Part 33 (1/2)

'Where is the strong box?' he asked, dragging the secretary towards the door opposite to the one through which Giustina had gone out.

'There is no money in the house,' cried Omobono, in renewed terror. 'I swear to you that there is no money!'

'Very well,' answered the Tartar, who had taken the keys from the table. 'Show me the empty box.'

'There is no strong box, sir,' answered the secretary, resolving to control his fear and die in defending his master's property.

The difficulty was to carry out this n.o.ble resolution. Tocktamish grabbed him by both arms and held him in the vice of his grasp.

'Little man,' he said gravely. 'There is a box, and I will find the box, and I will put you into the box, and I will throw the box into the water. Then you will know that it is not good to lie to Tocktamish. Now show me where it is.'

Omobono shrank to something like half his natural size in his shame and fear, and led the way to the counting-house. Once only he stopped, and made a gallant attempt to be brave, and tried to repeat his queer little prayer, as he did on all the great occasions of his life.

'O Lord, grant wealth and honour to the Most Serene Republic,' he began, and though he realised that in his present situation this request was not much to the point, he would have gone on to ask for victory over the Genoese, on general principles.

But at that moment he felt something as sharp as a pin sticking into him just where his hose would naturally have been most tight, and where, in fact, the strain that pulled them up was most severe; in that part of the human body, in short, which, as most of us have known since childhood is peculiarly sensitive to pain. There was no answer to such an argument _a posteriori_; the little man's head went down, his shoulders went up, and he trotted on; and though he could not be put off from finis.h.i.+ng his prayer he had reached the door of the counting-house when he was only just beginning to pray that he might have strength to resist curiosity, a request even more out of place, just then, than a pet.i.tion for the destruction of the Genoese. A moment later he and Tocktamish entered the room, and the Tartar shut the door behind him.

Neither of the two had heard two little bare feet following them softly at a distance; but when the door was shut Lucilla ran nimbly up to it and quickly drew the great old iron bolt which had been left where it had once been useful, at a time when the disposition of the house had been different. Lucilla knew that all the windows within had heavy gratings, and that neither Omobono nor his captor could get out.

Giustina had fled upstairs, as women generally do to save themselves from any immediate danger. They are born with the idea that when a house has more than one story the upper one is set apart for them and their children, as indeed it always was in the Middle Ages, and they feel sure that there must be other women there who will help them, or defend them, or hide them. For it is a curious fact that whereas women distrust each other profoundly where the one man of their affections is concerned, they rely on each other as a whole body, banded together to resist and get the better of the male s.e.x, in a way that would do credit to any army in an enemy's country. Therefore Giustina went upstairs, quite certain of finding other women.

Now there was but one door on the upper landing, and that was Zoe's, and it was open; and just outside it Lucilla was hiding in the curtain, listening to the strange sounds that came up from below; but when Giustina ran in without seeing her, the little slave stayed outside and slipped downstairs noiselessly, listened again at the dining-room door, watched the Tartar and the secretary from a place of safety, and then ran nimbly after them on purpose to lock them in, as she did, for she was a clever little slave and remembered the bolt.

Meanwhile Giustina rushed on like a whirlwind till she fell panting on the divan beside Zoe, hardly seeing her at all, and staring at the door, through which she expected every moment to see the burly Tartar enter in pursuit; so that Yulia, who guessed the danger, ran and shut it of her own accord.

Then Giustina drew a long breath and looked round, and she met Zoe's eyes scrutinising her face with a look she never forgot.

'That monster!' she exclaimed, by way of explanation and apology.

Zoe had heard nothing, for the house was solidly built, and she had not the least idea who had frightened Giustina. It occurred to her that Gorlias might be in the house, and that on being seen by the Venetians it had suited him to terrify them in order to get out again without being questioned.

'You are Giustina Polo,' she said. 'I am Arethusa, Messer Carlo Zeno's slave. Will you tell me what has happened?'

Giustina had now recovered herself enough to see that this Arethusa was very lovely, and she momentarily forgot the danger she had escaped.

'You are his slave!' she repeated slowly, and still breathing hard.

'Ah--I begin to understand.'

'So do I,' Zoe answered, looking at the handsome, heavy face, the dyed hair, and marble hands.

There was something like relief in her tone, now that she had examined her rival well.

'When did Carlo buy you?' asked Giustina, growing coldly insolent as she recovered her breath and realised her social superiority.

'I think it was just five weeks ago,' Zoe answered simply. 'But it seems as if I had always been here.'

'I have no doubt,' said Giustina. 'Five weeks! Yes, I understand now.'

Then a fancied sound waked her fear of pursuit again, and her eyes turned quickly towards the door. Yulia was standing beside it, listening with her ear to the crack; she shook her head as she met Giustina's anxious glance. There was nothing; no one was coming.