Filippo, grey-faced, but smart nevertheless, continued to attend to the
wants of customers at the Bonciani until nearly ten o'clock. He took
their orders in English, transmitted them in Italian through the
speaking tube to the kitchen, and deftly handed the piles of plates and
dishes with the confident air of the professional waiter.
Evidence was not wanting that to several elderly Italians he was well
known, for he greeted them cheerily, advised them as to the best dishes,
and treated them with fatherly solicitude from the moment they entered
until their departure.
At ten o'clock only two or three stray customers remained, smoking their
long rank cigars and sipping their coffee, therefore Filippo handed over
his cash, assumed his shabby black overcoat, and wishing "buona notte"
to his fellow-waiters, and "good-night" to the English check-taker at
the small counter, made his way out and eastward along Regent Street.
It was a bright, brilliant night, cool and refreshing after the heat of
the day. As he crossed Piccadilly Circus, the glare of the Criterion
brought back to him the strange occurrence that had recently taken place
before that great open portal, and, with a glance in that direction, he
muttered to himself--
"I wonder if the truth will ever be discovered? Strange that Arnoldo's
friend knows so much, yet will tell so little! That the girl was killed
seems certain. But how, and by whom? Strange," he added, after a pause
as he strode on, deep in thought--"very strange."
Engrossed in his own reflections, he passed along Wardour Street into
Shaftesbury Avenue, and presently entered the heart of the foreign
quarter of London, a narrow, dismal street of high, dingy,
uninviting-looking houses known as Church Street, a squalid, sunless
thoroughfare behind the glaring Palace of Varieties, inhabited mostly by
French and Italians.
He paused before a dark, dirty house, a residence of some importance a
century ago, judging from its deep area, its wide portals, and its iron
extinguishers, once used by the now-forgotten linkman, and, taking out a
latchkey, opened the door, ascending to a small bed-sitting-room on the
third floor, not over clean, but nevertheless comfortable. Upon the
small side-table, with its cracked and clouded miror, stood the
removable centre of his dressing-bag with its silver fittings, and
hanging behind the door were the clothes he wore when living his other
life.
He lit the cheap paraffin lamp, pulled down the faded crimson blind,
threw his hat and coat carelessly upon the bed, and, after glancing at
his watch, sank into the shabby arm-chair.
"Still time," he muttered. "I wonder whether she'll come? If she
don't--if she refuses--"
And sighing, he took out a cigarette, lit it, and throwing back his
head, meditatively watched the smoke rings as they curled upwards.
"I'd give something to know how much the police have actually
discovered," he continued, speaking to himself. "If they've really
discovered Vittorina's object in visiting London, then I must be wary
not to betray my existence. Already the Ambassador must have had his
suspicions aroused, but, fortunately, her mouth is closed for ever. She
cannot now betray the secret which she held, nor can she utter any wild
denunciations. Our only fear is that the police may possibly discover
Egisto in Lucca, make inquiries of him, and thus obtain a key to the
whole matter. Our only hope, however, is that Egisto, hearing of the
fatal termination of Vittorina's journey, and not desiring to court
inquiry, has wisely fled. If he has remained in Lucca after writing
that most idiotic letter, he deserves all the punishment he'll get for
being such a confounded imbecile."
Then, with an expression of disgust, he smoked on in a lazy, indolent
attitude, regardless of the shabbiness and squalor of his surroundings.
"It is fortunate," he continued at last, speaking slowly to
himself--"very fortunate, indeed, that Anioldo should have met this
cosmopolitan friend of his. He evidently knows something, but does not
intend to tell us. One thing is evident--he can't have the slightest
suspicion of the real facts as we know them; but, on the other hand,
there seems no doubt that the police have ascertained something--how
much, it is impossible to tell. That the Italian Ambassador has made
representations to the Home Office is quite correct. I knew it days
ago. Therefore his other statements are likely to be equally true. By
Jove!" he added, starting suddenly to his feet. "By jove! If Egisto
should be surprised by the police, the fool is certain to make a clean
breast of the whole thing in order to save his own neck. Then will come
the inevitable crisis! Dio! Such a catastrophe is too terrible to
contemplate."
He drew a deep breath, murmured some inaudible words, and for a long
time sat consuming cigarette after cigarette. Then, glancing at his
watch again, and finding it past eleven, he rose and stretched himself,
saying--
"She's not coming. Well, I suppose I must go to her." Quickly he took
from his bag a clean shirt, and assuming a light covert-coat and a crush
hat, he was once again transformed into a gentleman. By the aid of a
vesta he found his way down the dark carpetless stairs, and, hurrying
along, soon gained Shaftesbury Avenue, where he sprang into a hansom and
gave the man instructions to drive to Sussex Square, Hyde Park.
In twenty minutes the conveyance pulled up before the wide portico of a
handsome but rather gloomy-looking house. His summons was answered by a
footman who, recognising him at once, exclaimed, "Her ladyship is at
home, sir;" and ushered him into a well-furnished morning-room.
A few moments elapsed, when the man returned, and Malvano, with the air
of one perfectly acquainted with the arrangements of the house, followed
him up the wide, well-lit staircase to the drawing-room, a great
apartment on the first floor resplendent with huge mirrors, gilt
furniture, and costly bric-a-bric.
Seated in an armchair at the farther end of the room beside a table
whereon was a shaded lamp, sat a small, ugly woman, whose aquiline face
was wizened by age, whose hair was an unnatural flaxen tint, and whose
cheeks were not altogether devoid of artificial colouring.
"So you are determined to see me?" she exclaimed petulantly.
"I am," he answered simply, seating himself without hesitation in a
chair near her.
Her greeting was the reverse of cordial. As she spoke her lips parted,
displaying her even rows of false teeth; as she moved, her dress of rich
black silk rustled loudly; and as she placed her book upon the table
with a slight sigh, the fine diamonds in her bony, claw-like hand
sparkled with a thousand fires.
"Well, why have you come--at this hour, too?" she inquired with a
haughtiness which she always assumed towards her servants and inferiors.
She sat rigid, immovable; and Malvano, student of character that he
was, saw plainly that she had braced herself for an effort.
"I asked you to come to me, and you have refused," he said, folding his
arms calmly and looking straight into her rouged and powdered face;
"therefore I have come to you."
"For what purpose? Surely we could have met at the Bonciani?"
"True, but it was imperative that I should see you to-night."
"More complications--eh?"
"Yes," he replied, "more complications--serious ones."
"Serious!" her ladyship gasped, turning instantly pale. "Is the truth
known?" she demanded quickly. "Tell me at once; don't keep me in
suspense."
"Be patient for a moment, and I'll explain my object in calling," the
Doctor said gravely. "Compose yourself, and listen."
The Countess of Marshfield drew her skirts around her and moved uneasily
in her chair. She was well known in London society, a woman whose
eccentricities had for years afforded plenty of food for the gossips,
and whose very name was synonymous with senile coquetry. Her age was
fully sixty-five, yet like many other women of position, she delighted
in the delusion that she was still young, attractive, and fascinating.
Her attitude towards young marriageable men would have been nauseating
were it not so absolutely ludicrous; and the way in which she
manipulated her fan at night caused her to be ridiculed by all the
exclusive set in which she moved.
The dead earl, many years her senior, had achieved brilliant success in
the Army, and his name was inscribed upon the roll of England's heroes.
Ever since his death, twenty years ago, however, she had been notable on
account of her foolish actions, her spasmodic generosity to various
worthless institutions, her wild speculations in rotten companies, and
her extraordinary eccentricities. As she sat waiting for her visitor to
commence, her thin blue lips twitched nervously, and between her eyes
was the deep furrow that appeared there whenever she was unduly
agitated. But even then she could not resist the opportunity for
coquetry, for, taking up her small ivory fan, she opened it, and, slowly
waving it to and fro, glanced at him across it, her lips parted in a
smile.
But of all men Malvano was one of the least susceptible to feminine
blandishments, especially those of such a painfully ugly, artificial
person as Lady Marshfield; therefore, heedless of her sudden change of
manner towards him, he said bluntly--
"The police have already discovered some facts regarding Vittorina."
"Of her past?" she cried, starting forward.
"No, of her death," he answered.
"Have they discovered whether or not it was murder?" she inquired, her
bejewelled hand trembling perceptibly.
"They have no doubt that it was murder," he replied. "They accept the
doctor's theory, and, moreover, as you already know, the Italian Embassy
in London are pressing the matter."
"They suspect at the Embassy--eh?"
"Without doubt. It can scarcely come as a surprise that they are
endeavouring to get at the truth. One thing, however, is in our favour;
and that is, she cannot tell what she knew. If she were still alive,
I'm confident the whole affair would have been exposed before this."
"And you would have been under arrest."
He raised his shoulders to his ears, exhibited his palms, grinned, but
did not reply.
"How have you ascertained this about the police?" her ladyship
continued.
"Arnoldo is acquainted with the King's Messenger who carries dispatches
between the Foreign Office and the British Ambassador in Italy. The
messenger knows everything, but refuses to say much."
"Knows everything!" she cried in alarm. "What do you mean? Has our
secret really been divulged?"
"No," answered he. "He is not aware of the true facts, but he knows how
far the knowledge of Scotland Yard extends."
"What's his name?"
"Tristram. Captain Tristram."
"Do you know him?"
"No."
"Then don't make his acquaintance," the eccentric woman urged with
darkening countenance. "He's no doubt a dangerous friend."
"But we may obtain from him some useful knowledge. You know the old
saying about being forewarned."
"Our warnings must come from Livorno," she answered briefly.
"That will be impossible."
"Why?"
"Gemma has unfortunately fallen in love."
"Love! Bah! With whom?"
"With an Englishman," he answered. "Arnoldo saw them together several
times when in Livorno last week."
"Who is he?"
"His name is Armytage--Charles Armytage. He--"
"Charles Armytage!" her ladyship echoed, starting from her chair. "And
he is in love with Gemma?"
"No doubt he is. He intends to marry her."
"But they must never marry--never!" she cried quickly. "They must be
parted immediately, or our secret will at once be out."
"How? I don't understand," he said, with a puzzled expression. "Surely
Gemma, of all persons, is still friendly disposed? She owes much to
us."
"Certainly," Lady Marshfield answered. "But was she not present with
Vittorina on that memorable night in Livorno? Did she not witness with
her own eyes that which we witnessed?"
"Well, what of that? We have nothing to fear from her."
"Alas! we have. A word from her would expose the whole affair," the
wizen-faced woman declared. "By some means or other we must part her
from Armytage."
"And by doing so you will at once make her your enemy."
"No, your own enemy, Doctor Malvano," she exclaimed, correcting him
haughtily. "I am blameless in this matter."
He looked straight into her dark, sunken eyes, and smiled grimly.
"It is surely best to preserve her friendship," he urged. "We have
enemies enough, in all conscience."
"Reflect," she answered quickly. "Reflect for a moment what exposure
means to us. If Gemma marries Armytage, then our secret is no longer
safe."
"But surely she has no object to attain in denouncing us, especially as
in doing so she must inevitably implicate herself," he observed.
"No," she said gravely, after a brief pause. "In this matter I have my
own views. They must be parted, Filippo. Armytage has the strongest
motive--the motive of a fierce and terrible vengeance--for revealing
everything."
"But why has Armytage any motive in denouncing us? You speak in
enigmas."
"The secret of his motive is mine alone," the haggard-eyed woman
answered. "Seek no explanation, for you can never gain knowledge of the
truth until too late, when the whole affair is exposed. It is
sufficient for me to tell you that he must be parted from Gemma."
Her wizened face was bloodless and brown beneath its paint and powder,
her blue lips were closed tight, and a hard expression showed itself at
the corners of her cruel mouth.
"Then Gemma is actually as dangerous to us as Vittorina was?" Malvano
said, deeply reflecting.
"More dangerous," she declared in a low, harsh voice. "She must be
parted from Armytage at once. Every moment's delay increases our
danger. Exposure and disgrace are imminent. In this matter we must
risk everything to prevent betrayal."