There was a silence as Pendergast stared at the envelope. Then he took it, opened it, glanced at the sheet inside, and let it fall to the ground.
“I said check, but perhaps I should have said checkmate, Mr. Pendergast.” He turned to the men standing in the doorway. They were dressed in rough woolen and leather clothing, each pointing a firearm. Another man, in a stained suede jacket, stood behind them. He had a small, sharp face and was watching them with intelligent eyes.
D’Agosta’s hand crept toward his gun. Pendergast noticed, made a brief suppressing motion.
“That’s right, D’Agosta. Your superior knows it is futile—only in the movies can two men overpower seven. Of course, I am quite willing to see you both die right here and now. But then,” he added teasingly, “don’t lose hope—there’s always the chance you might escape!” He chucked and turned. “Fabbri, disarm these gentlemen.”
The man in the leather jacket stepped forward, held out his hand. After a moment, Pendergast removed his backup weapon and handed it to him. With a huge sense of foreboding, D’Agosta reluctantly gave the man his own as well.
“Now search them,” said the count.
“You first, Mr. Pendergast,” Fabbri said in a heavily accented voice. “Remove your jacket and your shirt. Then stand over there with your arms up.”
Pendergast did as ordered, handing each article of clothing to Fabbri. When Pendergast removed his shirt, D’Agosta noticed for the first time that the agent wore a chain around his neck, with a small pendant attached: a strange design of a lidless eye hovering over the image of a phoenix, rising from the ashes of a fire.
One of the peasants shoved Pendergast toward the wall. Fabbri began patting him down expertly. He quickly found a stiletto.
“There will be lockpicking tools as well,” said the count.
Fabbri searched Pendergast’s collar and cuffs, finally removing a small tool kit held there with Velcro. Other things appeared: a syringe and needle, some small test tubes.
“You’ve got quite an arsenal tucked away in that suit of yours,” Fosco said. “Fabbri, set it all on the table over here, if you please.”
Removing a stitching knife, Fabbri proceeded to cut open the linings of Pendergast’s suit, searching them thoroughly. Out came other items—tweezers, some small folded packets of chemicals—which the man placed on the table.
“His mouth. Check his mouth.”
The man opened Pendergast’s mouth, checked his teeth, looked under his tongue.
D’Agosta recoiled in horror at this indignity. With the discovery of each additional tool, he’d felt his hopes dim further. But Pendergast had a lot of tricks up his sleeve. He’d get them out of this somehow.
Fabbri directed Pendergast to step to one side and bend his head forward so he could search his hair. Pendergast complied, his arms still raised, positioning himself so he was facing away from the half-circle of men and the count, who was examining the items on the table with murmurs of interest. Now Fabbri’s back was turned to D’Agosta, while Pendergast was facing him. And D’Agosta was amazed at what he saw.
He saw Pendergast, moving his hands ever so slightly, extract a tiny piece of metal from between the ring and little fingers of his left hand. Somehow he had managed to palm this at the beginning of the search.
“All right,” Fabbri said. “Lower your arms and step over here.”
Pendergast did as directed. With a motion so fleeting D’Agosta wasn’t even sure he’d seen it, Pendergast tucked the piece of metal beneath Fabbri’s own jacket collar—using the man himself as a hiding place.
Next, Fabbri examined Pendergast’s shoes, cutting off the heels with a knife and stabbing through the sole in several places. This produced a second lockpicking set. He frowned and returned once again to Pendergast’s suit.
At last, the search was completed, leaving Pendergast’s clothes in tatters.
“Now the other one,” said Fosco.
They repeated the same process with D’Agosta, stripping him and unstitching everything, subjecting him to the same humiliating search.
“I would leave you both bare,” said the count, “but the dungeons of this castle are so damp. I would hate to see you catch cold.” He nodded toward their clothes. “Get dressed.”
They did so.
Fabbri spun them around and manacled their hands behind their backs. “Andiamoci.”
The count turned and stepped out of the apartment. Fabbri followed, then Pendergast and D’Agosta. The half dozen thugs brought up the rear.