorted.
The following day, the inquiries were resumed and a number of landowners and leaseholders
were rigorously questioned. Verola was among those called up for questioning and when he
protested indignantly, the sergeant replied very calmly.
"My good sir: given the fact that Pizzi held no political views and belonged to no party, and
that he was not robbed, and given also the fact that certain new evidence tends to suggest a
murder rather than a suicide, we must exclude the supposition that we are dealing with either a
political crime or a robbery. We must therefore direct our inquiries toward those who had
business or personal relations with Pizzi and who may have borne him a grudge."
The matter proceeded in this way for several days and everyone questioned was furious.
Brusco was infuriated, too, but he held his tongue.
"Peppone," he said at last, "that devil is playing with us as though we were kids. You'll see -
when he has questioned everybody he can think of, including the village midwife, he'll be coming
to you with a smile to ask whether you have any objection to his questioning our men. And you
won't be able to refuse, and he will begin his questioning and out will come the whole business."
"Don't be ridiculous," shouted Peppone. "Not even if they tore out my nails."
"It won't be you that they'll question, or me, or the others we are thinking of, They'll tackle the
man who fired the shot."
Peppone jeered. "Don't talk rubbish! How can they when we don't even know who did it?"
And that was a good question because nobody had seen which of the twenty-five men of the
squadron had fired the shot. When Pizzi fell they had all climbed into the truck and later on
separated without exchanging a word. Since then no one had even mentioned the matter.
Peppone looked Brusco straight in the eyes. "Who was it?" he asked.
"Who knows? It could have been you."
 "Me!" cried Peppone. "And how could I do it when I wasn't even armed?"
"You went into Pizzi's house alone and we couldn't see what you did there."
"But the shot was fired from outside, through the window. Someone must know who was
stationed at that window."
"At night all cats are gray. Even if someone did see, by now he has seen nothing at all. But
one person did see the face of the man who fired, and that was the boy. Otherwise his mother
wouldn't have said that he was in bed. And if the boy knows then Don Camillo knows. If he didn't
know he wouldn't have said or done what he has."
"May those who sent him here roast in hell!" bawled Peppone.
Meanwhile, the net was being drawn tighter, and every evening the sergeant came to inform
the Mayor of the progress of the inquiries.
"I can't tell you more at the moment, Mr. Mayor," he said one evening, "but we know where
we stand at last; it seems that there was a woman in the case."
Peppone merely replied: "Indeed!" but he would gladly have throttled him.
It was already late in the evening, and Don Camillo was thinking up jobs to detain him in the
empty church. He set up a ladder on the top step of the altar. He had discovered a crack in the
grain of the wood of the crucifix and after filling it, he was now applying some brown paint to
cover up the repairs.
He sighed once and Christ spoke to him in an undertone. "Hen Camillo, what is the matter?
You haven't been yourself for several days. Aren't you feeling well? A touch of flu perhaps?"
"No, Lord," Don Camillo confessed without raising his head. "It's fear."
"You are afraid? But of what, in Heaven's name?"
"I don't know. If I knew what I was afraid of I wouldn't be frightened. There is something
wrong, something in the air, something against which I can't defend myself. If twenty men came
at me with guns I wouldn't be afraid. I'd only be angry because they were twenty and I was alone
and without a gun. If I found myself in the sea and didn't know how to swim I'd think, 'There now,
in a few minutes I'll drown like a kitten!' and that would bother me very much but I would not be
afraid. When one understands a danger one isn't frightened. But fear comes with dangers that [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]