Part 49 (2/2)

”I am peripatetic confessor to these islands, Signor,” he said. ”There is a bitter need of six priests to each island, rather than six islands to a priest. It is an abode of wickedness, this. That, perhaps, has not been hidden from you?”

Landon kept a moment's silence. Then he smiled.

”I confess that I have not augmented its morality, in bulk, Signor,” he said. ”In fact, by adding the two who stand behind you to its population, I have done far otherwise. Instead of being where you find them, they should be under lock and key.”

”Why?” demanded the priest, laconically.

”Because they robbed me,” answered Landon. ”Because, for wicked purposes of their own, they took from me--not gold, but what is beyond the price of gold or buying--my only son.”

”You accuse them of--kidnapping?” The good man's voice was coldly incredulous.

Landon made a gesture of a.s.sent.

”Of that and of attempted murder. They hired Moorish desperadoes to attack me, to ride me down.”

”And you have made of yourself not only prosecutor, but judge, jury, and keeper of their prison?”

”These things happened in Africa, outside civilized jurisdiction. Was I to lack justice when it lay in the hollow of my hand?”

”Are there no consular courts? If not, you cannot bring your private cause to private verdict in the dominions of the King of Italy, however bad his t.i.tle to the throne.”

”Your reverence is a Legitimist?” grinned Landon.

”In every sense of the word, Signor. My sense of legitimacy finds your arguments unsound.”

He looked at Claire with an apologetic bow.

”And as a matter of fact, Signora, I have not heard your statement. How does it vary from this gentleman's? Or does it, perhaps, corroborate it?”

She looked at him very steadily.

”The man to whom you have been talking,” she said slowly, ”is, I think, Signor, the worst man whom G.o.d permits to live.”

He made a little gesture of protest.

”You have suffered at his hands--is that it? But your sentence is too sweeping a one, is it not? Surely, Signora, surely?”

She shook her head.

”No!” she said determinedly. ”Traitor, forger, thief--we know him to be all these. And last, but not least, murderer. A murderer of souls. I do not know if he has taken a fellow creature's life, but for five years he racked into the numbness of despair the soul of my sister, who was his wife.”

He made a tiny exclamation of sympathy; he held up his hand as if he put away from him a spectre of evil.

He looked back to Landon.

”You have heard, Signor?” he said.

”I have heard,” said Landon, easily. ”As a tale it has no originality and therefore little interest for me. I have heard it a hundred times.

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