CHAPTER XXVI
THE FUGITIVE
In dynasties, as in politics, the pendulum pursues its immutable law.Those who, or whose immediate ancestors, had applauded the tragedy offifteen years ago, were now to be seen in the very forefront of therejoicings at the fair Estrato who had come out of the blue to ruleover them.
The editor of the _Imparcial_ had at last had his great chance, and theMarinoni he had purchased second-hand from a Madrid printing office wasworking overtime. For edition after edition he drove home the praisesof the rising stars of San Pietro. With the true journalistic spirithe had seized on the high lights of the romance, points which he knewwould delight the gossip-loving patrons of his sheet, and the cafeloungers on the promenade of Corbo were regaled with stories of thelove of Galva and Armand, which, if not strictly true, were at leastrichly garnished with the roses of romance and were well worth thereading.
As a counterblast, _El Dia_ had appeared the morning following thedeath of the king, with a heavy, wordy, black-bordered leading articlein which the influence of Spain was barely disguised. It had pointedout to the inhabitants of San Pietro that they would do well to movewarily in the crisis now before them, and that, at least, they shouldstay the celebrations of joy until after the vault in Corbo Cathedralhad closed over the remains of the late king, whose small virtues theyunearthed and glorified.
But your Corbian is not given to moving warily, and neither can hepretend to a sorrow he does not feel. It is small wonder, therefore,that the gala colours of rejoicing should outweigh the trappings of woewith which a few axe-grinding friends of the late monarch bedeckedtheir sorrowing persons.
From an attic window high up in a small and dirty hotel facing theCathedral Square, and well shielded by the faded and torn curtains, aman had sat for days watching the animated scenes beneath him. He satwith his chin moodily resting in his hand, in his eyes the haunted lookof a man who is hard pressed.
* * * * *
Gabriel Dasso and the lieutenant had, after the encounter with EdwardPovey in the shrubbery of the palace grounds, made their way to thehouse in the old town. The ex-dictator did not consider all was lostuntil Spain had had her say in the matter; he relied, too, on the army,a hope which would have been fully justified had he had only PrinceArmand as an opponent.
But he well knew the natures of the gay-hearted youths who heldcommission in the San Pietran army, and, knowing this, he sighed, and avision of a lovely face rose up before him, a face in which the darkeyes shone serenely and fearless, and luminous with fascination. Hefelt that only too readily would the swords fly from their scabbards todo service for Queen Miranda.
The men let themselves into the house in the old town and made theirway to the dining-room. Dasso went over and drew the heavy curtainsacross the windows. There was wine on the table and he drank greedily.Mozara was standing dejectedly before the fire, jabbing viciously atthe logs with his heel. The sight of the spur reminded him ofsomething, and he gave a hard little laugh.
"We might have brought away our horses, Gabriel--we may need them," hesaid meaningly.
"Pshaw, we'll win yet." But Dasso's tone was not hopeful as he saidit, and the hand that held the wineglass trembled a little, which wasnot usual with the hand of the ex-dictator.
"What! You have been busy with your schemes, Dasso; you have notnoticed the eyes of the Queen, perhaps. Win!"--and the lieutenantsnapped his fingers--"impossible."
Gabriel Dasso leant over the table and he spoke in a low whisper.Perhaps it was the wine that caused the huskiness to come into hisvoice.
"I saw eyes, Gaspar, like those _fifteen years ago_--and I won then.What is to prevent our doing _now_ what we did _then_?"
He remained silent for a moment, his eyes never leaving Mozara's face.
"----_now_, what we did _then_," he repeated; "the people know nothingof this girl, and before the story can leak out it will be all over. Ican get the captains from the barracks, Luaz and Pinto, and--oh,they'll all come with me. The girl shall not be mentioned; they willthink there is only Armand there, and you know what they think of him.But it must be now; I will not count on their help when once they haveseen her. I myself will find the girl and deal with her as I dealtwith her moth----"
With an oath the lieutenant started forward; the glass he had beenholding crashed to the floor, and his breath came in little painfulgasps.
"You devil--you--Oh, I knew the downward path was broad, I did notthink it was so short. Only a few months since that evil day when Ifell under your thumb. Before the night of the cards I had been noworse than the others, now---- What's that, Dasso?"
The lieutenant had broken off suddenly and stood in the attitude oflistening, his face grey and set. For a moment there was a strainedsilence in the room, then there came to the ears of the men a confuseddistant murmur. Dasso reached out a hand and extinguished the lamp.
Cautiously the two men, brought together now by a common danger, movedto the window; the flicker of the logs in the grate lit up the fear ontheir faces. Gabriel drew the blind aside for about an inch and stoodwaiting.
All seemed quiet again now, and the men told themselves that they hadheard some drunken roysterers on their way home from the Casino. Aftera few moments they returned to the fire. There was a sneer on Dasso'sface as he turned to the younger man and took up the quarrel where ithad been interrupted.
"So you prefer to remain here and be disgraced, eh? My plan is theonly one left and to-night is the only time for the doing. If wesucceed Spain will gloss over the affair; if we fail----"
"Stop, Gabriel, I won't listen to you, and I'll do no more of yourhellish work. A few mouths ago my life was at least decent. I'll haveno dealings with you after what you have said. I can only thank Godthat I was with you in this, else that poor girl would have had nomercy shown her and would now be dead. Perhaps that will atone alittle when I meet my Maker. I'll expose you, Dasso--you--youmurderer."
The spring that Dasso made took the lieutenant unawares and bore himheavily to the ground, his head striking one of the carved ironfiredogs as he went down with a dull crash, and he lay still where hehad fallen. The face of the elder man was livid with passion.
"You'll expose me, eh? Murderer, eh? Many have thought that, but noone has called me it to my face." The fingers were tightening roundthe throat of the unconscious officer.
"When--you--meet--your--Maker, you said. That will be to-night, myfriend." He pressed more heavily, leaning his weight full upon thebody.
And when all was over and the form beneath him no longer made anymovement or sound, he stood up. There were great beads of moisture onhis face, and the decanter clinked pitifully against the glass as hepoured out more wine.
He took the cloth from the long sideboard and dropped it over the faceof the man on the floor.
Now the sound that they had heard came to him again in little bursts,and he walked unsteadily to the window. Pieces of the glass dropped byMozara crunched under his heel.
The lamp had not been relit, and the murderer was able to see clearlyinto the moon-bathed street. The Three Lilies was indarkness--evidently the sound had not come from that quarter.
Again. This time it was more pronounced, and Dasso could make out adark patch, dotted with lantern light, moving towards the house fromthe direction of the town. As the murmur grew more distinct, thewatching man could make out a word here and there; they were callinghis name, and the epithets attached to it were not flattering.
Dasso left the window, and crossing to the fire peered into the steelface of the clock that stood in the centre of the mantelshelf. Then inthe half light he went over to the little safe embedded in the wall.
He unlocked it with trembling fingers and took from it package afterpackage of papers and carried them over to the fire, and placing themon the seat of a chair began his task of sorting. Some were put uponthe burning logs without a second glance; others, including a largeroll of paper
money, he placed in the breast pocket of his coat.
There were other documents, too, which caused a furrow to take shapebetween the evil brows, and which were held to the glow and readthrough from their first word to their last before they were finallypocketed or sent to swell the growing pile of grey ash on thesmouldering logs.
Only once did the man look towards the thing that lay still andsinister on the great bearskin rug not two feet from where he knelt.This was when he picked up the envelope containing the hand at cardswhich had been the downfall of the man who now was dead.
Dasso held the package for a moment in his hand, the custodian of adead man's honour. He seemed to be debating whether Mozara could inany way further serve him. Then as the noise outside grew louder hethrust the envelope between the bars and rose to his feet. Now therecame a knocking at the great oaken door, and Dasso heard his namecalled by angry voices. He knew why the mob had come seeking him, andhe knew the temperament of the Corbians, that they were creatures inwhom civilization and barbarism were separated by the faintest oflines, and who knew no restraint or reason once their passions werearoused.
A stone hurtled through the window-pane and checked by the blind felldown with a clatter on to the polished floor and rolled almost to hisfeet. For the first time Dasso showed signs of haste.
He made his way from the room and through many passages to the servantsquarters at the back, taking, as he ran, from a peg in the lower hall,a wide-brimmed hat and a common brown cloak which had belonged to oldPieto.
There came a crashing and splintering from the front of the house, andthe man told himself that the stout oak had given at last. He opened adoor beside the great dresser shutting it behind him and shooting homethe heavy metal bolts. He descended a short flight of steps that laythere, and which led down to the cellars of the old mansion. At thefoot he waited, and feeling out with his hands he found and lit a hornlantern.
Through cellar after cellar he made his tortuous way, past bins andracks of wine, between casks and cases stacked high to the groinedroof. The air was thick and musty and great rats scampered away at theapproach of the flickering yellow light and the hurried footsteps.
Then the air grew cooler, and Dasso stopped and, raising his lantern,searched the walls round him. A few stone steps led up to an opening,through which with stooping shoulders the man passed. Here he was in atunnel, a narrow tube, that rose gradually until the fugitive couldfeel the cool airs of the night upon his face, and he found himself infront of an iron gateway. He took from the pocket of his coat a key,and after a few attempts the gate was thrust open, tearing its waythrough the mass of vegetation with which the iron-work and hinges werechoked, and Dasso stood in the moonlight of the vegetable garden of hishouse. A thick belt of trees separated him from the building itself,and in the distance he heard the cries of the mob who had now gained anentrance. He clenched his fists and turned away. As he did so,through the trees a light splashed redly, then another--and another,and the man knew that they had set fire to the building.
A curse spluttered out between his teeth as, dropping the lantern intoa water butt that stood at hand, he started to run along the path thatled away from the house.
For perhaps a hundred yards he ran, the path leading between beds ofcelery and fruit bushes. The moonlight cut the garden up into sharpblack-green shadows, which were illuminated now and again by flashes oflight from the burning house behind him.
At the foot of the garden a high wall, spiked with broken glass, barredhis way, and turning to the left he ran along at its base till he cameto a door, bolted and barred. In a few moments he had this open, andwas out in a small lane that ran behind the house.
Following this he emerged into a broader road, and again into the mainstreet in which stood what was left of his home. Here, disguised as hewas, he was safe, and he stood in a doorway and looked up towards theburning house.
The fire had by now obtained a firm hold, and the old worm-eatenwoodwork was blazing vividly. Silhouetted against the glow were thedark figures of the incendiaries, like imps of the netherworld, leapingand howling in drunken joy, and Dasso guessed, and rightly, that someof the choice vintages it had been his whim to lay down had fallen intotheir unappreciative hands.
Higher and higher leaped the flames, casting a glow as of burnishedcopper on the dark violet of the sky. Higher, too, rose the voices ofthe mob; they were singing now a song of the Estratos, and one whichhad not been heard in the streets of Corbo for many a long day.
For perhaps half-an-hour the man stood in the doorway watching thedownfall of his home and of his hopes. Then, drawing his cloak roundhim and pulling his hat well over his face, he made his way to theCathedral Square.
He had to stop many times on the way to slip into the friendly shadowof some porch. Late as it was, the town seemed _en fete_ on this nightwhen their king lay dead in the Palace. The cafes were open andcrowded with revellers, and bands of youths rushed madly past thehomeless man, attracted by that beacon shining in the sky whichpromised devilment and plunder. It took Dasso, perhaps, half-an-hourbefore he emerged into the comparative quiet of the square facing theCathedral.
At the side door of a dirty little hotel he stopped and rapped. Thedoor was opened by the landlord himself, an evil-looking ruffian, whoheld the candle he carried up high to see who it was who came knockingat this late hour. Dasso took off his hat. The innkeeper fell back.
"Senor Dasso--why, what brings----"
"Don't stand there talking, fool, I'm coming in." He smiled cruelly."You won't refuse a lodging to me, Gambi, surely."
The old man drew aside, and the hand holding the candle trembled. Thevisitor made his way into the kitchen of the hotel.
For a fortnight now the man had been sitting almost incessantly at thewindow looking down into the Cathedral Square. He had seen manyhappenings--the State procession of the new King and Queen when theyattended Mass, the shouts of the multitude, and the smiles of the royalbeauty in the carriage.
One night, too, a huge bonfire had been lighted in the square, and aneffigy, whom he had no difficulty in recognizing, had been burnt to theaccompaniment of drunken jeers and savage howls of execration.
The innkeeper, whose many misdeeds made him loath to offend hisunwelcome guest, to whom they were well known, told him that the peoplewere searching high and low for him, and that they had now come to theconclusion that he had left the island.
"In another week or two, Gambi, when my beard has grown more, theirconclusion will be justified," Dasso had remarked, and the innkeeperhad been very relieved indeed to hear it.
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