The Golden Face Part 20

Fra Pacifico hitched up the rope around his waist and made an impetuous gesture.

"Poor fellow! He suspects nothing!"

"Well, Pacifico," I said, "do be frank with me. How do you know all this?"

"No," he replied. "There are certain things I cannot tell you--things which occurred in the past--before I took my vow and entered this place. I was once of your own world, Signor Hargreave. Now I am not.

It is all of the past," he added in a hard, determined voice.

"You have been in London. I feel sure of it, Pacifico," I said, for by his conversation he had often betrayed knowledge of England, and more especially of London.

"Ah! I do not deny it," laughed the broad-faced, easy-going man, now again seated in his rush-bottomed chair. "I know your hotels in London--the Savoy, the Carlton, the Ritz, and the Berkeley. I've lunched and dined and supped at them all. I've shopped in Bond Street, and I've lost money at Ascot. Oh, yes!" he laughed. "I know your wonderful London! And now I have nothing in the world--not a soldo of my own. I am simply a Brother--and I am content," he said, with a strange look of peace and resignation.

We who live outside the high monastery walls can never understand the delightful, old-world peace that reigns within--that big family of whom the father is the fat Priore, always indulgent and kind to his grown-up children, yet so very severe upon any broken rule.

Fra Pacifico had that evening told me something which had placed me very much upon the alert. I had not been mistaken when I suspected that he might know something of the woman Yolanda Romanelli--the woman whom Rayne had sent me to inquire about--and I felt that I had done well to first inquire of my old friend. He had hinted certain things concerning the Marchesa, the gay leader of society in Rome, whose name was in the _Tribuna_ almost daily, and whose husband possessed a fine old palazzo in the Corso, as well as an official residence in Naples, where, in addition to being one of the most popular men in Italy, he was Admiral of the Port.

"May I be forgiven for uttering those ill-words," exclaimed the monk, as though speaking to himself. "We are taught to forgive our enemies.

But I cannot forgive her!"

"Why?" I asked.

"She has desecrated the house of G.o.d," he replied in a low tense voice.

Two hours later I was back with Lola and Madame Duperre at the Hotel Victoria at Pisa.

Coming from the lips of any other than those of Fra Pacifico I should have suspected that the Marchesa Romanelli had once done him some evil turn. Yet when a man renounces the world and enters the cloisters, he puts aside all jealousies and thought of injury, and lives a life of devotion and of strictest piety. Fra Pacifico was a man I much admired, and whose word I accepted without query.

Next day Lola was inquisitive as to my visit to the monastery, but I was compelled to keep my own counsel, and that evening we all three took the night express to Rome, arriving at the Grand at nine o'clock after a dusty and sleepless journey, for the _wagons-lit_ which run over the Maremma marshes roll and rock until sleep becomes quite impossible.

With the Eternal City Lola was delighted, though it was out of the season and the deserted streets were like furnaces. Still, I was able to drive her out to see some of the antiquities which I had myself visited half a dozen times before.

My notes included the name of a man named Enrico Prati, who lived humbly in the Via d'Aranico, and one evening, two days after our arrival, I called upon him. Lola had been anxious that I should stay for a small dance in the hotel, but I had been compelled to plead business, for, as a matter of fact, I had become filled with curiosity regarding the mission of inquiry upon which I had been sent.

Prati kept a wine-shop, an obscure place which did not inspire confidence. He was a beetle-browed fellow, short, with deep-set furtive eyes, and he struck me as being a thief--or perhaps a receiver of stolen property. The atmosphere of the place seemed mysterious and forbidding.

I told him that I had come from "The Golden Face." At mention of the name he started and instantly became obsequious. By that I knew that he had some connection with the gang.

Then I demanded of him what he knew of the mysterious Marchesa Romanelli, adding that I had come from England to obtain the information which "The Golden Face" knew he could furnish.

I saw that I was dealing with a clever thief who carried on his criminal activities under the guise of a dealer of wines.

"Yes, signore," he said. "I know the Marchesa. She is a leader of smart society, both here and in Naples. During the war she spent a large sum of money in establishing her fine hospital out at Porta Milvio. She was foremost in arranging charity concerts, bazaars, and other things in aid of those blinded at the war. Could such a wealthy patriotic woman, whose husband is one of Italy's most famous admirals, possibly be anything other than honest and upright?"

His reply took me aback, until his sinister face broadened into a smile. Then I said:

"I admit that. But you know more than you have told me, Signor Prati,"

and then added: "Because the woman has risen to such high favor and her actions have always shown her to be intensely charitable, there is no reason why she should not be wearing a mask--eh?"

He only laughed, and, shrugging his shoulders, replied:

"Go to Naples and seek for yourself. The suspicions of 'The Golden Face' are well-grounded, I a.s.sure you."

So, unconvinced, I returned to the Grand Hotel full of wonder. I was not satisfied, so I determined to take Prati's advice and see for myself what manner of woman was this Marchesa. Fortunately, although it was out of the season, she was in Naples. Having two old friends there I went south with my companions two days later, and we installed ourselves at the Palace Hotel with its wonderful views across the bay.

I had little difficulty in obtaining an introduction to the woman whom I sought. It took place one evening at the house of one of my friends, who was now a Deputy.

When she heard my name, I noticed that she started slightly, but I bowed over her hand in pretense of ignorance.

She expressed gratification at meeting me, and soon we were chatting pleasantly. She was a handsome woman of about forty-five, dark-haired and beautifully gowned. With her was her daughter Flavia, a pretty, dark-eyed girl of twenty or so, bright, vivacious, and very _chic_.

The latter spoke English excellently, and told me that she had been at school for years at Cheltenham.

CHAPTER XII

THE SILVER SPIDER

That night, after a chat with Lola, I sat in my room at the palace and could not help recollecting how strangely the Marchesa had started when my name had been uttered.

Did she know of my connection with "The Golden Face"? If she did, then she might naturally suspect me and hold me at arm's length. Yet if she feared me, why should she have asked me, as well as Lola and Madame, to call at the Palazzo Romanelli?

I had thanked her, and accepted.

Therefore on Tuesday night, with Lola and Madame both smartly dressed, I went to the huge, old fifteenth-century palace, grim and prison-like because of its heavily barred windows of the days when every palazzo was a fortress, and within found it the acme of luxury and refinement, its great salons filled with priceless pictures and ancient statuary, and magnificent furniture of the Renaissance.

About thirty people were present, most of them the elite of Naples society, all the ladies being exquisitely dressed. My hostess expressed delight as I bowed and raised her hand to my lips, in Italian fashion, and then I introduced my two companions. A few moments after I found myself chatting with the pretty Flavia, who, to my annoyance, seemed to be very inquisitive concerning my movements.

As I stood gossiping with her, my eyes fell upon a little Florentine table of polished black marble inlaid with colored stones forming a basket of fruit, a marvel of Renaissance art, and upon it there stood a silver model of a gigantic tarantula, or spider, the body being about seven inches long by five broad, with eight long curved legs, most perfectly copied from nature.

Flavia noticed that I had seen it.

"That's our Silver Spider!" she laughed. "It's the ancient mascot of the Romanelli."

I walked over and examined it, but without, of course, taking it in my hand. Then I remarked upon its beautiful workmanship, and we turned away.

It was a gay informal a.s.sembly. Among the men there were several naval and military attaches from the Emba.s.sies, as well as one or two Deputies with their wives. Once or twice I had brief chats with the Marchesa, who, of course, was the center of her guests. One man, tall, with deep-set eyes and a well-trimmed black beard, seemed to pay her particular attention, and on discreet inquiry as to who he was, I discovered him to be the well-known banker, Pietro Zuccari, who represented Orvieto in the Chamber.

Now the reason of our visit to the Marchesa's was to see what manner of company she kept, but I detected nothing suspicious in any person in that chattering a.s.sembly. Yet I could not put away from myself what Fra Pacifico had told me in the silence of the cloisters of San Domenico.

Again I looked upon the handsome face of that gay society woman and wondered what secret could be hidden behind that happy, laughing countenance.

After leaving the Palazzo Romanelli that night I resolved to "fade out" and watch.

Now Admiral the Marquis Romanelli, who was in charge of the important port of Naples, had, during the late war, returned to his position as a high naval officer, and with all his patriotism as the head of a n.o.ble Roman house, had done his level best against the enemy until the proclamation of peace.

Wherever one went one heard loud praises of "Torquato," as he was affectionately called by his Christian name by the populace.

After due consideration I decided that we should move from Naples to the pretty little town of Salerno at the other end of the blue bay, and there at the Hotel d'Angleterre, facing the sapphire sea, I spent several delightful days with the girl I so pa.s.sionately loved.