Part 17 (1/2)

meditated Giacinto.

He followed the Marquis to the inn, which reached, the latter ran immediately to his own room. Giacinto concluded to await Rene's exit before carrying out his own plan, namely to hide in the apartment next to Volpetti's and which had been that of the Irish guests. Just as he was about to realize this scheme, the Marquis stepped in before him. For fifteen years he had awaited this moment of revenge. He had entered the ranks of the Knights of Liberty, the nucleus of the Carbonari, for the sole purpose of wreaking vengeance on his countryman. A formidable power was back of him, transforming him from an ordinary homicide into the avenger of a cause. And now he was being cheated out of his due by this unforeseen complication. He stood in the pa.s.sage a half hour waiting for the Marquis to come forth. At last he went down to supper and Kate hurried to wait upon him. She marveled at his abstraction and tried coquettishly to rouse him.

”Have you seen a black cat's shadow?” she asked, alluding to a local superst.i.tion.

Giacinto abstractedly caressed her coa.r.s.e hand.

”Tell me,” he said, ”does the French gentleman leave tonight? I mean the one who first arrived.”

”What business is that of yours?” she asked, annoyed at her lover's coldness.

”Because,” said the Sicilian in a pa.s.sionate tone, ”if he goes I must leave you, my darling, for we sail together.”

”He leaves tonight and the other also, No. 10. But, if you prefer to stay, other vessels will leave tomorrow.”

Giacinto gazed into her eyes with promise. Then, das.h.i.+ng off the Chianti, he ran to his room, smiling at the credulity of servant maids.

He threw on his cloak, tied a sash around his waist, into which he thrust a pair of pistols, grasped a thick stick, glided out of the hotel and was soon lost in the mist.

Chapter V

THE CREAKING BOOTS

The night grew darker, and the mist denser. At half past eleven, Volpetti, followed by Brosseur, took the road leading to the wharf, the latter carrying the traveling bags and other baggage. Volpetti had the box of doc.u.ments and Brosseur grumbled at the heaviness of his own load, which prevented his keeping up with his master. Being scarcely able to see him, he followed by listening to the creaking of his boots. But he was obliged to walk so slowly that the creaking became fainter and fainter, seeming finally to die out altogether. Suddenly, he heard boots again and hurried on, succeeding at last in overtaking the owner of them; just then this owner turned and, with no warning, dealt Brosseur a blow on the head so effective that the valet rolled over into the mud, emitting only a smothered bellow. Rene leaned over his victim, turning on the light from his lantern. A stream of blood tricked down his face and he seemed insensible. Thrusting his hand into Brosseur's breast and pockets, he extracted a bunch of keys. With these he opened the wallets, but no box did he find. Then, shaking the fellow, to convince himself that he was still unconscious, Rene hurried after Volpetti. A moment later Giacinto stumbled upon the wounded man.

”The Marquis knows how to strike!” he exclaimed. ”But he has yet to learn how to remove his victims.” And the Sicilian flung the baggage out into the sea. Then, with the greatest difficulty, he pushed the half living body of his enemy over the embankment into the water.

”Santa Maria be praised! The danger is over,” and, crossing himself, he hurried on.

When Volpetti heard, instead of Brosseur's heavy tread, light feet very near him, he instinctively clasped the box to his breast and clutched his dagger. Then he turned, calling out:

”Brosseur! Rascal! Where are you?”

For answer, a heavy blow descended on his head. Volpetti grasped his pistol and turned, but his adversary flung his strong arms around him, seized the pistol, which he pressed to the other's head, saying:

”Give me the box or I shall blow your brains out.”

Volpetti struggled and tried to reach his dagger, but Rene twisted the refractory arm until it snapped in the socket, making its owner roar with pain. Louis Pierre had just leaped ash.o.r.e, and, guided by the commotion of the struggle, he ran to the group, which he expected to consist of the two Italians.

Just then Giacinto ran up, crying gleefully:

”Aha! Do you recognize Giacinto Palli? Let us throw him into the sea.”

”Not here,” said Louis Pierre, binding his hands and feet. ”He might save himself.”

”We can hang weights to him.”