I begrudged every moment I spent in Rome, anxious as I was to be back
near my well-beloved and shield her from the blackguard who held her in
his power. Yet this new development of the mystery held me anxious and
eager.
Already I was in possession of greater knowledge of the affair than the
police themselves; therefore I hoped that I might, by careful action and
watching, learn the truth.
Somehow, by instinct it might have been, I felt that if I could but
elucidate the mystery of the Villa Verde I should gain some knowledge
that would release my love from her hideous bondage. I don't know why,
but it became a fixed idea with me. Therefore I resolved to remain in
Rome at least a few days and carefully watch Miller and his friend.
Every moment, every hour, I thought of my sweet one who I knew loved me
as passionately as I loved her, and yet who was now separated from me by
a gulf which I was determined to bridge. She was ever in my thoughts,
her beautiful face with those dear sad eyes ever before me, the music of
her voice ever ringing in my ears. Yes. She should be mine--mine if I
died myself in order to save her!
Towards evening I loitered up and down the Via del Tritone hoping to
catch sight of the doctor and his English visitor, for I calculated that
their probable habit was to dine at a restaurant. From the porter I had
learnt that Gavazzi was a bachelor, therefore he probably had
arrangements _en pension_ at one or other of the restaurants, in the
manner of most single men in Rome.
Though I waited nearly two hours, from half-past six to half-past eight,
I saw nothing of Miller or of his host. The old porter noticed me,
therefore having gauged his character pretty accurately I crossed to him
and explained that I was waiting to see the doctor come out, as I was
not certain whether he was the Dr Gavazzi whom I had known in Venice
some years ago. This little fiction, combined with another small tip,
satisfied the old man, and I went forth into the street again, fearing
that if I remained in the entrance Miller, in passing, might recognise
me.
It was a weary vigil, and one that required constant attention, for on a
summer's evening the streets of Rome are crowded by the populace who
come out to enjoy the cool air after the blazing heat of the day.
Another hour passed without sign of them. In any case they must have
dined in their rooms--perhaps sent a servant out to a neighbouring
cook-shop.
Therefore I went round to the Piccolo Borsa, the small restaurant in the
Via della Mercede, at which I always ate when in Rome, and there
snatched a hasty meal.
Shortly before ten I returned to my vigil and learnt from my friend the
porter that the doctor was still _in casa_. Therefore I idled in
patience, glancing from time to time up at the windows of the apartment
in question. There were lights there, but the green _persiennes_ were
still closed, as they had been all day.
As the night wore on the street became extra full of idling promenaders,
for it was _festa_ and all Rome was out to gossip, to lounge and to
obtain a breath of the _bel fresco_. Men were crying the evening
newspaper in loud strident tones, and here and there walked the police
in couples, with their epaulettes and _festa_ plumes. Before every cafe
the chairs overflowed into the roadway, and every table was occupied by
men and women, mostly in white cotton clothes, sipping sirops. Rome is
cosmopolitan only in winter. Rome is the Roman's Rome in summer,
bright, merry and light-hearted by night; silent and lethargic by day--a
city indicative of the Italian temperament and the Italian character.
I was just about to relinquish my watch, believing that the doctor and
his English friend did not intend to come forth that evening, when I
suddenly saw Miller in a white linen suit and straw hat emerge from the
big doorway into the street, accompanied by a short, black-bearded,
dark-faced Italian of about thirty-five, who also wore a straw hat,
fashionably-cut suit of dark cloth, and a drab cotton waistcoat across
which was a thick gold albert.
They turned towards the Piazza Colonna, and I at once followed, keeping
them well in sight. The doctor appeared to be something of a dandy, for
he carried yellow gloves, notwithstanding the oppressive heat, and the
crook of his walking-stick was silver gilt. He wore a red cravat, a
high collar, and his jacket was cut narrow at the waist with ample
skirts, slit up at the back, and turned-over cuffs.
He was a typical Roman elegant, but his face had craft and cunning
plainly written upon it. Those dark searching eyes were set too closely
together, and although there was a careless, easy-going expression upon
his countenance I could see that it was only feigned.
What, I wondered, was the urgent business which had brought Mr Miller
post-haste from England?
Deep in conversation they passed up the Corso for a little distance,
then turning at the Puspoli Palace they traversed the small streets
leading to the Tiber until they reached the Via di Repetta, up which
they continued until they suddenly turned into a narrow, ill-lit, dirty
street to the right and disappeared into an uninviting wine-shop, one of
those low little drinking-houses which abound in the poorer quarters of
Rome.
That it was a low neighbourhood I could see at a glance. I had never
explored that part of the "Eternal City" before, and had not had time to
notice the name of the street.
A few moments after the two men had disappeared I sauntered past and
glanced inside. The ceiling was low, and blackened by the lamp
suspended in the centre. Upon shelves around were many rush-covered
flasks of wine, while at the end was a pewter counter where a coarse
tousled-haired woman was standing washing glasses.
At the table three forbidding-looking men, with their felt hats drawn
over their eyes, were drinking and throwing dice, shouting excitedly at
each throw, while one man rather better dressed was sitting apart
writing a letter, with a long cigar between his lips.
There was, however, no sign of the doctor and his companion who, it
seemed, had passed straight into the room beyond. It was hardly the
place in which one would have expected to find the owner of that
Dorsetshire manor, and I now saw the reason why the doctor had, ever and
anon, looked round as though in suspicion that they might be followed.
They had an important appointment there, without a doubt. And,
moreover, they were no strangers to the place.
I would have given worlds to have been able to get a peep behind that
closed door.
I was, however, forced to remain idling up and down the street, watched
and commented upon by the groups of women gossiping at their doors, and
scowled at by the men who seemed to lurk smoking in the shadows. They
recognised by my clothes and my walk that I was a _forestiero_, a
stranger, and wondered probably whether I was not an agent of police.
After half an hour Miller and his friend came out, accompanied by a
young girl, hatless, as is the mode among the people, and with a bright
yellow scarf twisted around her neck. She was about seventeen,
good-looking, wore big gold ear-rings and showed an even set of white
teeth as she spoke to Miller and laughed.
Together they set off along the Lugo Tevere, crossed the Ponte S.
Angelo, and plunged into that labyrinth of narrow dirty streets that lay
between the river and St Peter's. Presently, in a dark street off the
Borgo Pia, the girl left them, and halting they stood talking together
after lighting cigarettes.
The girl hurried on and was lost in the darkness, yet they were
evidently awaiting her return.
My own position was a difficult one, for I feared that at any moment
Gavazzi's quick eyes might detect me and point me out to Miller who
would recognise me. For fully a quarter of an hour the pair remained
there, until at last the girl returned, bringing with her a young man
about twenty-two, a low-born swaggering young fellow who wore his soft
grey hat askew, and walked with his hands in his pockets, a man of
distinctly criminal type who had probably never done an honest day's
work in his life. By the light of the street lamp I saw that he bore
across his cheek an ugly cicatrice from an old knife-wound, and that
upon his chin was a mole upon which the hair was allowed to grow. The
latter was significant--it was the mark of that powerful secret society
of criminals, the Camorra.
The girl, who was probably his _inamorata_, introduced them, whereupon
he lifted his hat with his finger and thumb and swung it back upon his
head with a twist--an action by which one Camorrist betrays his
allegiance to the initiated.
For a few moments they conversed together, then the girl, wishing the
trio _buona sera_, sped away, and passing me was again lost in the
darkness, while the men, walking together slowly, came on in my
direction. The doctor was conversing with the young man in low
whispers, and it seemed to me that he was giving him certain
instructions. But I could not, of course, approach sufficiently near to
overhear what was said. Miller was listening, but said nothing, except
when addressed by his friend.
Outside the massive Castel S. Angelo there is a cab-rank, and all three
entered a closed cab.
That there was some dark conspiracy in progress I could not doubt. The
presence of that young swaggerer--a man capable of committing any crime
I could see--was distinctly suspicious. Besides they dare not be seen
with him; therefore they took a closed cab, the only one upon the rank
on that hot night.
They moved off across the bridge, and when they were a hundred yards
away I got into one of the open cabs and told the driver to follow, for
I was determined at all hazards to ascertain what cunning scheme was in
progress.
Fortunately, on account of my linen suit being dirty, I had exchanged it
for one of dark blue serge, therefore I was not so conspicuous in the
darkness as was Miller. To my surprise they drove direct to the railway
station, where they alighted and the doctor went to take tickets.
Noticing this, I told my driver to jump down and overhear their
destination, promising him five francs for the information.
In a moment he was gone, while I minded his horse.