The Art of Killing Well by Marco Malvaldi, Howard Curtis Read Free Book Online

this?”
    â€œIt is my duty, Signorino Gaddo,” the wood sprite said.
    â€œDon’t you ‘Signorino’ me! You were summoned here to certify a death, not to have the police descend on our home!”
    â€œI regret, Signorino Gaddo, that the two things cannot be separated. Just as I have taken an oath to serve the sick, of whatever class, race and condition, so it is my clear duty, whenever a sickness has been inflicted with malicious intent, to report the matter to the authorities.”
    â€œStop acting so high and mighty, you charlatan!” Lapo cut in with his usual tact. “You’re nothing but the son of a shepherd, and we paid for your studies so that you could become the quack doctor that you are. Without us, you’d still be rounding up sheep. You should show some respect to those who dragged you from the gutter.”
    The baron looked at his son as if he had suddenly become phosphorescent.
    â€œWith all due respect, Signorino Lapo,” the doctor replied with almost complete equanimity, “you paid for my studies, you didn’t pay for me. As a human being, I am not for sale. Myservices may be remunerated, not bought.”
    â€œForgive Lapo,” the dowager baroness said. “The poor boy is accustomed to paying for the company of the people he frequents. I hope, Dottore, that you will at least have the decency to spare us all this commotion.”
    â€œThat, Baronessa, I cannot promise you. Barone …”
    The baron cleared his throat for the twentieth time. “I have already given orders to my estate manager,” he said, “and he has left for Campiglia to collect the local police inspector. If no accidents have befallen them, they will be here shortly.”
    In other words, farewell lunch.

Saturday afternoon
    A real murder. It was almost unbelievable.
    Sitting almost contritely, without touching the chair with his back, Ispettore Artistico was taking notes as the doctor’s testimony emerged from his beard.
    â€œâ€¦ the redness on the face was fading, as I said, but it was quite visible on the neck, which is a typical symptom of belladonna poisoning.”
    Ispettore Artistico’s first reaction when the doctor had sent for him had been one of annoyance. To tell the truth, the doctor had always rubbed him up the wrong way: firstly because he was a socialist, secondly because he was one of the most boring and pedantic people he had ever known, and last but certainly not least, because every time the inspector was out walking with his daughter and met the doctor, the doctor invariably kissed her hand in the most brazenly lecherous manner imaginable. More than once the inspector had been on the verge of cutting short this greeting by thrashing him with his stick. He had even imagined himself scalping the doctor and running off with his beard as a trophy.
    â€œWhat, however, led me to believe that a poisoning had taken place was the dilation of the pupils, which was quite unnatural.At this point, I felt the limbs of the corpse with my hands, and obtained an impression of stiffness not compatible with rigor mortis. It was obvious, in other words, that the poor fellow had been prey to convulsions and violent spasms before his death. At this point …”
    At this point, overjoyed at the fact that he could actually report something that had happened in a nobleman’s castle to the police, the doctor had demanded that the authorities be called in. In other words, Ispettore Artistico – who, although continuing to fantasise about the possibility of sprinkling the doctor’s beard with pitch, setting fire to it, and savouring the scoundrel’s screams of terror, could not help almost liking him at this particular moment. Because for years, Ispettore Artistico had been suffering horribly.
    â€œâ€¦ I consider that the poison was in the glass of port wine the poor fellow had in front of him, and of which there still remain