Vendetta Part 9

Though almost as strongly interested in this news as the waiter himself, I did not permit my interest to become manifest. I never forgot for a second the character I had a.s.sumed, and drawing the cigar slowly from my lips I merely said:

"Then they have caught a great rascal. I congratulate the Government!

Where is the fellow?"

"In the great square," returned the garcon, eagerly. "If the signor would walk round the corner he would see Carmelo, bound and fettered.

The saints have mercy upon him! The crowds there are thick as flies round a honeycomb! I must go thither myself--I would not miss the sight for a thousand francs!"

And he ran off, as full of the antic.i.p.ated delight of looking at a brigand as a child going to its first fair. I put on my hat and strolled leisurely round to the scene of excitement. It was a picturesque sight enough; the square was black with a sea of eager heads, and restless, gesticulating figures, and the center of this swaying, muttering crowd was occupied by a compact band of mounted gendarmes with drawn swords flashing in the pale evening light--both horses and men nearly as motionless as though cast in bronze. They were stationed opposite the head-quarters of the Carabinieri, where the chief officer of the party had dismounted to make his formal report respecting the details of the capture before proceeding further.

Between these armed and watchful guards, with his legs strapped to a st.u.r.dy mule, his arms tied fast behind him, and his hands heavily manacled, was the notorious Neri, as dark and fierce as a mountain thunder-storm. His head was uncovered--his thick hair, long and unkempt, hung in matted locks upon his shoulders--his heavy mustachios and beard were so black and bushy that they almost concealed his coa.r.s.e and forbidding features--though I could see the tiger-like glitter of his sharp white teeth as he bit and gnawed his under lip in impotent fury and despair--and his eyes, like leaping flames, blazed with a wrathful ferocity from under his s.h.a.ggy brows. He was a huge, heavy man, broad and muscular; his two hands clinched, tied and manacled behind him, looked like formidable hammers capable of striking a man down dead at one blow; his whole aspect was repulsive and terrible--there was no redeeming point about him--for even the apparent fort.i.tude he a.s.sumed was mere bravado--meretricious courage--which the first week of the galleys would crush out of him as easily as one crushes the juice out of a ripe grape. He wore a nondescript costume of vari-colored linen, arranged in folds that would have been the admiration of an artist. It was gathered about him by means of a brilliant scarlet sash negligently tied. His brawny arms were bare to the shoulder--his vest was open, and displayed his strong brown throat and chest heaving with the pent-up anger and fear that raged within him. His dark grim figure was set off by a curious effect of color in the sky--a long wide band of crimson cloud, as though the sun-G.o.d had thrown down a goblet of ruby wine and left it to trickle along the smooth blue fairness of his palace floor--a deep after-glow, which burned redly on the olive-tinted eager faces of the mult.i.tude that were everywhere upturned in wonder and ill-judged admiration to the brutal black face of the notorious murderer and thief, whose name had for years been the terror of Sicily. I pressed through the crowd to obtain a nearer view, and as I did so a sudden savage movement of Neri's bound body caused the gendarmes to cross their swords in front of his eyes with a warning clash. The brigand laughed hoa.r.s.ely.

"Corpo di Cristo!" he muttered--"think you a man tied hand and foot can run like a deer? I am trapped--I know it! But tell HIM," and he indicated some person in the throng by a nod of his head "tell him to come hither--I have a message for him."

The gendarmes looked at one another, and then at the swaying crowd about them in perplexity--they did not understand.

Carmelo, without wasting more words upon them, raised himself as uprightly as he could in his strained and bound position, and called aloud:

"Luigi Biscardi! Capitano! Oh he--you thought I could not see you! Dio!

I should know you in h.e.l.l! Come near, I have a parting word for you."

At the sound of his strong harsh voice, a silence half of terror, half of awe, fell upon the chattering mult.i.tude. There was a sudden stir as the people made way for a young man to pa.s.s through their ranks--a slight, tall, rather handsome fellow, with a pale face and cold, sneering eyes. He was dressed with fastidious care and neatness in the uniform of the Bersagliere--and he elbowed his way along with the easy audacity of a privileged dandy. He came close up to the brigand and spoke carelessly, with a slightly mocking smile playing round the corners of his mouth.

"Ebbene!" he said, "you are caught at last, Carmelo! You called me--here I am. What do you want with me, rascal?"

Neri uttered a ferocious curse between his teeth, and looked for an instant like a wild beast ready to spring.

"You betrayed me," he said in fierce yet smothered accents--"you followed me--you hunted me down! Teresa told me all. Yes--she belongs to you now--you have got your wish. Go and take her--she waits for you--make her speak and tell you how she loves you--IF YOU CAN!"

Something jeering and withal threatening in the ruffian's look, evidently startled the young officer, for he exclaimed hastily:

"What do you mean, wretch? You have not--my G.o.d! you have not KILLED her?"

Carmelo broke into a loud savage laugh.

"She has killed herself!" he cried, exultingly. "Ha, ha, I thought you would wince at that! She s.n.a.t.c.hed my knife and stabbed herself with it!

Yes--rather than see your lying white face again--rather than feel your accursed touch! Find her--she lies dead and smiling up there in the mountains and her last kiss was for ME--for ME--you understand! Now go!

and may the devil curse you!"

Again the gendarmes clashed their swords suggestively--and the brigand resumed his sullen att.i.tude of suppressed wrath and feigned indifference. But the man to whom he had spoken staggered and seemed about to fall--his pale face grew paler--he moved away through the curious open-eyed by-standers with the mechanical air of one who knows not whether he be alive or dead. He had evidently received an unexpected shock--a wound that pierced deeply and would be a long time healing.

I approached the nearest gendarme and slipped a five-franc piece into his hand.

"May one speak?" I asked, carelessly. The man hesitated.

"For one instant, signor. But be brief."

I addressed the brigand in a low clear-tone.

"Have you any message for one Andrea Luziani? I am a friend of his."

He looked at me and a dark smile crossed his features.

"Andrea is a good soul. Tell him if you will that Teresa is dead. I am worse than dead. He will know that I did not kill Teresa. I could not!

She had the knife in her breast before I could prevent her. It is better so."

"She did that rather than become the property of another man?" I queried.

Carmelo Neri nodded in acquiescence. Either my sight deceived me, or else this abandoned villain had tears glittering in the depth of his wicked eyes.

The gendarme made me a sign, and I withdrew. Almost at the same moment the officer in command of the little detachment appeared, his spurs clinking with measured metallic music on the hard stones of the pavement--he sprung into his saddle and gave the word--the crowd dispersed to the right and left--the horses were put to a quick trot, and in a few moments the whole party with the bulky frowning form of the brigand in their midst had disappeared. The people broke up into little groups talking excitedly of what had occurred, and scattered here and there, returning to their homes and occupations--and more swiftly than one could have imagined possible, the great square was left almost empty. I paced up and down for awhile thinking deeply; I had before my mind's eye the picture of the slight fair Teresa as described by the Sicilian captain, lying dead in the solitudes of the Montemaggiore with that self-inflicted wound in her breast which had set her free of all men's love and persecution. There WERE some women then who preferred death to infidelity? Strange! very strange! common women of course they must be--such as this brigand's mistress; your daintily fed, silk-robed d.u.c.h.ess would find a dagger somewhat a vulgar consoler--she would rather choose a lover, or better still a score of lovers. It is only brute ignorance that selects a grave instead of dishonor--modern education instructs us more wisely, and teaches us not to be over-squeamish about such a trifle as breaking a given word or promise. Blessed age of progress! Age of steady advancement when the apple of vice is so cunningly disguised and so prettily painted that we can actually set it on a porcelain dish and hand it about among our friends as a valuable and choice fruit of virtue--and no one finds out the fraud we are practicing, nay, we scarcely perceive it ourselves, it is such an excellent counterfeit!

As I walked to and fro, I found myself continually pa.s.sing the head office of the Carabinieri, and, acting on a sudden impulse of curiosity, I at last entered the building, determined to ask for a few particulars concerning the brigand's capture. I was received by a handsome and intelligent-looking man, who glanced at the card with which I presented myself, and saluted me with courteous affability.

"Oh, yes!" he said, in answer to my inquiries, "Neri has given us a great deal of trouble. But we had our suspicions that he had left Gaeta, where he was for a time in hiding. A few stray bits of information gleaned here and there put us on the right track."

"Was he caught easily, or did he show fight?"

"He gave himself up like a lamb, signor! It happened in this way. One of our men followed the woman who lived with Neri, one Teresa, and traced her up to a certain point, the corner of a narrow mountain pa.s.s--where she disappeared. He reported this, and thereupon we sent out an armed party. These crept at midnight two by two, till they were formed in a close ring round the place where Neri was judged to be.

With the first beam of morning they rushed in upon him and took him prisoner. It appears that he showed no surprise--he merely said, 'I expected you!' He was found sitting by the dead body of his mistress; she was stabbed and newly bleeding. No doubt he killed her, though he swears the contrary--lies are as easy to him as breathing."

"But where were his comrades? I thought he commanded a large band?"

"So he did, signor; and we caught three of the princ.i.p.als only a fortnight ago, but of the others no trace can be found. I suppose Carmelo himself dismissed them and sent them far and wide through the country. At any rate, they are disbanded, and with these sort of fellows, where there is no union there is no danger."

"And Neri's sentence?" I asked.

"Oh, the galleys for life of course; there is no possible alternative."

I thanked my informant, and left the office. I was glad to have learned these few particulars, for the treasure I had discovered in my own family vault was now more mine than ever. There was not the remotest chance of any one of the Neri band venturing so close to Naples in search of it, and I thought with a grim smile that had the brigand chief himself known the story of my wrongs, he would most probably have rejoiced to think that his buried wealth was destined to aid me in carrying out so elaborate a plan of vengeance. All difficulties smoothed themselves before me--obstacles were taken out of my path--my way was made perfectly clear--each trifling incident was a new finger-post pointing out the direct road that led me to the one desired end. G.o.d himself seemed on my side, as He is surely ever on the side of justice! Let not the unfaithful think that because they say long prayers or go regularly and devoutly to church with meek faces and piously folded hands that the Eternal Wisdom is deceived thereby. My wife could pray--she could kneel like a lovely saint in the dim religious light of the sacred altars, her deep eyes upturned to the blameless, infinitely reproachful Christ--and look you! each word she uttered was a blasphemy, destined to come back upon herself as a curse.

Prayer is dangerous for liars--it is like falling willfully on an upright naked sword. Used as an honorable weapon the sword defends--s.n.a.t.c.hed up as the last resource of a coward it kills.

CHAPTER XI.

The third week of September was drawing to its close when I returned to Naples. The weather had grown cooler, and favorable reports of the gradual decrease of the cholera began to gain ground with the suffering and terrified population. Business was resumed as usual, pleasure had again her votaries, and society whirled round once more in its giddy waltz as though it had never left off dancing. I arrived in the city somewhat early in the day, and had time to make some preliminary arrangements for my plan of action. I secured the most splendid suite of apartments in the best hotel, impressing the whole establishment with a vast idea of my wealth and importance. I casually mentioned to the landlord that I desired to purchase a carriage and horses--that I needed a first-cla.s.s valet, and a few other trifles of the like sort, and added that I relied on his good advice and recommendation as to the places where I should best obtain all that I sought. Needless to say, he became my slave--never was monarch better served than I--the very waiters hustled each other in a race to attend upon me, and reports of my princely fortune, generosity, and lavish expenditure, began to flit from mouth to month--which was the result I desired to obtain.

And now the evening of my first day in Naples came, and I, the supposed Conte Cesare Oliva, the envied and flattered n.o.ble, took the first step toward my vengeance. It was one of the loveliest evenings possible, even in that lovely land--a soft breeze blew in from the sea--the sky was pearl-like and pure as an opal, yet bright with delicate shifting clouds of crimson and pale mauve--small, fleecy flecks of Radiance, that looked like a shower of blossoms fallen from some far invisible flower-land. The waters of the bay were slightly ruffled by the wind, and curled into tender little dark-blue waves tipped with light forges of foam. After my dinner I went out and took my way to a well-known and popular cafe which used to be a favorite haunt of mine in the days when I was known as Fabio Romani, Guido Ferrari was a constant habitue of the place, and I felt that I should find him there. The brilliant rose-white and gold saloons were crowded, and owing to the pleasant coolness of the air there were hundreds of little tables pushed far out into the street, at which groups of persons were seated, enjoying ices, wine, or coffee, and congratulating each other on the agreeable news of the steady decrease of the pestilence that had ravaged the city. I glanced covertly yet quickly round. Yes! I was not mistaken--there was my quondam friend, my traitorous foe, sitting at his ease, leaning comfortably back in one chair, his feet put up on another. He was smoking, and glancing now and then through the columns of the Paris "Figaro." He was dressed entirely in black--a hypocritical livery, the somber hue of which suited his fine complexion and perfectly handsome features to admiration. On the little finger of the shapely hand that every now and then was raised to adjust his cigar, sparkled a diamond that gave out a myriad scintillations as it flashed in the evening light--it was of exceptional size and brilliancy, and even at a distance I recognized it as my own property!

So!--a love-gift, signor, or an in memoriam of the dear and valued friend you have lost? I wondered--watching him in dark scorn the while--then recollecting myself, I sauntered slowly toward him, and perceiving a disengaged table next to his, I drew a chair to it and sat down He looked at me in differently over the top of his newspaper--but there was nothing specially attractive in the sight of a white-haired man wearing smoke-colored spectacles, and he resumed his perusal of the "Figaro" immediately. I rapped the end of my walking-cane on the table and summoned a waiter from whom I ordered coffee. I then lighted a cigar, and imitating Ferrari's easy posture, smoked also. Something in my att.i.tude then appeared to strike him, for he laid down his paper and again looked at me, this time with more interest and something of uneasiness. "Ca commence, mon ami!" I thought, but I turned my head slightly aside and feigned to be absorbed in the view. My coffee was brought--I paid for it and tossed the waiter an unusually large gratuity--he naturally found it inc.u.mbent upon him to polish my table with extra zeal, and to secure all the newspapers, pictorial or otherwise, that were lying about, for the purpose of obsequiously depositing them in a heap at my right hand. I addressed this amiable garcon in the harsh and deliberate accents of my carefully disguised voice.

"By the way, I suppose you know Naples well?"

"Oh, si, signor!"

"Ebbene, can you tell me the way to the house of one Count Fabio Romani, a wealthy n.o.bleman of this city?"

Ha! a good hit this time! Though apparently not looking at him I saw Ferrari start as though he had been stung, and then compose himself in his seat with an air of attention. The waiter meanwhile, in answer to my question, raised his hands, eyes and shoulders all together with a shrug expressive of resigned melancholy.