SIMON TURCHI'S ALARM--CRIME BEGETS CRIME.
Some time after the hour of Change, Simon Turchi had returned home, and
was apparently preparing to go out again, for he had changed his doublet
for one of a darker color, and his cloak lay on a chair beside him.
The signor was in high spirits; he carried his head proudly, a radiant
smile illumined his countenance, and from time to time he rubbed his hands
with an air of triumph. Julio had left for Germany! Nothing could have
prevented his departure, for he had not been seen in the city. Simon
Turchi has therefore no cause for fear, for if, contrary to expectation,
his garden be searched and the corpse of Geronimo be discovered, the
murder could easily be fastened upon Julio.
Already, by vague remarks to his servants and acquaintances, Turchi had
prepared the way for making the accusation in case of necessity. He had
exhibited great anxiety at Julio's absence the night before and during
that day. He said that he had sharply reproved his servant for his
dissipated habits and his neglect of duty. Julio had left him in evident
anger.
The servants, who could not comprehend their master's anxiety, thought
that he might be in some tavern, drowning his feelings with drink and
awaiting the night to return home. To this Turchi answered that he had
remarked for some time Julio's strange manner, that he seemed so
absent-minded, was often heard to sigh and weep--in a word, something
weighty appeared pressing on his conscience.
Early in the morning he sent Bernardo to the pavilion to see if Julio were
there. Bernardo reported that there was no evidence of his having been
there, except two empty bottles upon a table. Simon pretended that he had
the bottles placed in the room, and Bernardo thought no more of the
affair.
Simon Turchi would have satisfied himself by personal examination if Julio
had thoroughly performed his work before his departure, but he feared to
excite attention by his appearance in that direction; or, perhaps, he
might even be obliged to assist at the search of his garden, should the
bailiff refuse to exempt it. He determined to go to the cellar at
nightfall, when the search must be interrupted, to examine the
arrangements made by Julio. When therefore twilight was commencing to
replace the glare of day, and Simon was certain of not meeting the
officers of the law, he threw his cloak around his shoulders, turned with
a light step and joyous heart the corner of the street, and took the
direction to the square of Meir.
He had gone but a short distance, when he met Messire John Van
Schoonhoven.
A smile lighted up Turchi's countenance. He was delighted to be
accidentally brought into the bailiff's company, as he would thus learn
the result of the researches already made.
After a polite salutation, Messire Van Schoonhoven said:
"I am happy to meet you. I was on my way to your house."
"To my house?" said Turchi. "Have you news of my friend?"
"No, signor; I wish to see you concerning an affair which, although not
serious, necessitates a conversation with you. I would have spoken to you
on this subject this evening when at Mr. Van de Werve's, but the place was
inappropriate to such discussions."
"Return then with me," stammered Turchi, with ill-disguised anxiety.
"Where were you going, signor?" said the bailiff.
"I was going to take a walk along the Scheldt, in order to seek some
diversion to the grief I feel for the disappearance of the unfortunate
Geronimo."
"What I have to say, signor, need not interfere with your walk. I will
accompany you a part of the way and enjoy with you the evening breeze."
The bailiff turned and walked by Turchi's side.
Looking around, to assure himself that they were not overheard, Messire
Van Schoonhoven said:
"The affair in question would not require so many precautions were I not
bailiff and you my friend. But in consequence of these two reasons, my
mission becomes painful, and I must claim in advance your forbearance. You
know that my agents are searching every house, building, and garden in the
vicinity of the Hospital Grounds where Geronimo was last seen. The
greatest part of this quarter has been carefully examined without any
result."
Simon Turchi perfectly understood the bailiff's design, and although his
heart beat painfully, he mastered his emotion, and said in an indifferent
tone:
"And you think, Messire Van Schoonhoven, that my garden should be searched
in like manner? It is very natural. No one is above the law--the knight
and the peasant are there equal."
"Believe me, signor, that the thought of so disrespectful a conduct
towards an honorable nobleman, and that nobleman my friend for years,
would never have occurred to me. But the search became a necessity without
any fault of mine. The presence of at least twenty of my agents in that
quarter attracted the curious. A crowd followed those engaged in the
search, and when it was noticed that your summer-house was the only one
exempted, the magistrates were openly accused of injustice. The people
were told that this was done by my order; but so great was the commotion
that the affair reached the ears of the burgomaster and the constables,
and these gentlemen waited on me, urging me to visit your garden likewise,
so as to remove all cause of complaint."
"This explanation is wholly unnecessary, at least as far as regards
myself," interrupted Simon Turchi. "I desire you to search my
country-house as you do all the other dwellings in the vicinity."
They were not far from the bridge of Meir, and they ceased speaking, as in
so frequented a place they were in danger of being overheard. Farther on,
Turchi said:
"I acknowledge, however, that I am hurt and irritated by the disrespect
and audacity of the populace. One might be tempted to suppose that they
considered me capable of killing my best friend! My blood boils at the
idea of such a suspicion!"
Simon gladly availed himself of the opportunity thus offered of
attributing to a just indignation the cruel anxiety which tortured him. He
had anticipated the announcement just made him by the bailiff, and in
consequence had taken suitable measures to screen himself in case of
discovery; but now a terrible doubt as to the result of the search, and as
to the confidence which might be reposed in his statements, arose in his
mind. The least unforeseen accident, the slightest oversight in his
arrangement, might be his ruin.
"It is scandalous!" he exclaimed, shaking his fist. "To express publicly
the opinion that a nobleman could so far degrade himself as to become a
secret assassin! I will know who my insolent calumniators are, and I will
then see if justice has power at Antwerp to protect an innocent stranger
against the defamation of the people!"
"Calm yourself, signor," said Messire Van Schoonhoven; "I comprehend your
well-founded indignation; but you are mistaken if you think the
perquisition ordered by the burgomaster and constables be, in your regard,
aught but a condescension to the clamors of the multitude. As for myself,
I beg you not to be displeased with me for accomplishing my duty."
"You need offer no excuse, messire," said Simon, speaking more calmly. "It
is but proper and natural to search my garden. I am irritated solely by
the insolence of the people. Do your duty, and continue to honor me with a
friendship of which I am proud, and of which I will always strive to be
worthy."
"When will it be convenient to you, Signor Turchi, to have the officers
visit your house?" asked the bailiff.
"The time is perfectly indifferent to me."
"But appoint an hour; I would regret causing you any inconvenience or
trouble."
Simon Turchi reflected a moment, and said:
"To-morrow morning urgent affairs demand my attention; come then about
noon."
"Suppose we say two o'clock?"
"Very well; between two and three."
"I will call for you to accompany me, signor. Do not be disturbed by this
domiciliary visit; it implies no suspicion, but, as I said before, it is a
simple condescension to the populace. Shall I have the honor of meeting
you this evening at the house of Mr. Van de Werve?"
"I do not know, messire. Mary's excessive grief affects me so much that it
haunts me day and night. Would that I could offer the least consolation to
the afflicted young girl! But of what use is it to mingle my tears with
hers, when there is no ray of hope to illumine the darkness of her
despair?"
Messire Van Schoonhoven pressed Simon's hand.
"Your sincere friendship for Geronimo does you honor, signor," he said.
"Were he your own brother, you could not be more deeply grieved. And how
great is your generosity! Geronimo was your friend, but he was at the same
time an obstacle to the accomplishment of the dearest wish of your heart.
Through affection for him you have sacrificed your fondest hopes of
happiness. But the inexplicable disappearance of Geronimo spreads out
before you a brighter future. Time will alleviate the bitterness of Mary's
sorrow, and who so well as yourself, signor, could restore her to
happiness--you who possess her father's confidence and esteem?"
"Speak not of such things," said Simon. "I would gladly yield all the
happiness the future might have in store for me to see my friend once more
unharmed. But alas! alas!"
"That does not prevent me, signor, from cherishing the hope that, if
Geronimo is really dead, you may one day receive the reward of your
sincere friendship and your magnanimous generosity. To-morrow at two
o'clock! May God be with you, signor!"
"And may He protect you, messire!"
Simon Turchi watched him until he was lost to sight, and then glanced
around in order to note the degree of darkness. He drew his cloak closely
around him, and walked rapidly down a side street, which soon brought him
before the gate of his own garden. Unlocking the door, he traversed the
walk rendered almost invisible by the darkness.
Beaching the house, he lighted a lamp and ascended the stairs to a room,
which, in better times, he was accustomed to use as a bed-room, when
occasionally he passed the night at the pavilion.
Casting his cloak upon a chair, he seated himself near a table, evidently
a prey to distracting thoughts. He drew a phial from his doublet, and
fixed his eyes upon it. By degrees, however, the clouds seemed to pass
from his mind. He replaced the phial in his doublet, and said, calmly:
"Why am I so terrified? Did I not expect the search? Have not my
precautions been well taken? What have I to fear? Julio is already at
such a distance that he cannot be overtaken. If the corpse be found in the
cellar, I will impute the crime to Julio. My explanation will be such that
there will be no room for suspicion. But suppose it should be known! O
torturing doubt! What a desperate game! Wealth, honor, power, and the hand
of Mary Van de Werve, against my life and the honor of my family! Triumph
and happiness on the one hand; disgrace and death on the scaffold on the
other! Suppose I go to the bailiff, and accuse Julio of the murder? That
would put me above suspicion. But no; the search will be superficial, mere
matter of form for the sake of appearances. If Julio as arranged things
properly, they will merely cast a glance into the cellar. My presence will
be a restraint upon the officers, and will prevent them from pushing their
search so far as to imply a suspicion. If they do not find the body, as is
probable, the affair will forever remain secret, and I will have in future
no cause for alarm. I must take courage and descend into the cellar, to
see how Julio performed the task assigned him before his departure."
He approached a large wardrobe, took from it a bottle, poured out a large
glass of wine and drank it. Lighted by the lamp, he descended the
staircase and approached the cellar; but before proceeding through the
subterranean passage, he hesitated and stepped back:
"Singular!" he said; "I am overpowered by fear! I recoil in terror before
that dark cave, as though the dead could arise from the grave to take
revenge. What! I had the courage to stab him while living, and yet I
tremble upon approaching the spot where lie his inanimate remains! Away
with this childish terror!"
However bold his words, the Signor Turchi did not become calm, and his
heart beat violently as he again slowly approached the entrance to the
cellar. He hesitated an instant, as he looked down the long, dark passage,
but was about to proceed, when a noise outside the building made him shake
with fear.
"What can it be? Am I not mistaken? Some one unlocks the garden-gate! Will
I be found here? Am I betrayed?"
After a moment of torturing doubt he fled from the cellar to his room, his
hair bristling with terror.
"They open the door of the house! They are within! They come! Great
heavens! What can it mean?"
A man appeared on the threshold of the room in which Simon Turchi had
taken refuge.
"Julio! it is Julio!" exclaimed Simon, in despair.
The servant reeled under the influence of liquor. His cheeks were flushed,
his eyes wandering, and while the smile upon his lips indicated a
disagreeable surprise at the presence of his master, it also said plainly
that he feared not Simon's anger. He held in his hand a small wheaten
loaf, but he hid it hastily under his doublet as if unwilling for Turchi
to see it.
Casting upon him a look of fury, Simon Turchi sprang to his feet, clenched
his fist, and exclaimed in a rage:
"This is too much! Infamous traitor! cowardly rascal! whence do you come?
Does hell itself bring you here for the destruction of both of us? Speak,
base drunkard, and tell me why you are here! Quick, or I will stretch you
dead at my feet. I thirst for your blood."
Julio drew his knife from the scabbard and stammered, in a voice
indistinct from intoxication:
"Wait awhile, signor. Wine, good wine has dulled my senses. You want to
kill me? It would be very fortunate for one of us to die here--the
executioner would have less work. But which of us must first render our
account before the supreme tribunal, my knife and your dagger will decide.
I am ready."
"Insolent wretch!" cried Turchi, grinding his teeth, "my own safety and
yours compel me to a painful circumspection; but beware how you brave me!
Tell me why you are not on your way to Germany."
"You ask me something that I don't know myself. But let me see. Just as I
was about to leave I went to the _Swan_, and drank a few pints of wine.
This morning, when I awoke, I was seated before a table at the _Silver
Dice_. How I came there, I cannot tell. It was then too late for me to
pass the gate. I determined to wait until to-morrow, and I came here to
take a night's rest before setting out on the journey."
"And you played at dice?" said Turchi.
"I think I did; for the rattling of the dice still sounds in my ears."
"And the money? the two hundred crowns?"
"Be quiet, signor, on that point. I ask you for nothing. What business is
it of yours that I have spent or lost a few pieces of gold, provided I
leave for Germany to-morrow at daybreak?"
Simon Turchi was like one frenzied.
"Yes," he exclaimed, "and at the first tavern you meet on the way you will
drown your senses with drink, and you will squander my money."
"Not so, signor; rely upon me--I will leave to-morrow morning at daybreak,
and if I drink on the way it will only be to quench a burning thirst."
Simon Turchi's eye shone with a sudden and mysterious light, excited by
some secret thought. He became calm, and shrugging his shoulders, said
quietly, as though he submitted with resignation to the contradictions
which he could not avoid:
"I ought, Julio, to punish your want of fidelity. If the bailiff had come
here to-day, as I expected, your culpable neglect of duty would have
placed us both in the hands of justice. Fortunately the visit will not be
made before noon to-morrow. As your negligence has had no evil
consequences, I fully pardon you, upon condition that you leave the city
before sunrise, and that you travel without stopping until you reach the
Rhine."
"Never fear this time, signor," replied Julio. "I will pass the night
here, and at early dawn I will be beyond the city gate. In the first
village I will buy a horse, and I will make such speed that he who would
catch me must needs have wings."
He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, and said:
"I am overpowered by fatigue and sleep. If you have no other directions to
give, permit me, signor, to go to bed, that I may be ready for the
morning."
"Then I may rely upon you, Julio?"
"Have no anxiety about my journey; the rising sun will not find me at
Antwerp."
"Are you certain?"
"As certain as I am that a halter hangs over my head, and over yours
something quite as disagreeable."
This jest of his servant made Turchi convulsively contract his lips, but
he restrained any expression of feeling, and arose, saying:
"Julio, would you like a glass of good Malmsey?"
"Ah, signor," replied the servant, "I was just thinking that a cup of
Malmsey would relieve my parched throat, when, lo! my desire finds an echo
in your heart."
"One single glass--a parting bumper."
"One or many, signor, as you wish--either will be welcome; but the
excellent wine locked in the cupboard of your room will be particularly
acceptable."
"Well, Julio, come with me, and we will drink to the happy termination of
your journey."
He arose, traversed a passage, and ascended to the upper story. The
servant followed him staggering, and trying to steady himself by the wall.
Having reached his bed-room, Turchi drew a second chair to the table, and
said:
"Sit down, Julio; here is a bottle already opened. If I did not fear its
effects, we would empty it in honor of your departure."
Julio sat down, and held the bottle before the lamp.
"Bah!" he exclaimed, "it only contains about four glasses. You need not
trouble yourself about that quantity."
Signor Turchi took two large glasses from the cupboard, placed them on the
table, and filled their to the brim.
"A pleasant journey to you, Julio," he said, "and may you arrive safely at
your destination."
They both emptied their glasses at one draught, but the servant pushed his
glass to his master, saying:
"Oh, the divine liquor! it is a cooling balm to my burning throat. One
more glass, signor, I beg you."
Simon filled the glasses again, and said:
"Yes, but on condition that you wait awhile before drinking it."
Hoping that his obedience might procure him a third glass, Julio resisted
the temptation to gratify himself at once.
In the meantime, Turchi contemplated his servant with a peculiar
expression. There was a malicious sparkle in his eye, and a smile of
triumph on his lips. He evidently had some purpose in thus watching Julio;
but what could be his secret design?
At last he pretended that he was about to take the wine, but by a quick
movement he upset it.
With an exclamation of impatience he raised the glass, and said:
"It is a sin to spill such wine. Now I have no more in which to drink your
health. Get another bottle, Julio, from the cupboard; it is perhaps the
last time that we shall drink together. On the third shelf, the bottle
with the long neck."
Julio arose with difficulty from his chair, and staggered to the cupboard.
Simon Turchi thrust his hand in his doublet, and drew out a very small
phial. He hastily poured nearly the whole contents into Julio's glass, and
immediately concealed the phial; and although he trembled in every limb,
he said, calmly:
"A little higher, Julio--to the left; that is the right bottle."
The servant brought the bottle to his master, who uncorked it; but as he
was about to pour out the wine, he said:
"Empty your glass, Julio; this is a different wine, and the mixture would
spoil both."
Julio drank the wine, but no sooner had he swallowed it than he exclaimed:
"What was in my glass? It had a strange, bitter taste. Did you put poison
in it?"
"What a silly idea!" said Turchi, turning pale.
"You are capable of such a deed, signor."
"The lees gave the bad taste, Julio. Take another glass, and it will pass
away."
Emptying his glass again, Julio said:
"You are right; it is gone. I never tasted anything in my life more
disagreeable."
Turchi watched his servant narrowly. With assumed carelessness he said:
"Take care, Julio, to be up by daybreak. Go on foot to the village of
Lierre; buy a good horse there, and make all possible haste to reach
Diest; that is the shortest route, and you will be more likely to escape
notice than on the highway. Once in Cologne, you are out of danger; but be
careful not to remain there. Merchants from Antwerp frequently visit that
city; you might possibly be recognized and arrested. You must leave the
territories of the emperor. When the affair is forgotten, and when by my
marriage with Miss Van de Werve I will have acquired a considerable
fortune, I will send for you, and you will live with me as a friend rather
than a servant. You shall spend your days in pleasure, and you will never
have cause to regret what you have done for me. But, Julio, you do not
answer? Is not such a fate desirable?"
"I am overpowered by sleep," stammered Julio, almost unintelligibly.
A triumphant smile flitted across Turchi's face.
"To-morrow at two o'clock," he continued, "the officers of justice will
make a domiciliary visit here, but the bailiff will permit no search which
intimates a suspicion. Since you have filled the cellar with fire-wood and
empty casks, the bailiff will be satisfied that all is right. Perhaps,
Julio, I may be able to recall you in two or three months."
Julio's head had fallen upon the table, but from time to time he started
and muttered some indistinct words, showing that he was not in a deep
sleep. Without once removing his eye from him, Simon continued to speak,
although he was convinced that Julio no longer heard his words.
Suddenly Julio groaned. His head and limbs fell as though he had been
struck by death; but the heaving of the chest and the deep scarlet of the
cheeks proved that he was in a heavy sleep.
Simon quietly contemplated him for a while longer with a smile of
satisfaction. Then he arose, approached his servant, shook him violently,
and cried out:
"Julio, Julio, wake up!"
Julio did not stir.
"It succeeds according to my wishes," he said. "The poison is doing its
work. He is deaf and insensible; he reposes in an eternal sleep. Life will
be extinguished by degrees until sleep makes way for death. But I must not
tarry. I must act quickly and forget nothing. And first the money!"
He searched Julio's pocket, and found in it one hundred and twenty crowns.
After counting them on the table, he exclaimed:
"Eighty crowns spent already! It is impossible. He has either lost them at
the gaming-table, or been robbed while he was sleeping in the tavern."
Still doubtful, he examined his garments, and found in a purse under his
girdle the twenty crowns which he had destined for his mother.
"Ah, ah!" said Simon, laughing; "I had not all; I hear the sound of gold."
He put the twenty crowns with the rest of the money, and having satisfied
himself that no more remained on the person of Julio, he was about to
transfer the crowns to his pocket, when a sudden idea occurred to his
mind.
"If I leave all this money on his person, they might think he had been
paid to commit the deed; if I leave nothing, there will be no reason to
conclude that he killed the Signor Geronimo to rob him. I wonder how much
money Geronimo generally carried about him. I should suppose five or six
crowns, or perhaps ten. I will leave six crowns and all the small change.
And the keys? He must keep them, or, of course, he could not have entered
without my knowledge. But should he be roused to consciousness by the
death-agony, he might have sufficient strength to get out. I will leave
him all the keys but that of the outer building. Iron bars render the
place secure; he could not even enter the garden. Now I will put the phial
in his doublet--no, in the pocket of his girdle; it will be as easily
found. I will remove the bottles and everything which could indicate the
presence of two persons."
He locked up the bottles and glasses, arranged the chairs, and wiped up
the wine which had been spilled on the table and the floor.
While thus engaged, he muttered to himself:
"I must not remain longer. I myself must go to the bailiff and accuse
Julio of the murder. Shall I go this evening? No; they might come and find
him alive, and a powerful antidote might perhaps rouse him from sleep.
To-morrow, then--to-morrow morning. But how shall I explain the affair?
When and how did he reveal his crime? Night will suggest a means. All is
done. I will go home and appear calm and cheerful."
He threw his cloak around his shoulders, took the lamp from the table, and
walked to the door. There he stopped for a moment to contemplate his
victim and precipitately descended the staircase. At the foot of the steps
he extinguished the light, traversed the garden, opened the gate, and
disappeared in the darkness.