Whether it was our excursion upon the canal that was responsible for it
I cannot say; the fact, however, remains, that next morning every member
of our party was late for breakfast. My wife and I were the first to put
in an appearance, Glenbarth followed shortly after, and Miss Trevor was
last of all. It struck me that the girl looked a little pale as she
approached the window to bid me good-morning, and as she prided herself
upon her punctuality, I jestingly reproved her for her late rising.
"I am afraid your gondola excursion proved too much for you," I said, in
a bantering tone, "or perhaps you dreamt of Doctor Nikola."
I expected her to declare in her usual vehement fashion that she would
not waste her time dreaming of any man, but to my combined astonishment
and horror her eyes filled with tears, until she was compelled to turn
her head away in order to hide them from me. It was all so unexpected
that I did not know what to think. As may be supposed, I had not the
slightest intention of giving her pain, nor could I quite see how I
managed to do so. It was plain, however, that my thoughtless speech had
been the means of upsetting her, and I was heartily sorry for my
indiscretion. Fortunately my wife had not overheard what had passed
between us.
"Is he teasing you again, Gertrude?" she said, as she slipped her arm
through her friend's. "Take my advice and have nothing to do with him.
Treat him with contempt. Besides, the coffee is getting cold, and that
is a very much more important matter. Let us sit down to breakfast."
Nothing could have been more opportune. We took our places at the table,
and by the time the servant had handed the first dishes Miss Trevor had
recovered herself sufficiently to be able to look me in the face, and to
join in the conversation without the likelihood of a catastrophe. Still
there could be no doubt that she was far from being in a happy frame of
mind. I said as much to my wife afterwards, when we were alone together.
"She told me she had had a very bad night," the little woman replied.
"Our meeting with Doctor Nikola yesterday on the piazza upset her for
some reason or another. She said that she had dreamt of nothing else. As
you know she is very highly strung, and when you think of the
descriptions we have given her of him, it is scarcely to be wondered at
that she should attach an exaggerated importance to our unexpected
meeting with him. That is the real explanation of the mystery. One
thing, however, is quite certain; in her present state of mind she must
see no more of him than can be helped. It might upset her altogether.
Oh, why did he come here to spoil our holiday?"
"I cannot see that he has spoilt it, my dear," I returned, putting my
arm round her waist and leading her to the window. "The girl will very
soon recover from her fit of depression, and afterwards will be as merry
as a marriage-bell. By the way, I don't know why I should think of it
just now, but talking of marriage-bells reminds me that Glenbarth told
me last night that he thought Gertrude one of the nicest girls he had
ever met."
"I am delighted to hear it," my wife answered. "And still more delighted
to think that he has such good sense. Do you know, I have set my heart
upon that coming to something. No! you needn't shake your head. For very
many reasons it would be a most desirable match."
"For my own part I believe it was for no other reason that you bothered
me into inviting him to join our party here. You are a matchmaker. I
challenge you to refute the accusation."
"I shall not attempt to do so," she retorted with considerable hauteur.
"It is always a waste of time to argue with you. At any rate you must
agree with me that Gertrude would make an ideal duchess."
"So you have travelled as far as that, have you?" I inquired. "I must
say that you jump to conclusions very quickly. Because Glenbarth happens
to have said in confidence to me (a confidence I am willing to admit I
have shamefully abused) that he considers Gertrude Trevor a very
charming girl, it does not follow that he has the very slightest
intention of asking her to be his wife. Why should he?"
"If he doesn't he is not fit to sit in the House of Lords," she
answered, as if that ought to clinch the argument. "Fancy a man posing
as one of our hereditary legislators who doesn't know how to seize such
a golden opportunity. As a good churchwoman I pray for the nobility
every Sunday morning; and if not knowing where to look for the best wife
in the world may be taken as a weakness, and it undoubtedly is, then all
I can say is, that they require all the praying for they can get!"
"But I should like to know, how is he going to marry the best wife in
the world?" I asked.
"By asking her," she retorted. "He doesn't surely suppose she is going
to ask him?"
"If he values his life he'd better not do that!" I said savagely. "He
will have to answer for it to me if he does!"
"Ah," she answered, her lips curling, "I thought as much. You are
jealous of him. You don't want him to ask her because you fancy that if
he does your reign will be over. A nice admission for a married man, I
must say!"
"I presume you mean because I refuse to allow him to flirt with my
wife?"
"I mean nothing of the kind, and you know it. How dare you say, Dick,
that I flirt with the Duke?"
"Because you have confessed it," I answered with a grin of triumph, for
I had got her cornered at last. "Did you not say, only a moment ago,
that if he did not know where to find the best wife in the world he was
unfit to sit in the House of Lords? Did you not say that he ought to be
ashamed of himself if he did not ask her to be his wife? Answer that, my
lady."
"I admit that I did say it; but you know very well that I referred to
Gertrude Trevor!"
"Gertrude Trevor is not yet a wife. The best wife in the world is
beside me now; and since you are already proved to be in the wrong you
must perforce pay the penalty."
She was in the act of doing so when Gertrude entered the room.
"Oh, dear," she began, hesitating in pretended consternation, "is there
never to be an end of it?"
"An end of what?" demanded my wife with some little asperity, for she
does not like her little endearments to be witnessed by other people.
"Of this billing and cooing," the other replied. "You two insane
creatures have been married more than four years, and yet a third person
can never enter the room without finding you love-making. I declare it
upsets all one's theories of marriage. One of my most cherished ideas
was that this sort of thing ceased with the honeymoon, and that the
couple invariably lead a cat-and-dog life for the remainder of their
existence."
"So they do," my wife answered unblushingly. "And what can you expect
when one is a great silly creature who will not learn to jump away and
be looking innocently out of the window when he hears the handle turned?
Never marry, Gertrude. Mark my words: you will repent it if you do!"
"Well, for ingratitude and cool impudence, that surpasses everything!" I
said in astonishment. "Why, you audacious creature, not more than five
minutes ago you were inviting me to co-operate in the noble task of
finding a husband for Miss Trevor!"
"Richard, how can you stand there and say such things?" she ejaculated.
"Gertrude, my dear, I insist that you come away at once. I don't know
what he will say next."
Miss Trevor laughed.
"I like to hear you two squabbling," she said. "Please go on, it amuses
me!"
"Yes, I will certainly go on," I returned. "Perhaps you heard her
declare that she fears what I may say next. Of course she does. Allow me
to tell you, Lady Hatteras, that you are a coward. If the truth were
known, it would be found that you are trembling in your shoes at this
moment. For two centimes, paid down, I would turn Queen's evidence, and
reveal the whole plot."
"You had better not, sir," she replied, shaking a warning finger at me.
"In that case the letters from home shall be withheld from you, and you
will not know how your son and heir is progressing."
"I capitulate," I answered. "Threatened by such awful punishment I dare
say no more. Miss Gertrude, will you not intercede for me?"
"I think that you scarcely deserve it," she retorted. "Even now you are
keeping something back from me."
"Never mind, my dear, we'll let him off this time with a caution," said
my wife, "provided he promises not to offend again. And now let us
settle what we are going to do to-day."
When this important matter had been arranged, it was reported to us that
the ladies were to spend the morning shopping, leaving the Duke and
myself free to follow our own inclinations. Accordingly, when we had
seen them safely on their way to the Merceria, we held a smoking council
to arrange how we should pass the hours until lunch-time. As we
discovered afterwards, we both had a certain thought in our minds, which
for some reason we scarcely liked to broach to each other. It was
settled, however, just as we desired, but in a fashion we least
expected.
We were seated in the balcony outside our room, watching the animated
traffic on the Grand Canal below, when a servant came in search of us
and handed me a note. One glance at the characteristic writing was
sufficient to show me that it was from Doctor Nikola. I opened it with
an eagerness that I did not attempt to conceal, and read as follows--
"DEAR HATTERAS,
"If you have nothing more important on hand this morning, can you
spare the time to come and see me? As I understand the Duke of
Glenbarth is with you, will you not bring him also? It will be very
pleasant to have a chat upon by-gone days, and, what is more, I
fancy this old house will interest you.
"Yours very truly,
"NIKOLA."
"What do you say?" I inquired, when I had finished reading, "shall we
go?"
"Let us do so by all means," the Duke replied. "It will be very
interesting to meet Nikola once more. There is one thing, however, that
puzzles me; how did he become aware of my arrival in Venice? You say he
was with you on the piazza last night, so that he could not have been at
the railway station, and as I haven't been outside since I came, except
for the row after dinner, I confess it puzzles me."
"You should know by this time that it is useless to wonder how Nikola
acquires his knowledge," I replied. "For my own part I should like to
discover _his_ reason for being in Venice. I am very curious on that
point."
Glenbarth shook his head solemnly.
"If Nikola does not want us to know," he argued, "we shall leave his
house as wise as we entered it. If he _does_ let us know, I shall begin
to grow suspicious, for in that case it is a thousand pounds to this
half-smoked cigar that we shall be called upon to render him assistance.
However, if you are prepared to run the risk I will do so also."
"In that case," I said, rising from my chair and tossing what remained
of my cigar into the water below, "let us get ready and be off. We may
change our minds."
Ten minutes later we had chartered a gondola and were on our way to the
Palace Revecce.
As a general rule when one sets out to pay a morning call one is not the
victim of any particular nervousness; on this occasion however both
Glenbarth and I, as we confessed to each other afterwards, were
distinctly conscious of being in a condition which would be described by
persons of mature years as an unpleasant state of expectancy, but which
by school-boys is denominated "funk." The Duke, I noticed, fidgeted with
his cigar, allowed it to go out, and then sat with it in his mouth
unlighted. There was a far-away look on his handsome face that told me
that he was recalling some of the events connected with the time when he
had been in Nikola's company. This proved to be the case, for as we
turned from the Grand Canal into the street in which the palace is
situated, he said--
"By the way, Hatteras, I wonder what became of Baxter, Prendergrast, and
those other fellows?"
"Nikola may be able to tell us," I answered. Then I added after a short
pause, "By Jove, what strange times those were."
"Not half so strange to my thinking as our finding Nikola in Venice,"
Glenbarth replied. "That is the coincidence that astonishes me. But see,
here we are."
As he spoke the gondola drew up at the steps of the Palace Revecce, and
we prepared to step ashore. As we did so I noticed that the armorial
bearings of the family still decorated the posts on either side of the
door, but by the light of day the palace did not look nearly so imposing
as it had done by moonlight the night before. One thing about it was
certainly peculiar. When we ordered the gondolier to wait for us he
shook his head. Not for anything would he remain there longer than was
necessary to set us down. I accordingly paid him off, and when we had
ascended the steps we entered the building. On pushing open the door we
found ourselves standing in a handsome courtyard, in the centre of which
was a well, its coping elegantly carved with a design of fruit and
flowers. A broad stone staircase at the further end led up to the floor
above, but this, as was the case with everything else, showed
unmistakable signs of having been allowed to fall to decay. As no
concierge was to be seen, and there was no one in sight of whom we might
make inquiries, we scarcely knew how to proceed. Indeed, we were just
wondering whether we should take our chance and explore the lower
regions in search of Nikola, when he appeared at the head of the
staircase and greeted us.
"Good-morning," he said, "pray come up. I must apologize for not having
been down-stairs to receive you."
By the time he had finished speaking he had reached us, and was shaking
hands with Glenbarth with the heartiness of an old friend.
"Let me offer you a hearty welcome to Venice," he said to Glenbarth
after he had shaken hands with myself. Then looking at him once more, he
added, "If you will permit me to say so, you have changed a great deal
since we last saw each other."
"And you, scarcely at all," Glenbarth replied.
"It is strange that I should not have done so," Nikola answered, I
thought a little sadly, "for I think I may say without any fear of
boasting that, since we parted at Pipa Lannu, I have passed through
sufficient to change a dozen men. But we will not talk of that here. Let
us come up to my room, which is the only place in this great house that
is in the least degree comfortable."
So saying he led the way up the stairs, and then along a corridor, which
had once been beautifully frescoed, but which was now sadly given over
to damp and decay. At last, reaching a room in the front of the
building, he threw open the door and invited us to enter. And here I
might digress for a moment to remark, that of all the men I have ever
met, Nikola possessed the faculty of being able to make himself
comfortable wherever he might be, in the greatest degree. He would have
been at home anywhere. As a matter of fact this particular apartment was
furnished in a style that caused me considerable surprise. The room
itself was large and lofty, while the walls were beautifully frescoed,
the work of one Andrea Bunopelli, of whom I shall have more to say anon.
The furniture was simple, but extremely good; a massive oak
writing-table stood beside one wall, another covered with books and
papers was opposite it, several easy-chairs were placed here and there,
another table in the centre of the room supported various chemical
paraphernalia, while books of all sorts and descriptions, in all
languages and bindings, were to be discovered in every direction.
"After what you have seen of the rest of the house, this strikes you as
being more homelike, does it not?" Nikola inquired, as he noticed the
look of astonishment upon our faces. "It is a queer old place, and the
more I see of it the stranger it becomes. Some time ago, and quite by
chance, I became acquainted with its history; I do not mean the
political history of the respective families that have occupied it; you
can find that in any guide-book. I mean the real, inner history of the
house itself, embracing not a few of the deeds which have taken place
inside its walls. I wonder if you would be interested if I were to tell
you that in this very room, in the year fifteen hundred and eleven, one
of the most repellent and cold-blooded murders of the Middle Ages took
place. Perhaps now that you have the scene before you you would like to
hear the story. You would? In that case pray sit down. Let me offer you
this chair, Duke," he continued, and as he spoke he wheeled forward a
handsomely carved chair from beside his writing-table. "Here, Hatteras,
is one for you. I myself will take up my position here, so that I may be
better able to retain your attention for my narrative."
So saying he stood between us on the strip of polished floor which
showed between two heavy oriental rugs.
"For some reasons," he began, "I regret that the story I have to tell
should run upon such familiar lines. I fancy, however, that the
_denouement_ will prove sufficiently original to merit your attention.
The year fifteen hundred and nine, the same which found the French
victorious at Agnadello, and the Venetian Republic at the commencement
of that decline from which it has never recovered, saw this house in its
glory. The owner, the illustrious Francesco del Revecce, was a sailor,
and had the honour of commanding one of the many fleets of the Republic.
He was an ambitious man, a good fighter, and as such twice defeated the
fleet of the League of Camberi. It was after the last of these victories
that he married the beautiful daughter of the Duke of Levano, one of the
most bitter enemies of the Council of Ten. The husband being rich,
famous, and still young enough to be admired for his personal
attractions; the bride one of the wealthiest, as well as one of the most
beautiful women in the Republic, it appeared as if all must be well with
them for the remainder of their lives. A series of dazzling _fetes_, to
which all the noblest and most distinguished of the city were invited,
celebrated their nuptials and their possession of this house. Yet with
it all the woman was perhaps the most unhappy individual in the
universe. Unknown to her husband and her father she had long since
given her love elsewhere; she was passionately attached to young Andrea
Bunopelli, the man by whom the frescoes of this room were painted.
Finding that Fate demanded her renunciation of Bunopelli, and her
marriage to Revecce, she resolved to see no more of the man to whom she
had given her heart. Love, however, proved stronger than her sense of
duty, and while her husband, by order of the Senate, had put to sea once
more in order to drive back the French, who were threatening the
Adriatic, Bunopelli put into operation the scheme that was ultimately to
prove their mutual undoing. Unfortunately for Revecce he was not
successful in his venture, and by and by news reached Venice that his
fleet had been destroyed, and that he himself had been taken prisoner.
'Now,' said the astute Bunopelli, 'is the time to act.' He accordingly
took pens, paper, and his ink-horn, and in this very room concocted a
letter which purported to bear the signature of the commander of the
French forces, into whose hands the Venetian admiral had fallen and then
was. Its meaning was plain enough. It proved that for a large sum of
money Revecce had agreed to surrender the Venetian fleet, and, in order
to secure his own safety, in case the Republic should lay hands on him
afterwards, it was to be supposed that he himself had only been taken
prisoner after a desperate resistance, as had really been the case. The
letter was written, and that night the painter himself dropped it into
the lion's mouth. Revecce might return now as soon as he pleased. His
fate was prepared for him. Meanwhile the guilty pair spent the time as
happily as was possible under the circumstances, knowing full well that
should the man against whom they had plotted return to Venice, it would
only be to find himself arrested, and with the certainty, on the
evidence of the incriminating letter, of being immediately condemned to
death. Weeks and months went by. At last Revecce, worn almost to a
skeleton by reason of his long imprisonment, _did_ manage to escape. In
the guise of a common fisherman he returned to Venice; reached his own
house, where a faithful servant recognized him and admitted him to the
palace. From the latter's lips he learnt all that had transpired during
his absence, and was informed of the villainous plot that had been
prepared against him. His wrath knew no bounds; but with it all he was
prudent. He was aware that if his presence in the city were discovered,
nothing could save him from arrest. He accordingly hid himself in his
own house and watched the course of events. What he saw was sufficient
to confirm his worst suspicion. His wife was unfaithful to him, and her
paramour was the man to whom he had been so kind a friend, and so
generous a benefactor. Then when the time was ripe, assisted only by his
servant, the same who had admitted him to his house, he descended upon
the unhappy couple. Under threats of instant death he extorted from them
a written confession of their treachery. After having made them secure,
he departed for the council-chamber and demanded to be heard. He was the
victim of a conspiracy, he declared, and to prove that what he said was
true he produced the confession he had that day obtained. He had many
powerful friends, and by their influence an immediate pardon was granted
him, while permission was also given him to deal with his enemies as he
might consider most desirable. He accordingly returned to this house
with a scheme he was prepared to put into instant execution. It is not a
pretty story, but it certainly lends an interest to this room. The
painter he imprisoned here."
[Illustration: "He pressed a spring in the wall."]
So saying Nikola stooped and drew back one of the rugs to which I have
already referred. The square outline of a trap-door showed itself in the
floor. He pressed a spring in the wall behind him, and the lid shot
back, swung round, and disappeared, showing the black abyss below. A
smell of damp vaults came up to us. Then, when he had closed the
trap-door again, Nikola drew the carpet back to its old position.
"The wretched man died slowly of starvation in that hole, and the woman,
living in this room above, was compelled to listen to his agony without
being permitted the means of saving him. Can you imagine the scene? The
dying wretch below, doing his best to die like a man in order not to
distress the woman he loved, and the outraged husband calmly pursuing
his studies, regardless of both."
He looked from one to the other of us and his eyes burnt like living
coals.
"It was brutish, it was hellish," cried Glenbarth, upon whom either the
story, or Nikola's manner of narrating it, had produced an extraordinary
effect. "Why did the woman allow it to continue? Was she mad that she
did not summon assistance? Surely the Authorities of a State which
prided itself upon its enlightenment, even in those dark ages, would not
have tolerated such a thing?"
"You must bear in mind the fact that the Republic had given the husband
permission to avenge his wrongs," said Nikola very quietly. "Besides,
the woman could not cry out for the reason that her tongue had been torn
out at the roots. When both were dead their bodies were tied together
and thrown into the canal, and the same day Revecce set sail again, to
ultimately perish in a storm off the coast of Sicily. Now you know one
of the many stories connected with this old room. There are others in
which that trap-door has played an equally important part. I fear,
however, none of them can boast so dramatic a setting as that I have
just narrated to you."
"How, knowing all this, you can live in the house passes my
comprehension," gasped Glenbarth. "I don't think I am a coward, but I
tell you candidly that I would not spend a night here, after what you
have told me, for anything the world could give me."
"But surely you don't suppose that what happened in this room upwards of
three hundred years ago could have any effect upon a living being
to-day?" said Nikola, with what I could not help thinking was a double
meaning. "Let me tell you, that far from being unpleasant it has decided
advantages. As a matter of fact it gives me the opportunity of being
free to do what I like. That is my greatest safeguard. I can go away for
five years, if I please, and leave the most valuable of my things lying
about, and come back to the discovery that nothing is missing. I am not
pestered by tourists who ask to see the frescoes, for the simple reason
that the guides take very good care not to tell them the legend of the
house, lest they may be called upon to take them over it. Many of the
gondoliers will not stop here after nightfall, and the few who are brave
enough to do so, invariably cross themselves before reaching, and after
leaving it."
"I do not wonder at it," I said. "Taken altogether it is the most dismal
dwelling I have ever set foot in. Do you mean to tell me that you live
alone in it?"
"Not entirely," he replied. "I have companions: an old man who comes in
once a day to attend to my simple wants, and my ever-faithful
friend----"
"Apollyon," I cried, forestalling what he was about to say.
"Exactly, Apollyon. I am glad to see that you remember him."
He uttered a low whistle, and a moment later the great beast that I
remembered so well stalked solemnly into the room, and began to rub
himself against the leg of his master's chair.
"Poor old fellow," continued Nikola, picking him up and gently stroking
him, "he is growing very feeble. Perhaps it is not to be wondered at,
for he is already far past the average age of the feline race. He has
been in many strange places, and has seen many queer things since last
we met, but never anything much stranger than he has witnessed in this
room."
"What do you mean?" I inquired. "What has the cat seen in this room that
is so strange?"
"Objects that we are not yet permitted to see," Nikola answered gravely.
"When all is quiet at night, and I am working at that table, he lies
curled up in yonder chair. For a time he will sleep contentedly, then I
see him lift his head and watch something, or somebody, I cannot say
which, moving about in the room. At first I came to the conclusion that
it must be a bat, or some night bird, but that theory exploded. Bats do
not remain at the same exact distance from the floor, nor do they stand
stationary behind a man's chair for any length of time. The hour will
come, however, when it will be possible for us to see these things; I am
on the track even now."
Had I not known Nikola, and if I had not remembered some very curious
experiments he had performed for my special benefit two years before, I
should have inclined to the belief that he was boasting. I knew him too
well, however, to deem it possible that he would waste his time in such
an idle fashion.
"Do you mean to say," I asked, "that you really think that in time it
will be possible for us to see things which at present we have no notion
of? That we shall be able to look into the world we have always been
taught to consider Unknowable?"
"I do mean it," he replied. "And though you may scarcely believe it, it
was for the sake of the information necessary to that end that I
pestered Mr. Wetherall in Sydney, imprisoned you in Port Said, and
carried the lady, who is now your wife, away to the island in the South
Seas."
"This is most interesting," I said, while Glenbarth drew his chair a
little closer.
"Pray tell us some of your adventures since we last saw you," he put in.
"You may imagine how eager we are to hear."
Thereupon Nikola furnished us with a detailed description of all that he
had been through since that momentous day when he had obtained
possession of the stick that had been bequeathed to Mr. Wetherall by
China Pete. He told us how, armed with this talisman, he had set out for
China, where he engaged a man named Bruce, who must have been as plucky
as Nikola himself, and together they started off in search of an almost
unknown monastery in Thibet. He described with a wealth of exciting
detail the perilous adventures they had passed through, and how near
they had been to losing their lives in attempting to obtain possession
of a certain curious book in which were set forth the most wonderful
secrets relating to the laws of Life and Death. He told us of their
hair-breadth escapes on the journey back to civilization, and showed how
they were followed to England by a mysterious Chinaman, whose undoubted
mission was to avenge the robbery, and to obtain possession of the book.
At this moment he paused, and I found an opportunity of asking him
whether he had the book in his possession now.
"Would you care to see it?" he inquired. "If so, I will show it to you."
On our answering in the affirmative he crossed to his writing-table,
unlocked a drawer, and took from it a small curiously bound book, the
pages of which were yellow with age, and the writing so faded that it
was almost impossible to decipher it.
"And now that you have plotted and planned, and suffered so much to
obtain possession of this book, what use has it been to you?" I
inquired, with almost a feeling of awe, for it seemed impossible that a
man could have endured so much for so trifling a return.
"In dabbling with such matters," Nikola returned, "one of the first
lessons one learns is not to expect immediate results. There is the
collected wisdom of untold ages in that little volume, and when I have
mastered the secret it contains, I shall, like the eaters of the
forbidden fruit, possess a knowledge of all things, Good and Evil."
Replacing the book in the drawer he continued his narrative, told us of
his great attempt to probe the secret of Existence, and explained to us
his endeavour to put new life into a body already worn out by age.
"I was unsuccessful in what I set out to accomplish," he said, "but I
advanced so far that I was able to restore the man his youth again. What
I failed to do was to give him the power of thought or will. It was the
brain that was too much for me, that vital part of man without which he
is nothing. When I have mastered that secret I shall try again, and
then, perhaps, I shall succeed. But there is much to be accomplished
first. Only I know how much!"
I looked at him in amazement. Was he jesting, or did he really suppose
that it was possible for him, or any other son of man, to restore youth,
and by so doing to prolong life perpetually? Yet he spoke with all his
usual earnestness, and seemed as convinced of the truth of what he said
as if he were narrating some well-known fact. I did not know what to
think.
At last, seeing the bewilderment on our faces, I suppose, he smiled, and
rising from his chair reminded us that if we had been bored we had only
ourselves to thank for it. He accordingly changed the conversation by
inquiring whether we had made any arrangements for that evening. I
replied that so far as I knew we had not, whereupon he came forward with
a proposition.
"In that case," said he, "if you will allow me to act as your guide to
Venice, I think I could show you a side of the city you have never seen
before. I know her as thoroughly as any man living, and I think I may
safely promise that your party will spend an interesting couple of
hours. What have you to say to my proposal?"
"I am quite sure we shall be delighted," I replied, though not without
certain misgivings. "But I think I had better not decide until I have
seen my wife. If she has made no other arrangements, at what hour shall
we start?"
"At what time do you dine?" he inquired.
"At seven o'clock," I replied. "Perhaps we might be able to persuade you
to give us the pleasure of your company?"
"I thank you," he answered. "I fear I must decline, however. I am
hermit-like in my habits so far as meals are concerned. If you will
allow me I will call for you, shall we say at half-past eight? The moon
will have risen by that time, and we should spend a most enjoyable
evening."
"At half-past eight," I said, "unless you hear to the contrary," and
then rose from my chair. Glenbarth followed my example, and we
accordingly bade Nikola good-bye. Despite our protest, he insisted on
accompanying us down the great staircase to the courtyard below, his
terrible cat following close upon his heels. Hailing a gondola, we bade
the man take us back to our hotel. For some minutes after we had said
good-bye to Nikola we sat in silence as the boat skimmed over the placid
water.
"Well, what is your opinion of Nikola now?" I said, as we turned from
the Rio del Consiglio into the Grand Canal once more. "Has he grown any
more commonplace, think you, since you last saw him?"
"On the contrary, he is stranger than ever," Glenbarth replied. "I have
never met any other man who resembled him in the slightest degree. What
a ghastly story that was! His dramatic telling of it made it appear so
real that towards the end of it I was almost convinced that I could hear
the groans of the poor wretch in the pit below, and see the woman
wringing her hands and moaning in the room in which we were sitting. Why
he should have told it to us is what I cannot understand, neither can I
make out what his reasons can be for living in that house."
"Nikola's actions are like himself, entirely inexplicable," he answered.
"But that he has some motive beyond the desire he expressed for peace
and quiet, I have not the shadow of a doubt."
"And now with regard to to-night," said the Duke, I am afraid a little
pettishly. "I was surprised when you accepted his offer. Do you think
Lady Hatteras and Miss Trevor will care about such an excursion?"
"That is a question I cannot answer at present," I replied. "We must
leave it to them to decide. For my own part, I can scarcely imagine
anything more interesting."
When we reached Galaghetti's I informed my wife and Miss Trevor of
Nikola's offer, half expecting that the latter, from the manner in which
she had behaved at the mere mention of his name that morning, would
decline to accompany us, and, therefore, that the excursion would fall
through. To my surprise, however, she did nothing of the kind. She fell
in with the idea at once, and, so far as we could see, without
reluctance of any kind.
There was nothing for it, therefore, under these circumstances, but for
me to fall back upon the old commonplace, and declare that women are
difficult creatures to understand.