Stolen Souls Part 14

I think you, in English, have something like our old Tuscan saying, "_Le sciagure e le alle-grezze non vengono mai sole_."

Ah me! There is bitter truth in it. Misfortunes always come in overwhelming numbers, and those who are not favourites of the jade might as well be in their graves.

The more I reflected upon the strange tragedy, the more puzzling was the mystery.

Where was Santina? If she were innocent, why should she hide herself?

For two hours I tramped on over the dusty road to the city of Dante and Michael Angelo, at last entering the Porte Romano; and then wandering down the long street and around the Palazzo Pitti, I crossed the Vecchio Bridge, and pa.s.sed on towards the great Duomo, with Brunelleschi's wondrous dome.

I had taken a drink of water at the old Renaissance fountain in the Piazza del Mercato, and was strolling quietly on, gazing in wonderment at the grand old Gothic cathedral, when suddenly a heavy hand was laid upon my shoulder, and a stern voice said--

"Gasparo Corazzini, I arrest you."

Almost before I was aware of it, two gendarmes, who had accompanied a little, shabbily-dressed police agent, seized me.

"For what crime do you lay your hands upon me?" I cried indignantly.

"You are accused of the murder of Colonel Rossano in Genoa," the detective replied.

My heart sank within me. I was spellbound by the appalling charge.

The gloomy old a.s.size Court at Genoa was crowded; the afternoon heat was intense; the ray of sunlight slanting through the high window lit up the time-dimmed picture of Gesu, and fell upon the great gold crucifix that hung over the head of the grave-looking President. My trial had excited the greatest interest, for the police had, with extraordinary ingenuity, pieced together a truly wonderful chain of circ.u.mstantial evidence against me; and it was remarkable how ready people were to swear my life away. I stood like one in a dream, for I had at last become convinced of Santina's treachery, and, having relinquished hope, had grown callous to everything.

I had no defence, for I had admitted being at the Villa on the night in question, and in the revolver found upon me remained some of the cartridges, the bullets of which exactly corresponded with that which caused the colonel's death.

The Prosecutor had concluded, and without heeding the words the President was addressing to me, I stood with bent head and eyes fixed upon the floor. They might do their worst; they could not heap upon me greater agony than I had already suffered.

Suddenly there was a stir in court, as a servant in the Pallanzeno livery pushed his way forward and handed a large envelope to the judge.

There were two legal-looking papers inside, and the President, having read them through twice, handed them to his two colleagues with an expression of profound surprise. A witness was called, and gabbled a statement in English which I could not understand. Then the judges retired to an ante-room, and remained absent for nearly half an hour.

Presently they returned and reseated themselves. A moment later, with startling suddenness, the words fell upon my ears--

"The prisoner, Gasparo Corazzini, is free. The murderer has confessed."

Confessed? Was it Santina or her husband who had admitted their guilt?

From my guards I endeavoured to ascertain the name of the a.s.sa.s.sin. But I was told that the President had decided for the present to keep it secret, and as the Contessa's servant had disappeared, I turned and left the court.

Walking through the white sunlit streets to the Via Balbi, I mounted the stairs to my studio. The dust of months was over everything, but some one had been there during my absence.

The image of the Contessa still stood where I had left it, but its hideous appearance startled me. An arm had been broken off, and the face had been disfigured, battered beyond recognition with a heavy iron mallet that lay upon the floor.

An enemy had maliciously wrecked my masterpiece.

Sinking into a chair, I covered my face with my hands in blank despair.

My reputation as a sculptor had gone, my skill with the chisel had departed. My kind master, the great Verga, had died, and I, lonely, forsaken, and forgotten, had no means of livelihood left to me.

How long I sat plunged in grim, melancholy thoughts I know not. When I returned to consciousness, the bright moon was shining full into the room, and the broken statue looked pale and ghostly in the deep shadow.

I had risen, and was standing before the window with my head sunk on my breast, when suddenly I felt a warm arm slowly entwine itself about my neck. Starting with a cry of surprise, I turned, and found to my amazement that Santina stood beside me.

"Gasparo!" she whispered softly, drawing my head down and kissing my lips.

"Santina!" I exclaimed joyfully. "You have at last returned?"

"Yes," she replied. "I--I told you we should meet again, and I have kept my promise."

She was very handsomely dressed in an evening gown of pale blue, her velvet cape was edged with sable, and, unloosened, displayed around her throat a diamond necklet that shone in the bright moonbeams a narrow line of white brilliancy.

For a few moments we stood in silence, clasped in each other's arms.

Then I commenced to question her, and she told me how she had been living far away in London, adding--

"But I have come back to you, Gasparo. You still love me, do you not?"

"Love you?" I cried. "I would give half the years of my life if you were mine."

"I am yours," she said, gazing earnestly into my eyes.

"But--but your husband?" I exclaimed.

She shrugged her shoulders carelessly and laughed. Her eyes travelled round the studio, until they fell upon the mutilated statue.

"Ah!" she cried hoa.r.s.ely; "your enemy's handiwork. Then that was part of the revenge!"

"What revenge? Tell me about it!"

"A--a shadow came between us, Gasparo," she sighed. "You had a rival, although you were unaware of it, and I was afraid to tell you, because I feared you would act desperately and create a scene. The man pestered me with his attentions, but I loved you, and turned a deaf ear to him.

On the evening of the tragedy he came to me surrept.i.tiously, and, with pa.s.sionate declarations, begged me to accept him, but I refused, and left the room, vowing to leave Italy, never to return. I knew not what to do, for I was afraid to confess I loved you, as I saw that a _fracas_ and scandal would ensue, but at length I came to the conclusion that it would be best for both of us if we parted at least for a time, therefore I wrote you that cruel letter, in order to make you think my flirtation was at an end."

"Yes; yes," I said, eagerly drinking in every word.

"The conspiracy against us both was one of extraordinary cunning and daring. Your rival was, I have since ascertained, a French spy. On the evening in question, Colonel Rossano, who was an old friend of my father's, arrived from Milan, having been entrusted with some plans of fortifications and other important and secret doc.u.ments to take to the Ministry of War at Rome. The colonel intended to remain the night with us, but your rival, by some means, knew that the doc.u.ments were in his possession, and resolved to secure them. Therefore he secreted himself, and when the officer entered the garden, he shot him, afterwards taking from his pockets the plans, together with a large sum in bank-notes. It was after committing this terrible deed that he sought me; and then, when I refused him, he plotted a desperate vengeance that he intended should fall upon us both. With villainous cunning he had already caused your name to be engraved on the revolver with which he took the colonel's life, and placed the weapon beside the body. Afterwards he proceeded to carry out the other portion of the foul plot that was so nearly successful."

"What was that?" I asked, amazed at her story.

"He followed my servant Guiseppe, bribed him to give him the letter I addressed to you, and, having read its contents, enclosed one of the bank-notes he had stolen from the murdered man. He intended that when the charge of a.s.sa.s.sination was made against you owing to the revolver, corroborative evidence would be furnished by the stolen note in your possession. Towards me he acted differently. You still have that little souvenir I gave you, I suppose? Strike a light, and I will show you something."

I obeyed, and lit one of the candles, afterwards taking from my pocket the quaint little carved Amida, which I had kept carefully wrapped in a piece of chamois leather.

"See! Look at this!" she said, as she screwed off the head of the idol.

And then, holding out my hand, she emptied into my palm a piece of thin paper screwed up into the size of a nut. I spread it out, and found it was a plan of the submarine mines in Genoa harbour!

"I had only a few days previously showed him this little image, and had quite innocently told him that it was hollow, and the head could be removed," she continued. "Therefore, during my absence from the room, he must have secreted the paper there for two reasons: firstly, to get rid of it for a time; and secondly, so that he could, if so desired, throw a terrible suspicion upon me as your friend and alleged accomplice."

"But how do you know all this?" I inquired.