LUIGI'S HOSPITALITY
The smuggler's eyes expressed the limits of amazement. He stared at the
newcomer. He turned his glance to Aylmer, as if he sought information
there. He brought it back and focussed it upon the dripping _soutane_.
He made inarticulate noises of incredulity; he flung up his hands with
gestures of bewilderment.
"You arrive--how, reverend father?" he cried. "What have you used? The
wings of a bird, the fins of a fish?"
"The eyes of a God-fearing priest," retorted Padre Sigismondi. "I saw
signals being flashed from your island. With Emmanuele here," he pointed
to the dripping figure which still lay upon the stones, "I was passing
your abode of sin on my way to Stromboli. I had, in fact, no choice--I
was being blown there. I saw the signals, I say, but read no meaning in
them. Some unconfessed wretch needs extreme unction, say I to myself,
and steered among the teeth of your reefs. One of our sweeps broke at a
critical moment. This cavalier here leaped in to our rescue. I have not
properly thanked him yet because I am awaiting explanation of the words
I heard as you thrust yourself upon us. Prisoners, did you say? It must
be a cataclysm of morality which has made you a gaoler or a judge, my
wonderful Luigi."
The smuggler shivered and blenched.
"This man and this woman are in a sense prisoners," he allowed. "They
are not on good terms with our other--guests. We have had to restrain
their liberties."
Padre Sigismondi regarded him fixedly. The unfortunate Luigi's tongue
protruded with nervousness; his cheek muscles twitched. The priest
shrugged his shoulders as he turned to Aylmer.
"I arrive unceremoniously," he smiled, "but not inopportunely, it seems.
May I have your version of the extraordinary circumstances in which I
find the Signora and yourself, Signor?"
Aylmer smiled back at him.
"They are simple enough, father," he answered. "We are prisoners; there
is no need for our friend here to beat about the bush. At the
instigation of--of a certain enemy of ours, in whose pay the good Luigi
finds himself, we were kidnapped from the port of Melilla and brought
here. It was our signals you saw. May I add my profound regrets at the
misfortune you experienced in answering them?"
"The Church is a boat to the bad, but possibly a gainer in
righteousness," said the other. "I may be the means of preventing some
irretrievable sin on the part of these islanders. You were being held to
ransom, do I understand?"
The dripping figure at his feet stirred and rose weakly to a standing
posture. A cackle of laughter came from between the chattering teeth.
"The gaol-bird as gaoler--eh, but that is a rib-rending jest, Luigi. You
have imagination, _amico_, imagination and, it seems, opportunity. You
will go far!"
The sailor turned his wrinkled face on the abashed smuggler; his white
teeth flashed a prodigious smile. He seemed to find nothing
disconcerting in the situation, but desired to show quickness in seizing
its points of humor.
"He will certainly go far, my good Emmanuele," agreed Padre Sigismondi,
drily. "As far as the penal station on Procida if I am not hugely
mistaken, or unless he shows a most improbable repentance. What have we
here? Other warders in this private penitentiary?"
Footsteps clattered along the tiny causeway. With a rush, half a dozen
figures swept up to them through the moonlight, Landon at their head.
This was the answer to Signor Luigi's frantic shouts.
The rush wavered, hesitated, came to a halt. The islanders recognized
the grim, aggressive form in the _soutane_ with sharp exclamations of
amazement and alarm. Landon, without their experience, felt the
impalpable infection of their fear. He, too, halted, staring
mistrustfully at the priest and his companions.
He shook Luigi by the elbow.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
The smuggler made a deferential outward movement of his palms.
"It is a visit, an unexpected visit, from our--our vicar," he explained.
"It is the Padre Sigi--Sigismondi, I should say."
The padre stepped forward and spoke in crisp, imperturbable tones.
"I am peripatetic confessor to these islands, Signor," he said. "There
is a bitter need of six priests to each island, rather than six islands
to a priest. It is an abode of wickedness, this. That, perhaps, has not
been hidden from you?"
Landon kept a moment's silence. Then he smiled.
"I confess that I have not augmented its morality, in bulk, Signor," he
said. "In fact, by adding the two who stand behind you to its
population, I have done far otherwise. Instead of being where you find
them, they should be under lock and key."
"Why?" demanded the priest, laconically.
"Because they robbed me," answered Landon. "Because, for wicked purposes
of their own, they took from me--not gold, but what is beyond the price
of gold or buying--my only son."
"You accuse them of--kidnapping?" The good man's voice was coldly
incredulous.
Landon made a gesture of assent.
"Of that and of attempted murder. They hired Moorish desperadoes to
attack me, to ride me down."
"And you have made of yourself not only prosecutor, but judge, jury, and
keeper of their prison?"
"These things happened in Africa, outside civilized jurisdiction. Was I
to lack justice when it lay in the hollow of my hand?"
"Are there no consular courts? If not, you cannot bring your private
cause to private verdict in the dominions of the King of Italy, however
bad his title to the throne."
"Your reverence is a Legitimist?" grinned Landon.
"In every sense of the word, Signor. My sense of legitimacy finds your
arguments unsound."
He looked at Claire with an apologetic bow.
"And as a matter of fact, Signora, I have not heard your statement. How
does it vary from this gentleman's? Or does it, perhaps, corroborate
it?"
She looked at him very steadily.
"The man to whom you have been talking," she said slowly, "is, I think,
Signor, the worst man whom God permits to live."
He made a little gesture of protest.
"You have suffered at his hands--is that it? But your sentence is too
sweeping a one, is it not? Surely, Signora, surely?"
She shook her head.
"No!" she said determinedly. "Traitor, forger, thief--we know him to be
all these. And last, but not least, murderer. A murderer of souls. I do
not know if he has taken a fellow creature's life, but for five years he
racked into the numbness of despair the soul of my sister, who was his
wife."
He made a tiny exclamation of sympathy; he held up his hand as if he put
away from him a spectre of evil.
He looked back to Landon.
"You have heard, Signor?" he said.
"I have heard," said Landon, easily. "As a tale it has no originality
and therefore little interest for me. I have heard it a hundred times.
Your reverence found fault, a moment back, with my self-assumed status
of judge. Are you going to borrow the cloak which you do not permit me
to wear? You have heard both sides. To what proof can you refer a
decision?"
The long, lean figure drew itself up very rigidly.
"I am a sinful man myself, Signor. I make no decisions. But I have been
appealed to, as I understand, by those whom I find in your power. I
shall not permit your restraint of them to continue. You can refer any
grievance you have against them to properly constituted tribunals over
there." He lifted his arm and pointed south to where storm and night hid
Sicily.
He turned to Luigi.
"Emmanuele and I are, as you see, sodden to the skin. It may reach your
great intelligence, by degrees, that we need warmth and refreshment."
The smuggler made an apologetic gesture.
"But certainly, Reverenza. There is in the house a fire. My poor
provisions are at your service."
The priest looked towards Claire with another courtly doffing of his
hat.
"And you, Signora, and you, Signor, will add to my felicity by sharing
both with me?"
She looked at him gravely.
"They have not starved us; we had food a couple of hours ago," she said.
"But your company, here and to the mainland, is a boon straight from the
hand of God."
He inclined his head in assent.
"I am His servant, Signora," he said. "I thank Him for permitting me to
serve Him, in serving you. Shall we make our way to the house? The hour
must be close on midnight."
He made a motion towards the path. He looked imperturbably at Landon,
who, with Muhammed, still stood astride it.
"You appear to be blocking the lady's way, Signor," he said. "Not
intentionally, I dare to hope."
Landon shrugged his shoulders and drew aside.
"On the contrary, your reverence. Not for worlds would I stand between
you and refreshment--and sleep."
He looked at Muhammed with a half-sardonic, half-inquiring gaze as he
spoke. And there was a faintly emphasized inflection on the last two
words.
The Moor looked back at him impassively, and then drew aside with an
obsequious droop of the head.
But to Claire and, to a less extent to Aylmer, there was a queer,
indefinite sense of something which impended--something which racked
them with suspicion in the attitude of those about them. Landon's
surrender was too facile; Luigi's deference too pliant; Muhammed's
apathetic eyes were never less convincing of guilelessness. When they
reached the cottage, and stood with Padre Sigismondi before the blaze in
the great open hearth and watched the quick preparations which were
being made to improvise a meal, the unreality of their surroundings
seemed to grow in significance. No one interfered with them; no one even
noticed them. Luigi set the table; Muhammed busied himself with the
coffee-pot; Landon held the father's dripping garments to the blaze
while their owner assumed a sailor's trousers and jersey in an adjoining
room. It was too incredible, this sudden turning of tables. They looked
at each other doubtfully.
Their speculations received a sudden interruption. The door opened to
admit Miller.
He was half dressed. He blinked--it was apparent that he and sleep had
parted company a short half minute before.
"I heard noises," he said, and then his glance fell upon the two who
stood near the fireplace, side by side. His usual phlegm seemed to
desert him. He gave an exclamation.
"You!" he cried. "You!"
He wheeled towards Landon.
"Will you explain?" he cried harshly. "What is happening?"
"I entertain guests--a small, but select, family party," grinned Landon.
The gray man stared at him with still unappeased surprise. Then,
suddenly, his face cleared. He looked at Claire; he looked on beyond her
to Aylmer.
"You have met his terms? You see the hopelessness of it all; you have
been wise?"
His voice was smooth, now, and had lost its harsh tones of amazement. He
purred his approbation.
Aylmer laughed.
"We have been wise, my dear Miller," he agreed. He laughed again as
Padre Sigismondi briskly entered the room. He had the aspect of an
ascetic but experienced mariner in his new garb. He bowed to Miller
courteously but inquiringly. The inquiry, it was to be noticed, was
directed in part towards Aylmer and his companion.
But Aylmer offered no introduction. He drew forward a chair, and placed
it in front of the fire.
"A good roasting after your immersion? Let me prescribe that," he said.
The priest looked at him and then gave a cry of commiseration.
"But you yourself, Signor--you remain in your sodden clothes?"
"For a very simple reason, father," said Aylmer, smiling. "I was taken
prisoner, but not my luggage. I stand up in my belongings."
The house began to resound with the recriminations which the priest
addressed to Luigi. Why had he not provided the cavalier with a suitable
change of raiment while his own clothes dried? Why had he not done this;
why had he not done that?
The smuggler ran to and fro distractedly. A jersey came from one press.
A shirt from another. A cupboard supplied trousers; a deplorable collar
which had had no recent acquaintance with a laundry was even offered and
declined. Aylmer retired into the adjoining room, and Landon, on his
return, with imperturbable aplomb received and began to dry the wet
clothes he had taken off. Miller reviewed these proceedings with
unqualified amazement. Offered no key to the position, he proceeded to
probe for one.
"Your reverence has voyaged far?" he hazarded.
"More miles than I care to remember, Signor," said the other,
courteously. "But ever, alas, in a circle. My peregrinations have been
bounded, ever since my ordination, by Naples on the north and Palermo or
Messina in the south. I see much earth and sky and water, especially the
latter, but I add nothing to geography. I am amphibious, that is all."
His "ordination"? The gleam of discovery woke in Miller's eyes. A
priest, was it? But the presence of Aylmer and Miss Van Arlen--how was
that to be explained? And how far had the newcomer gauged the situation.
"Your reverence finds in us unexpected additions to your flock," he
said. "The population of Salicudi has increased since you last visited
it."
"To my very natural satisfaction," said Sigismondi, imperturbably. He
looked at the steaming bowl of polenta and the coffee-pot which Luigi
had set upon the table. Emmanuele came in, wrapped in a sheepskin coat
and grinning at the food expectantly. His master greeted him with a nod.
"It appears that we are to feast and feast alone, my son," he said.
"These friends of ours insist on having dined two hours ago. May the
Blessed bless to us this refreshment."
He seated himself and began to eat slowly, but with relish.
"Heat is a great tonic," he remarked reflectively. "The contents of this
bowl and, above all, of this admirable coffee-pot, will erase the
remembrance of the discomforts of the night. And then sleep, but not too
much of it. Luigi, my friend, we must be off at dawn."
The smuggler's eyebrows rose into arcs.
"How, Reverence?" he exclaimed. "At dawn, and whither, if you please?"
"By way of Celsa, where an infant awaits baptism--and my friends, I dare
to hope, will excuse the short delay--to Messina. Where else, my good
Luigi? That surely is the place where your guests can most conveniently
adjust their misunderstandings."
The smuggler shrugged his shoulders.
"I am at your service, father," he said, and looked vacantly at the
opposite wall. But the tail of his eye, Aylmer noted, was on Landon. Was
there a message, or inquiry, in it?
"All of us," said Landon, smoothly, "must find your proposition a very
practical one. May I hasten to add my approval of it?"
He looked smilingly at Aylmer, at Claire, lastly at Muhammed. The
Moor--was it Aylmer's fancy?--answered with a tiny nod. There was
sarcasm in this glance of Landon's; there was menace; there was--so
Aylmer told himself--malignant triumph.
Padre Sigismondi nodded absently. He presented his coffee-cup to the
Moor to be refilled, and as the brown liquid ran from the spout, watched
it with a slow, stolid abstraction. His mental alertness seemed to be
relaxing with physical refreshment. He offered no further remarks; he
plied his spoon upon the polenta slowly, and yet more slowly.
Suddenly Emmanuele, the sailor, dropped his cup in the act of taking a
more than usually copious draught. He looked stupidly at the coarse
crockery as it broke upon the floor.
Sigismondi shook a finger at him, a finger which, somehow, he seemed to
have under no proper command. "Careless one!" he mumbled. "Careless one!
Where are your manners?" And then, suddenly, as if he heaved back a
weight, he rose unsteadily to his feet. He threatened Luigi with his
clenched fist.
"Traitorous dog!" he cried, and fell senseless to the floor.
His companion stared at him stupidly, plunged forward as if to bring him
aid, and then fell, too, at his feet. The pair lay where they had
fallen, unmoving.
At the back of the room Landon broke out into pleasant laughter.
Aylmer darted forward and bent to shake Sigismondi fiercely by the
shoulder. Claire cried to him warningly.
Too late!
Landon and Luigi had flung themselves upon him from behind. Muhammed had
dropped a looped cord across his shoulders. There was a moment's
confusion--the corner of the table smashed under a chance blow--and then
stillness. Lashed with cords into rigidity, Aylmer lay upon the planks,
and Landon, gazing down, spat upon his upturned face.
"You clever fool!" he derided. "To think to have cornered me--me!"
He looked rapidly at his watch and turned to Luigi.
"It is five hours to dawn," he said. "Where is it we are to take them?
There is no possibility for delay?"
The smuggler threw out his hands with an air of fatalism.
"The headquarters of the Society--there is no other place!" he said.
"With this wind, four hours or less will see us there. They will charge
a commission; you will have to bear with that. But we shall have perfect
privacy and, if you will, perfected means of dealing with this man's
obstinacy. And there will be adepts, who will give you their assistance
for the pleasure of the thing."
Landon nodded.
"Do you hear, my friend, do you hear?" he cried, thrusting his foot
against Aylmer's cheek. "You have wriggled well in my coils--I grant you
that. You have twisted and, for the moment, escape seemed open--wide
open--before you. But against me? No one prevails there, no one!"
"One may--yet."
The voice was Claire's. Landon wheeled towards her.
"That shows a very determined optimism, sister-in-law," he said. "And
who, if the knowledge is not privileged?"
"God," she said quietly, and met his eyes unflinchingly.