The Patriot Part 12

"I don't know," the Professor replied, feeling the colour mounting to his face, and indeed he turned scarlet. In his mental note-book Pasotti immediately made a note of the embarra.s.sed manner, and of the heightened colour. "He would be unwise to throw up the game. It is only natural that the Marchesa should create difficulties for them, but after all, she is a good creature, and devoted to him. Poor woman, what a fright she had the other night!"

He glanced at the Professor who was frowning in uneasy silence, and reflected: You will not speak? Then you know. "Just think of it! Not to say where he was going! What do you think of that?"

"But I know nothing about it, I don't understand." Gilardoni exclaimed, frowning more darkly still and growing ever more uneasy.

And now Pasotti, who was aware that the Professor had long since ceased to visit the Rigeys, but was ignorant of the reason why, made a move which was worthy only of a novice in roguery.

"You might enquire about it at Castello." said he, with a malicious simper.

At this point Gilardoni, who was already boiling with rage, overflowed.

"Pray oblige me by dropping this subject," said he, angrily, "oblige me by dropping it."

Pasotti grew sullen. Ceremonious, insinuating, and given to adulation though he was, his pride would not allow him to suffer an unpleasant word calmly, and he took offence at every shadow. He said no more, and in a few minutes took his leave with dignified coolness, and retired through the beets and the turnips, nursing his wrath. On reaching the top of the Contrada dei Mal'ari, the _bargnif_ paused a moment to think, resting his chin on his hand, then he started towards the sh.o.r.e of Casarico, moving slowly, his head bent low, but with glistening eyes, like the poodle that smells the hidden truffle in the air. Don Giuseppe's frightened denials, Maria's obstinate denials, and the Professor's embarra.s.sment and outburst of temper, told him that a truffle really existed, and that it must be a big one. He had thought of going to Loggi where dwelt Paolin and Paolon, both of whom were well informed, but then he had remembered that it was Tuesday, and that probably he would not find them. No, it would be better to go directly up to Castello from Casarico, and sniff and hunt about in the house of a certain Signora Cecca, an admirable woman, all heart, and famous for the a.s.siduous watch she kept from her window over the entire Valsolda by means of a powerful spy-gla.s.s. She could tell you any day who had gone to Lugano with the boatman Pin, or with Panighet; noted the conversations the unhappy Pinella held with a certain Mochet in front of the church at Albogasio, half a mile distant; she knew how many days it had taken Engineer Ribera to drink the little cask of wine which his boat carried back empty from the house at Oria to the cellar at S.

Margherita. If Franco had been to Casa Rigey Signora Cecca must surely know it.

In the pa.s.sage that leads from Casarico to the narrow street of Castello, Pasotti heard hurried steps behind him, and then some one brushed past him in the darkness and he believed he had recognised a man nicknamed "legora fugada" or the "hunted hare," because of the furious pace at which he always walked. This honest man, who was even more inquisitive than Pasotti, was a most worthy person who loved to know things just for the sake of knowing them, and for no other reason. He always went about alone, was everywhere, appearing and disappearing like a flash, sometimes in one place, sometimes in another, like certain large, winged insects, which pa.s.s with a glance, a whirr, a touch, and then, hush! they are neither heard nor seen again until there comes another glance, another whirr, another touch. He had seen the Pasottis enter the "Palace," and the unusual hour had caused him to suspect something. Lying flat in a small field he had seen Signora Barborin turn homewards, and the Controller start towards Casarico. Then, having followed at a distance, this individual had posted himself behind one of the pilasters of the portico of Casarico while Pasotti was calling on Gilardoni, and now he had slipped past him, taking advantage of the dark pa.s.sage, and hastening to reach Castello before him, that he might watch his movements from some point of vantage.

In fact he saw him enter Signora Cecca's house.

The old lady, who had the goitre, was in her little parlour, holding a small urchin on her left arm, while with her free hand she supported a very long and slender pasteboard tube, which was struck slanting across the window like a wall-gun and pointed down at the sparkling lake, at a white sail, filled with the _breva_. On the entrance of Pasotti, who came forward with stooping shoulders, his face suffused with a most gentle gaiety, the kindly and hospitable old dame hastened to put down the monstrous pasteboard nose, which she was so fond of poking into the most distant affairs of others, where her own parchment nose, though it was long beyond measure, could not reach. She received the Controller as she might have received a saintly miracle-worker, who had come to remove her goitre.

"Oh, how kind of you! Dear _Sior Controlor_! Oh, how kind! What a pleasure! What a pleasure!"

And she made him sit down and nearly suffocated him with her offers of hospitality.

"A piece of cake! A bit of nut-candy! Dear _Sior Controlor_! A little wine! A taste of _rosoho_!--You must excuse me," she added, for the youngster had begun to whine. "He is my little grandson, you know. My little pet."

Pasotti took a great deal of urging, having not only Don Giovanni's cherries, but also Gilardoni's beer in his stomach, but finally he was obliged to yield, and resign himself to gnawing a piece of that accursed almond cake, while the urchin clung to his grandmother's goitre.

At this the sarcastic rogue said pathetically, laughing in his sleeve the while: "Poor Signora Cecca! Twice a mother!" When he had enquired for her husband and for all her descendants even unto the third generation, he brought forward Signora Teresa Rigey. How was that poor lady? Bad! Really very bad? But since when had she been worse? Had there been any cause? Some trouble, perhaps? The old troubles were well known, but had there been some fresh ones? Perhaps on Luisina's account? About the marriage? And did Don Franco come to Castello? Ah, not in the daytime, but perhaps----?

As the patient who is being questioned and examined by the surgeon searching for the painful, hidden spot, answers ever more briefly, ever more fearfully as the hand draws nearer and nearer to the point, and starts and draws back as soon as the spot is touched, so Signora Cecca answered Pasotti ever more briefly, ever more cautiously, until, at that "but" which touched the painful spot so delicately, she started, exclaiming--

"A little more cake, _Sior Controlor_! It is a cake light enough for young girls."

Pasotti in his heart cursed the "young girls" and their cake, a concoction of honey, chalk and almond oil, but deemed it prudent to swallow another mouthful before once more touching, or rather pressing the tender spot he had discovered.

"I know nothing! I know nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Signora Cecca exclaimed. "Try sounding Puttini. Try Signor Giacomo. And pray don't ask me anything more." Again! Pasotti's face shone at the prospect of getting the unlucky Signor Giacomo into his clutches. Thus the eyes of a falcon might shine at the joyous prospect of s.n.a.t.c.hing a frog, and of holding him in his claws, to toy with at pleasure. Presently he took his departure well satisfied with everything save with the chalky cake, which lay like lead in his stomach.

Casa Puttini, which, within its minute, genteel appearance, resembled the little old gentleman who ruled it, in a black coat and white stock, stood just below that stately pile, Casa Pasotti, on the road to Albogasio Inferiore. The falcon went there in the afternoon, towards five o'clock, with a cunning expression on his face. He knocked at the door and then listened. He was there! The unlucky frog was there! And he was quarrelling as usual with the perfidious servant. Pasotti knocked louder. "Go down!" said Signor Giacomo, but Marianna would not hear of going down to open the door. "Go down! I am the master!" It was all in vain. Pasotti knocked again, knocked like a battering-ram. "Who the devil can it be!" scolded Puttini, and he came down puffing: "Apff!

apff!" to open the door. "Oh, most gracious Controller!" said he winking hard, and raising his eyebrows pathetically. "Pray excuse me! That awful servant! I am quite worn out! You would not believe the things that go on in this house!"

"That is a lie!" Marianna cried from above.

"Hold your tongue, you!" And then Signor Giacomo began telling his woes, stopping from time to time to silence the protests of the invisible servant.

"Just fancy! This morning I went to Lugano. I got home about three o'clock. On the doorstep--look there--I saw some splashes. Hold your tongue, you! I did not heed them, and went straight in. At the head of the kitchen-stairs there were more splashes. Be quiet, will you?--What can have been spilled? said I to myself, and I stooped and touched the spots with my finger. It was something greasy; I smelt it, it was oil.

Then I followed the splashes, touching and sniffing, sniffing and touching. All oil, most gracious Controller! So I said to myself again: Either it came in, or it went out. If it came in, the farmer brought it, and in that case there will be splashes outside the door, and they will extend upwards, if it went out, that means that this accursed.... Hold your tongue, I say!... took it to S. Mamette and sold it, and then the splashes outside will extend downwards. So back I went, always following the splashes and presently I found myself here at the door.

Most gracious Controller, those splashes all extended downwards! That d----"

At this point the servant's voice rang out like the bell on an alarm-clock, and no "hold your tongue" was strong enough to stem that shrill flow of angry words. Pasotti tried, and not succeeding, flew into a pa.s.sion himself, and shouted: "Oh, you cheat!" following up that t.i.tle with a string of insults, at each of which Signor Giacomo gave a low grunt of satisfaction. "Yes, yes, give it to her! that's right! I am much obliged to you. Yes, shout,--that's right. You torment, you!--I am really greatly obliged to you, most gracious Controller! Really greatly obliged!"

When Marianna had been overpowered and reduced to silence, Pasotti told Signor Giacomo that he must speak a few words with him. "I am really not up to it," the little man complained. "You must excuse me, for I feel quite ill."

"Not up to it, not up to it, indeed!" shouted Marianna who had revived.

"You had better tell us how you wear yourself out going up to Castello at night to see the girls!"

"Hold your tongue," Puttini shrieked, while Pasotti exclaimed, with a fiendish grin: "What, what, what!" Seeing that Puttini was becoming furious, he took him by the arm, and calming him with peaceful and affectionate language, dragged him away to his own house where he at once summoned his wife, and started a game of three-handed _tarocchi_, with the purpose of soothing the poor frog, and getting a firmer grip of him.

If Signora Barborin played badly, Signor Giacomo, meditating, pondering and puffing, played worse. He was an extremely timid player, and never set himself up alone against the other two, but to-day at the very first deal, he discovered that he held such extraordinary cards that he was seized with a fit of courage, and, to use the language of the game, he _entered_. "Goodness knows what sort of a hand he has!" Pasotti growled.

"I don't say.... I don't say.... There certainly are several friars who walk in slippers."

Signor Giacomo's "I don't say" meant that he held marvellous cards, and the friars in slippers, in his lingo, were the four kings of the game.

While he was getting ready to play, feasting his eyes upon his cards, and feeling each one in turn, Pasotti took the opportunity of opening fire, hoping to make him lose the game, into the bargain. "Come now,"

said he, "tell us about it! When was it you went to Castello at night?"

"Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Don't talk about it," Signor Giacomo replied, growing very red and sorting his cards faster than ever.

"Well, well, play away then. We can talk later. I know the whole story any way!"

Poor Signor Giacomo, how could he play with that bone in his throat? He sorted and puffed, led when he should not have done so, blundered in adding up the points, lost two of the friars and their slippers as well, and in spite of his splendid hand, left several markers in the clutches of Pasotti who was grinning with delight, and several more on the little plate beside Signora Barborin, who kept repeating with clasped hands: "What have you done, Signor Giacomo? what have you done?"

Pasotti gathered up the cards and began shuffling them, casting sardonic glances at Signor Giacomo, who did not know where to look.

"Certainly," said he, "I know everything. Signora Cecca told me the whole story. I a.s.sure you, my dear Political Deputy, you will be called upon to answer for this before the Imperial and Royal Commissary of Porlezza."

With these words Pasotti pa.s.sed the cards to Puttini, that he might cut.

But Puttini, hearing that dreaded name, began to groan:

"Oh Lord! Oh Lord! What is that you say?... I know nothing.... Oh Lord!

The Imperial and Royal Commissary?... I a.s.sure you I can't see what for! ... apff!"

"Certainly," Pasotti repeated. He was waiting for a word that should enlighten him, and by pointing first to the door and then to his own mouth, he made his wife understand that she was to fetch something to drink.

"And that dreadful engineer as well!" Signor Giacomo exclaimed, as if speaking to himself.

As the fisherman who, pulling hard on the long, heavy line quivering, he fancies, with the weight of the one big fish he has been angling for so long, finally redoubles his caution and skill, as, with a thrill, he sees two great shadowy fishes instead of one rising from the depths, so Pasotti, upon hearing this allusion to the engineer, was thrilled and amazed, and began preparing, with the most exquisitely delicate touch, to draw out this secret concerning Signor Giacomo and Ribera.

"Certainly," said he, "you did wrong."

Silence on Signor Giacomo's part.

Pasotti insisted.