A BULLET IN THE GROUNDS
At the moment when Edward was drinking his cognac in the cafe in Corbo,
Gabriel Dasso was sitting in the library of his house in the old town
listening eagerly to a story. Lieutenant Mozara, his spurred
riding-boots stretched out to the fire, was telling what had befallen
him that afternoon in Alcador.
"It was in a crowd near the little theatre in the Plaza. I only caught
a glimpse of him, but I knew the face at once as that of the brute you
sent to Casa Luzo. I tried to get near him, but he had evidently seen
me, for he slipped into a cafe. It was a low place, but I followed
him. The old proprietor answered my questions with a cunning smile; no
one had entered, he told me, and our friend was not among the
disreputable crowds that lounged round the tables. There was nothing
for it but to hurry on to the Casa Luzo.
"My horse was stabled at the little hotel on the Alcador road, and in
under the hour I was interviewing old Pieto, or rather his wife, for
the old man was in a state of collapse--and good red wine."
The lieutenant broke off and poured himself out some claret. His host
pushed his own glass towards him also, and the two men drank. Then,
"Go on," said Dasso, shortly.
"It was a funny story that she had to tell me. She says that yesterday
that mysterious Mr. Sydney drove up in a car. With him were the lady
companion and three burly ruffians, who, Teresa says, were strangers to
her. They seem to have done their work pretty thoroughly, even to the
extent of putting a bullet through the leg of your friend from Alcador.
"That was what made me believe the tale, for the man I had seen enter
the cafe was using a crutch. Teresa said that Pieto was asleep at the
time, but I expect he was drunk. She says that Galva was bundled into
the car, and she overheard Sydney tell her that they were going to
Rozana _en route_ for England. He was very agitated, she says, and
remarked that he was damn sick of San Pietro, and everything and
everybody in it."
"But, Gaspar, you say this was yesterday. Why did not Pieto let me
know?"
"They wouldn't allow him to. Two of the men Sydney had brought with
him stayed on guard, and it was only----"
The lieutenant stopped and looked inquiringly at his companion, for
through the night-air had come the sound of a gun, muffled, but
unmistakable.
Dasso leapt to his feet with an oath.
"Enrico's gone," he said hoarsely, and made for the door. Mozara
followed, and in a moment the men, assisted by the under-groom, were
saddling Dasso's horse. Gaspar's own mare was on a pillar-rein where
he had left her. A moment more and the two men were riding with loose
rein up the cobbled street that led to the Palace.
The frightened inhabitants, who were conversing in little groups,
scattered to right and left, and windows were opened and heads thrust
out as the horsemen clattered past. The Palace gates were open, and
dashing through them they pulled up their smoking horses at the great
doors.
In the hall the servants, male and female, were crowded, their faces
showing inactive stupidity. They fell apart and gave room for Dasso
and the lieutenant as they made their way up the wide marble staircase.
Reaching the corridor above, they turned to the right in the direction
of the death-chamber.
"This is unseemly conduct, Senor Dasso. My uncle is barely dead."
Armand was standing before them, a naked blade in his hand.
The intruders fell back.
"Prince Armand--_you_ here!"
"It seems so, gentlemen. This is a curious way to pay one's respect to
the dead."
Gabriel Dasso stood with bowed head.
"I did not expect----"
"I did not intend that you should, Senor Dasso. Put up your weapon,
Mozara, the guards are within call."
A moment's silence, then Dasso spoke.
"Your Majesty's appearance is timely. The people will be calling for
you. They will want to greet the new king."
Armand smiled.
"Perhaps you will lend me the notes of your own speech for the
occasion, Dasso; I am rather unprepared. Besides, I do not act for
myself, I act for the Queen."
"The Queen?"
"I said 'the Queen,' Senor Dasso. To-night's blunder is not the only
one you have made--you made one fifteen years ago when you did your
hellish work in this palace."
"You have taken service early, prince, under the banner of this
adventuress, this----"
"Senor Dasso," Armand was speaking quietly, "the Queen has ordered
that there shall be no bloodshed here to-night. You are forgetting
yourself." He called, and four of the royal guard came from a passage
behind him.
"Show these gentlemen out. Dasso, I have no royal rank now, and can
call you to account for this--by the bye," he added, as the guard
closed round the discomfited men, "there will be a special edition of
the _Imparcial_ to-morrow morning. It will interest you."
The escort left them at the door and Dasso and Mozara stood undecided
on the great steps. Then, leaving their horses, they walked towards
the gates. Once out of sight of the building, however, they stopped.
Dasso was gnawing at his moustache in impotent fury.
"They told me he was better at seven o'clock. The nurse herself told
me. What cursed luck." They walked on again, taking a path that led
into the shrubberies. For, perhaps, five minutes they strode on in
silence, then the lieutenant halted and caught at his companion's arm.
"Listen!" he said.
From a path close at hand came the sound of running footsteps and the
heavy breathing of a spent man. Then round the bend before them
emerged the figure of Edward Sydney. With a little laugh Dasso barred
his way.
"So," he said.
Edward pulled up short and stared at the wicked faces before him.
"Gentlemen--you will let me--pass?" he gasped.
"I don't think so, Mr. Sydney. Haven't this gentleman and myself, as
you English say, a bone to pick with you?"
Dasso smiled grimly as he spoke, a smile which caused a little shiver
to pass over Edward and set him looking about him for a possible way of
escape.
They had met in one of the narrow paths. On either hand the tall mass
of foliage made an impenetrable wall. A few paces away Edward could
make out an alley-way which ran at right angles, and he told himself
that with luck and a start of a few yards he would stand a good chance
of evading capture among the tortuous twists and turns of the
shrubbery. In the mean time he must temporize.
"I cannot imagine what your excellency and I can have in common. We
have met once--I think at Senor Luazo's, wasn't it?"
"We did meet there, Mr. Sydney, certainly, but it is about the lady who
accompanied you here from England that I want to have a word with you."
"You mean Miss Baxendale?"
Dasso nodded.
They had been moving along the path slowly as they were speaking, and
Edward noted with satisfaction that now a few feet only separated him
from the entrance to the alley. If only he could take the attention of
the two men from himself for a moment.--A thought occurred to him.
"Ah, yes--the young lady. If that is so, I think that this will
interest you, Senor Dasso."
As he spoke he took from his breast pocket an envelope; it was, in
fact, a London tailor's bill and was addressed to him at Belitha
Villas, but in the gloom it served its purpose.
Dasso took it and drew out the folded sheet of paper it contained,
holding it up to catch the moon-rays which here and there penetrated
the leafage surrounding them.
Edward Povey seized the opportunity he had created, and, for the first
and last time in his life, he struck a man. The blood surged joyously
through his veins and sang a hymn of power in his brain as his fist
shot out straight and true, and he felt the knuckles grind into the
evil face of Gabriel Dasso. Then with a leap he had gained the dark
alley way.
Dasso put a hand to his face and called out to Mozara, and in a moment
the lieutenant was giving chase. Edward heard the sound of running
footsteps behind him and he mended his pace.
On and on, turning and twisting, ran the poor exhausted little man. In
some of the longer paths he would catch a fleeting glimpse over his
shoulder of his pursuer, then a sudden plunge to the right or left
separated them again.
At last at the end of a more than usually straight run he found himself
in the open. To retrace his steps was impossible, already Mozara was
but twenty feet from him, the barrel of a revolver shining blue in his
hand.
Some hundred yards away the Palace rose, a dark mass against the
star-powdered sky, and Edward knew that in the shadow of one of those
buttresses lay the little staircase--and safety.
Breathing a hurried prayer for help, he darted across the moon-swept
lawns, running unevenly, now upright, now bent nearly double. A shot
whined past his ear and he drew in his breath sharply, then another,
then--a stinging pain took him in the left shoulder and Edward Povey
knew that he had been hit.
Almost at once the acute pain passed and his shoulder grew cold and
numb and sticky. He faltered in his stride and all but fell, but the
sight of the doorway gave him courage and again he stumbled on.
It took him only two or three minutes to reach it, but to the stricken
man it seemed as though he were running for hours. A fog appeared to
have risen before his eyes, a reddish fog in which danced and trembled
little points of flame--and through the mist he saw the face of Pia,
who had been placed to guard the foot of the staircase--felt strong
arms supporting him--then with a little sigh drooped into oblivion.
* * * * *
Edward came to his senses to find himself in a dimly lit chamber, with
the face of the Princess Galva, white and drawn, bending over him, and
her cool hand on his forehead.
Beyond her, in the gloom of the room, were other faces. Anna was
there, and the duke, and a strange man whom they addressed as doctor,
and who now came forward and took Edward's wrist. The latter could
catch here and there a word of what he was saying; the voice seemed to
come from a great distance.
"----unfortunate that it should be this room--locate the bullet--no,
again in the morning perhaps--not to be moved--one of the sisters will
watch--you can send for me if----"
Then the faces grew blurred and swayed in circles round the wounded
man, and again his senses left him.