Stolen Souls Part 32

"Yes," I replied, turning and confronting a tall, handsome, middle-aged lady, attired in deep black. She was evidently of the upper cla.s.s, and spoke English with an accent scarcely perceptible. A fact which struck me as very remarkable was that around her neck she wore a band of blood-red silk exactly the same as that upon the corpse in the brigand's cave! What could it denote?

"I presume I am not mistaken in addressing you. I am Madame Trois Etoiles."

"I have been expecting you," I said.

"You have been commissioned to deliver something to me, have you not?"

she asked, seating herself in the chair on the opposite side of the table.

"Yes. I must confess, however, that my mission is a somewhat mysterious one." And I drew the packet from my pocket.

"Mine is also mysterious," she laughed nervously. "But tell me, who gave it to you?"

"Unfortunately, I must not tell, madame; I am sworn to secrecy," I replied. Then I asked, "Why is it imperative that the packet should be conveyed to you in this manner?"

"Ah, signore, I am as ignorant as yourself. Besides, I also have taken an oath. It was a stipulation that I should explain nothing. I was to meet you here and receive the packet--to act as messenger, in fact.

That is all."

"Then we cannot exchange confidences," I said disappointedly.

She shook her head.

"Very well; there is the mysterious packet;" and I handed it to her.

Then I tore a leaf from my pocket-book, and, together with a pencil, handed it to my strange visitor, who wrote in Italian the words, "Received of Signore the Englishman, the packet with seals intact.-- Madame * * *"

Pa.s.sing the paper back to me, she drew on the glove she had removed, and, rising, wished me a haughty adieu, remarking that she was obliged to leave for Modane by the diligence which would start almost immediately from the Hotel de Ville.

I raised my hat, and after a graceful bow she turned, and, walking away along the quiet, old-world street, was soon lost in the gathering gloom.

One evening, quite recently, I was sitting in the Trattoria di Piazza San Carlo, that great, gilded restaurant that overlooks the handsome square in the centre of Turin. Major Malaspina, of the National Guard, was with me, and we were chatting over our coffee and cigars. Giulio Malaspina is an old friend whom I first met ten years ago, when, in the performance of my journalistic duties, I visited the cholera hospitals of Naples with King Humbert and Queen Margherita. Mainly through him, various facilities were afforded me for visiting the hospitals and pa.s.sing the military _cordon_ as often as I pleased, hence our acquaintance ripened into warm and lasting friendship. Short and thick-set, with closely-cropped, iron-grey hair, and a fierce, bristly moustache, he is a merry little man, and at the present time the most popular officer of the Turin garrison.

He was glancing through the _Tribuna_, which the waiter had just brought, while I sat lazily contemplating the groups of diners through a veil of tobacco smoke.

"Ah!" he exclaimed suddenly, removing the cigar from his lips and looking up from the paper. "I see they've captured a band of robbers in the Carpathians. It is really remarkable that brigands should exist in Europe in these highly civilised days."

"Are there any in the Alps?" I asked, half inclined to relate my extraordinary experience, but suddenly remembering that I had bound myself to secrecy.

"There were, but there are none now. I a.s.sisted in clearing out the last band. They were clever, daring scoundrels, who exhibited much remarkable ingenuity. The discovery of the gang caused a good deal of sensation about two years ago. But of course you were in England at that time; possibly you heard nothing about it?"

"No; tell me," I said anxiously. "I'm always interested in stories of brigands."

"Plots for novels, eh?" he said, laughing merrily, contemplating the fine diamond that glittered on his finger. "Well," he began, "for a long time it had been known that a number of contrabandists were smuggling goods from France over the almost impa.s.sable summit of Mont Cenis."

"They were Piedmontese brigands, then?" I exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes. Travellers had been robbed, diligences on the Modane road had been stopped, baggage rifled, and various depredations were being constantly reported. It was evident that they were in league with some receivers of stolen property at Milan, but the ingenious manner in which they disposed of their booty baffled all efforts to discover the ident.i.ty of the thieves. Probably they would have continued their nefarious operations unmolested until the present time, had they not committed a most daring robbery, which very nearly culminated in a public scandal. _Per Bacco_! there is more comedy than tragedy in the story. You must be discreet if I relate it to you, for it is not generally known, and if it got about, a good deal of displeasure might be created at the Ministry at Rome."

And, amused at his own thoughts, he laughed heartily.

"It happened about three years ago," he continued, "that the King, while inspecting the crown jewels, discovered that the small jewelled cross which surmounts the great historic diamond of enormous value that forms the apex of the royal crown was loose, and, moreover, the great gem itself required resetting. After much consideration, it was at length resolved to entrust the work to a renowned jeweller in Paris, and the portion of the insignia was dispatched thither by royal messenger. The latter, it appears, took train by way of Turin and the Mont Cenis tunnel, but on arrival at the Alpine frontier, found that some repairs were being carried out in the tunnel, which necessitated it being closed to all traffic for several days. He was unable to walk through, because there had been a landslip. That the crown should be renovated without delay was imperative, as it was required for an important State ceremonial, therefore the messenger resolved to go by mule over the mountain to Modane. On the way, however, he and his guide were attacked, and the contrabandists carried away, among other things, the precious packet containing the most valuable portion of the regal crown!"

The major's eyes twinkled merrily, and he laughed immoderately.

Suddenly, noticing my grave, anxious expression, he said--

"Ah, of course you are interested! _Dio mio_! it was a huge joke. You desire to hear the _denouement_? Well, you may easily imagine His Majesty's wrath when the matter was reported to him; but the gravity of the situation lay in the fact that any hue and cry raised would create a public scandal, and in all probability cause the thieves to destroy the jewels. Had the newspapers got wind of the theft, the whole of Europe would be laughing at Italy's ludicrous discomfiture. For several weeks the frontier guards kept a sharp look-out on the mountains, but no traces of the thieves could be discovered, therefore at Rome a good deal of anxiety began to be felt. At length, however, the King himself received a letter from the scoundrels, stating that they had discovered the nature of their booty, and as loyal subjects of His Majesty, and upholders of the dignity of the kingdom, they desired to return the portion of the crown. They stipulated, however, that the packet containing the jewels would only be given up to the Countess di Palermo, one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting, and that if she called on a certain evening at an inn at Briancon, the packet would be duly delivered to her. Cool, audacious impudence, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I said; "but how ineffably loyal they were!"

"Most extraordinary rascals! Of course the King gave a pledge that no attempt would be made to trace whence the jewels came, and that the Countess alone would keep the appointment. She did so; and, remarkable to relate, the packet was handed to her by some wayfaring Englishman, whose name never transpired. In that manner the most valuable of the crown jewels was recovered, greatly to the satisfaction of His Majesty, the Council of Ministers, and all who were in the secret."

Malaspina puffed vigorously at his cigar for a few seconds, and then continued--

"The recklessness of the outlaws was amazing. Robbery and extortion became more frequent, and thefts were committed with as cool determination as if the scoundrels held special licence from the King.

At length the Minister of Police decided that such a state of things should no longer be allowed to continue. Hence it was that I found myself at the head of a company of Bersaglieri, scouring the mountains from Mont Blanc to Mont Rosa. After much fruitless search, we discovered that the stronghold of the bandits was a remarkable cave almost on the summit of the Cenis, at a point accessible only by a secret by-path. Having carefully laid our plans, we advanced to the attack early one morning. Unfortunately, the mountain afforded no cover, therefore our presence must have been immediately detected.

Eventually, however, we battered down the door of their hiding-place, and entered. To our surprise, we found the cavern was an enormous one, and it took us a considerable time to explore its recesses. In the meantime, the occupants, whoever they were, must have escaped by another exit, for we never saw them, and they have not been apprehended to this day. In the cavern I found quant.i.ties of contraband goods stored, and every evidence of extensive smuggling. One discovery I made was indeed horrible, yet on closer investigation it proved as grimly humorous as the other incidents. Into a lower chamber I had descended with a light, and found, to my amazement, the body of a beautiful woman, who had evidently been kept a prisoner, and had died under harsh treatment.

Apparently she had expired quite recently, for there were no signs of decomposition. At first I felt inclined to retreat, but the expression in the wide-open, staring eyes attracted my attention, and I bent and touched the face. It was clammy and cold, but quite hard. A portion of it came off in my hand. _Dio_! I had been deceived--it was of wax!"

"Wax?" I cried, astonished.

"Yes. Inquiries I subsequently made showed that a travelling waxwork show on its way across the frontier had been attacked a couple of years before, and among other things stolen was this wax figure. With cunning ingenuity, the contrabandists had contrived to transform the ruddy visage of a wax `Desdemona' into the pallid countenance of a corpse, which they placed upon a heap of filthy straw in the damp, dark lower chamber. Around its neck, for some reason unaccountable, they had placed a scarlet band, similar to that always worn by the Countess di Palermo to conceal a cicatrice. The object, I suppose, was to show the corpse to travellers, whom they entrapped in order to extort money from them by threatening to keep them in the Dantean dungeon, and starving them to death."

"A most ingenious device," I said in abject astonishment. "The cave is now deserted, I suppose?"

"The cave? _Pouf_!" and he raised both his hands with a movement indicative of an explosion. "Acting under orders from Rome, a party of engineers blew it up with dynamite. As regards the thieves, no one knows what became of them. It must be admitted, however, that they had one redeeming characteristic--that of loyalty to their exemplary sovereign!"

And Major Malaspina laughed, sipped his vermouth, and lapsed into the full enjoyment of his long cigar.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A CHILD OF THE SUN.

Sadness and joy, despair and ecstasy, were never so linked as they are in my soul to-night.

Many men have gone mad upon far less provocation, and yet I am calm--so calm with this whirligig of emotions that I surprise myself.

Ah! it will not be long ere it is all over. Death will bring oblivion, the game will stop; and though joy, ecstasy, and delight all flee, sadness, misery, and despair will be banished with them. Remorse will cease to gnaw--that everlasting longing for what can never be will end its torture, and I shall be at peace.

But if there should not be rest beyond the grave? Bah! I'm upset, and I imagined I was calm. There is a superlative in suffering as in everything, else, and I have reached it. Death at its worst can have no further horrors.

Three drops from this phial in my hand into that gla.s.s of cognac at my elbow, and my ticket is made out. One gulp, and I shall have started on my journey.

Ah! it was not an unpleasant draught--slightly bitter, perhaps. The spirit was strong--a bitter potion, a sweet release.

It is merely a question of time; a few minutes now, and I shall be carried from the here to the hereafter.

How strangely my memory stirs! Am I dreaming? Or am I really growing young again?