"You surely are not going to dine with Doctor Nikola in that strange
house?" said my wife, when we were alone together that night. "After
what the Duke has told us, I wonder that you can be so foolish."
"My dear girl," I answered, "I don't see the force of your argument. I
shan't be the first who has eaten a meal in the house in question, and I
don't suppose I shall be the last. What do you think will happen to me?
Do you think that we have returned to the times of the Borgias, and that
Nikola will poison us? No, I am looking forward to a very enjoyable and
instructive evening."
"While we are sitting at home, wondering if the table is disappearing
bodily into the vaults and taking you with it, or whether Nikola is
charging the side-dishes with some of his abominable chemistry, by which
you will be put to sleep for three months, or otherwise experimenting
upon you in the interests of what he calls Science. I don't think it is
at all kind of you to go."
"Dear girl," I answered, "are you not a little unreasonable? Knowing
that de Martinos has but lately arrived in Venice, also that he is a
friend of ours--for did he not meet him when in our company?--it is only
natural that Nikola should desire to show him some courtesy. In spite of
its decay, the Palace Revecce is an exceedingly beautiful building, and
when he heard that Martinos would like to visit it, he invited him to
dinner. What could be more natural? This is the nineteenth century!"
"I am sure I don't mind what century it is," she replied. "Still I
adhere to what I said just now. I am sorry you are going."
"In that case I am sorry also," I answered, "but as the matter stands I
fail to see how I can get out of it. I could not let the Duke and
Martinos go alone, so what can I do?"
"I suppose you will have to go," she replied ruefully. "I have a
presentiment, however, that trouble will result from it."
With that the subject was dropped, and it was not until the following
morning, when I was smoking with Glenbarth after breakfast, that it
cropped up again.
"Look here, Dick," said my companion then. "What about this dinner at
Nikola's house to-night? You seemed to be very keen on going last
night; are you of the same mind this morning?"
"Why not?" I answered. "My wife does not like the notion, but I am
looking forward to seeing Nikola play the host. The last time I dined
with him, you must remember, was in Port Said, and then the banquet
could scarcely be described as a pleasant one. What is more, I am
anxious to see what effect Nikola and his house will produce upon our
friend the Don."
"I wish he'd get rid of him altogether," my companion replied. "I
dislike the fellow more and more every time I see him."
"Why should you? He does you no harm!"
"It's not that," said Glenbarth. "My dislike to him is instinctive; just
as one shudders when one looks into the face of a snake, or as one is
repelled by a toad or a rat. In spite of his present apparent
respectability, I should not be at all surprised to hear that at some
period of his career he had committed murders innumerable."
"Nonsense, nonsense," I replied, "you must not imagine such things as
that. You were jealous when you first saw him, because you thought he
was going to come between you and Miss Trevor. You have never been able
to overcome the feeling, and this continued dislike is the result. You
must fight against it. Doubtless, when you have seen more of him, you
will like him better."
"I shall never like him better than I do now," he answered, with
conviction. "As they say in the plays, 'my gorge rises at him!' If you
saw him in the light I do, you would not let Lady Hatteras----"
"My dear fellow," I began, rising from my chair and interrupting him,
"this is theatrical and very ridiculous, and I assume the right of an
old friend to tell you so. If you prefer not to go to-night, I'll make
some excuse for you, but don't, for goodness' sake, go and make things
unpleasant for us all while you're there."
"I have no desire to do so," he replied stiffly. "What is more, I am not
going to let you go alone. Write your letter and accept for us both.
Bother Nikola and Martinos as well, I wish they were both on the other
side of the world."
I thereupon wrote a note to Nikola accepting, on Glenbarth's behalf and
my own, his invitation to dinner for that evening. Then I dismissed the
matter from my mind for the time being. An hour or so later my wife came
to me with a serious face.
"I am afraid, Dick, that there is something the matter with Gertrude,"
she said. "She has gone to her room to lie down, complaining of a very
bad headache and a numbness in all her limbs. I have done what I can for
her, but if she does not get better by lunch-time, I think I shall send
for a doctor."
As, by lunch-time, she was no better, the services of an English doctor
were called in. His report to my wife was certainly a puzzling one. He
declared he could discover nothing the matter with the girl, nor
anything to account for the mysterious symptoms.
"Is she usually of an excitable disposition?" he inquired, when we
discussed the matter together in the drawing-room.
"Not in the least," I replied. "I should say she is what might be called
a very evenly-dispositioned woman."
He asked one or two other questions and then took leave of us, promising
to call again next day.
"I cannot understand it at all," said my wife when he had gone;
"Gertrude seemed so well last night. Now she lies upon her bed and
complains of this continued pain in her head and the numbness in all her
limbs. Her hands and feet are as cold as ice, and her face is as white
as a sheet of note-paper."
During the afternoon Miss Trevor determined to get up, only to be
compelled to return to bed again. Her headache had left her, but the
strange numbness still remained. She seemed incapable, so my wife
informed me, of using her limbs. The effect upon the Duke may be better
imagined than described. His face was the picture of desolation, and his
anxiety was all the greater inasmuch as he was precluded from giving
vent to it in speech. I am afraid that, at this period of his life, the
young gentleman's temper was by no means as placid as we were accustomed
to consider it. He was given to flaring up without the slightest
warning, and to looking upon himself and his own little world in a light
that was very far removed from cheerful. Realizing that we could do no
good at home, I took him out in the afternoon, and was given to
understand that I was quite without heart, because, when we had been an
hour abroad, I refused to return to the hotel.
"I wonder if there is anything that Miss Trevor would like," he said, as
we crossed the piazza of Saint Mark. "It could be sent up to her, you
know, in your name."
"You might send her some flowers," I answered. "You could then send them
from yourself."
"By Jove, that's the very thing. You do have some good ideas sometimes."
"Thank you," I said quietly. "Approbation from Sir Hubert Stanley is
praise indeed."
"Bother your silly quotations!" he retorted. "Let's get back to that
flower-shop."
We did so, and thereupon that reckless youth spent upon flowers what
would have kept me in cigars for a month. Having paid for them and given
orders that they should be sent to the Hotel Galaghetti at once, we left
the shop. When we stood outside, I had to answer all sorts of questions
as to whether I thought she would like them, whether it would not have
been better to have chosen more of one sort than another, and whether
the scent would not be too strong for a sick-room. After that he felt
doubtful whether the shopkeeper would send them in time, and felt half
inclined to return in order to impress this fact upon the man. Let it be
counted to me for righteousness that I bore with him patiently,
remembering my own feeling at a similar stage in my career. When we
reached the hotel on our return, we discovered that the patient was
somewhat better. She had had a short sleep, and it had refreshed her. My
wife was going to sit with her during the evening, and knowing this, I
felt that we might go out with clear consciences.
At a quarter to seven we retired to our rooms to dress, and at a quarter
past the hour were ready to start. When we reached the hall, we found
the Don awaiting us there. He was dressed with the greatest care, and
presented a not unhandsome figure. He shook hands cordially with me and
bowed to Glenbarth, who had made no sign of offering him his hand.
Previous to setting out, I had extorted from that young man his promise
that he would behave with courtesy towards the other during the evening.
"You can't expect me to treat the fellow as a friend," he had said in
reply, "but I will give you my word that I'll be civil to him--if that's
what you want."
And with this assurance I was perforce compelled to be content.
Having taken our places in the gondola which was waiting for us, we set
off.
"I had the pleasure of seeing Doctor Nikola this morning," said
Martinos, as we turned into the Rio del Consiglio. "He did me the honour
of calling upon me."
I gave a start of surprise on hearing this.
"Indeed," I replied. "And at what hour was that?"
"Exactly at eleven o'clock," the Don answered. "I remember the time
because I was in the act of going out, and we encountered each other in
the hall."
Now it is a singular thing, a coincidence if you like, but it was almost
on the stroke of eleven that Miss Trevor had been seized with her
mysterious illness. At a quarter past the hour she felt so poorly as to
be compelled to retire to her room. Of course there could be no
connection between the two affairs, but it was certainly a coincidence
of a nature calculated to afford me ample food for reflection. A few
moments later the gondola drew up at the steps of the Palace Revecce.
Almost at the same instant the door opened and we entered the house. The
courtyard had been lighted in preparation for our coming, and, following
the man who had admitted us, we ascended the stone staircase to the
corridor above. Though not so dismal as when I had last seen it, lighted
only by Nikola's lantern, it was still sufficiently awesome to create a
decided impression upon the Don.
"You were certainly not wrong when you described it as a lonely
building," he said, as we passed along the corridor to Nikola's room.
As he said this the door opened, and Nikola stood before us. He shook
hands with the Duke first, afterwards with the Don, and then with
myself.
"Let me offer you a hearty welcome," he began. "Pray enter."
We followed him into the room I have already described, and the door was
closed behind us. It was in this apartment that I had expected we should
dine, but I discovered that this was not to be the case. The tables
were still littered with papers, books, and scientific apparatus, just
as when I had last seen it. Glenbarth seated himself in a chair by the
window, but I noticed that his eyes wandered continually to the oriental
rug upon the floor by the fireplace. He was doubtless thinking of the
vaults below, and, as I could easily imagine, wishing himself anywhere
else than where he was. The black cat, Apollyon, which was curled up in
an arm-chair, regarded us for a few seconds with attentive eyes, as if
to make sure of our identities, and then returned to his slumbers. The
windows were open, I remember, and the moon was just rising above the
house-tops opposite. I had just gone to the casement, and was looking
down upon the still waters below, when the tapestry of the wall on the
right hand was drawn aside by the man who had admitted us to the house,
who informed Nikola in Italian that dinner was upon the table.
"In that case let us go in to it," said our host. "Perhaps your Grace
will be kind enough to lead the way."
Glenbarth did as he was requested, and we followed him, to find
ourselves in a large, handsome apartment, which had once been richly
frescoed, but was now, like the rest of the palace, sadly fallen to
decay. In the centre of the room was a small oval table, well
illuminated by a silver lamp, which diffused a soft light upon the
board, the remainder of the room being in heavy shadow. The decorations,
the napery, and the glass and silver, were, as I could see at one
glance, unique. Three men-servants awaited our coming, though where they
hailed from and how Nikola had induced them to enter the palace, I could
not understand. Nikola, as our host, occupied one end of the table;
Glenbarth, being the principal guest of the evening, was given the chair
on his left; the Don took that on the right, while I faced him at the
further end. How, or by whom, the dinner was cooked was another mystery.
Nikola had told us on the occasion of our first visit, that he possessed
no servants, and that such cooking as he required was done for him by an
old man who came in once every day. Yet the dinner he gave us on this
particular occasion was worthy of the finest _chef_ in Europe. It was
perfect in every particular. Though Nikola scarcely touched anything, he
did the honours of his table royally, and with a grace that was quite in
keeping with the situation. Had my wife and Miss Trevor been present,
they might, for all the terrors they had anticipated for us, very well
have imagined themselves in the dining-room of some old English country
mansion, waited upon by the family butler, and taken in to dinner by
the Bishop and Rural Dean. The Nikola I had seen when I had last visited
the house was as distant from our present host as if he had never
existed. When I looked at him, I could scarcely believe that he had ever
been anything else but the most delightful man of my acquaintance.
"As a great traveller, Don Jose," he said, addressing the guest on his
right hand, "you have of course dined in a great number of countries,
and I expect under a variety of startling circumstances. Now tell me,
what is your most pleasant recollection of a meal?"
"That which I managed to obtain after the fall of Valparaiso," said
Martinos. "We had been without food for two days, that is to say,
without a decent meal, when I chanced upon a house where breakfast had
been abandoned without being touched. I can see it now. Ye gods! it was
delightful. And not the less so because the old rascal we were after had
managed to make his escape."
"You were in opposition to Balmaceda, then?" said Nikola quietly.
Martinos paused for a moment before he answered.
"Yes, against Balmaceda," he replied. "I wonder whether the old villain
really died, and if so what became of his money."
"That is a question one would like to have settled concerning a good
many people," Glenbarth put in.
"There was that man up in the Central States, the Republic of--ah! what
was its name?--Equinata," said Nikola. "I don't know whether you
remember the story."
"Do you mean the fellow who shot those unfortunate young men?" I asked.
"The man you were telling me of the other night."
"The same," Nikola replied. "Well, he managed to fly his country, taking
with him something like two million dollars. From that moment he has
never been heard of, and as a matter of fact I do not suppose he ever
will be. After all, luck has a great deal to do with things in this
world."
"Permit me to pour out a libation to the God of Chance," said Martinos.
"He has served me well."
"I think we can all subscribe to that," said Nikola. "You, Sir Richard,
would not be the happy man you are had it not been for a stroke of good
fortune which shipwrecked you on one island in the Pacific instead of
another. You, my dear Duke, would certainly have been drowned in
Bournemouth Bay had not our friend Hatteras chanced to be an early
riser, and to have taken a certain cruise before breakfast; while you,
Don Martinos, would in all probability not be my guest to-night had
not----"
The Spaniard looked sharply at him as if he feared what he was about to
hear.
"Had not what happened?" he asked.
"Had President Balmaceda won his day," was the quiet reply. "He did not
do so, however, and so we four sit here to-night. Certainly, a libation
to the God of Chance."
At last the dinner came to an end, and the servants withdrew, having
placed the wine upon the table. The conversation drifted from one
subject to another until it reached the history of the palace in which
we were then the guests. For the Spaniard's information Nikola related
it in detail. He did not lay any particular emphasis upon it, however,
as he had done upon the story he had told the Duke and myself concerning
the room in which he had received us. He merely narrated it in a
matter-of-fact way, as if it were one in which he was only remotely
interested. Yet I could not help thinking that he fixed his eyes more
keenly than usual on the Spaniard, who sat sipping his wine and
listening with an expression of polite attention upon his sallow face.
When the wine had been circulated for the last time, Nikola suggested
that we should leave the dining-room and return to his own
sitting-room.
"I do not feel at home in this room," he said by way of explanation;
"for that reason I never use it. I usually partake of such food as I
need in the next, and allow the rest of the house to fall undisturbed
into that decay which you see about you."
With that we rose from the table and returned to the room in which he
had received us. A box of cigars was produced and handed round; Nikola
made coffee with his own hands at a table in the corner, and then I
awaited the further developments that I knew would come. Presently
Nikola began to speak of the history of Venice. As I had already had
good reason to know, he had made a perfect study of it, particularly of
the part played in it by the Revecce family. He dealt with particular
emphasis upon the betrayal through the Lion's Mouth, and then, with an
apology to Glenbarth and myself for boring us with it again, referred to
the tragedy of the vaults below the room in which we were then seated.
Once more he drew back the carpet and the murderous trap-door opened. A
cold draught, suggestive of unspeakable horrors, came up to us.
"And there the starving wretch died with the moans of the woman he loved
sounding in his ears from the room above," said Nikola. "Does it not
seem that you can hear them now? For my part, I think they will echo
through all eternity."
If he had been an actor what a wonderful tragedian he would have made!
As he stood before us pointing down into the abyss he held us
spell-bound. As for Martinos, all the accumulated superstition of the
centuries seemed to be concentrated in him, and he watched Nikola's face
as if he were fascinated beyond the power of movement.
"Come," Nikola began at last, closing the trap-door and placing the rug
upon it as he spoke, "you have heard the history of the house. You shall
now do more than that! You shall see it!"
Fixing his eyes upon us he made two or three passes in the air with his
long white hands. Meanwhile, it seemed to me as if he were looking into
my brain. I tried to avert my eyes, but without success. They were
chained to his face, and I could not remove them. Then an overwhelming
feeling of drowsiness took possession of me, and I must have lost
consciousness, for I have no recollection of anything until I found
myself in a place I thought for a moment I had never seen before. And
yet after a time I recognized it. It was a bright day in the early
spring, the fresh breeze coming over the islands from the open sea was
rippling the water of the lagoons. I looked at my surroundings. I was in
Venice, and yet it was not the Venice with which I was familiar. I was
standing with Nikola upon the steps of a house, the building of which
was well-nigh completed. It was a magnificent edifice, and I could
easily understand the pride of the owner as he stood in his gondola and
surveyed it from the stretch of open water opposite. He was a tall and
handsome man, and wore a doublet and hose, shoes with large bows, and a
cloak trimmed with fur. There was also a chain of gold suspended round
his neck. Beside him was a man whom I rightly guessed to be the
architect, for presently the taller man placed his hand upon his
shoulder and praised him for the work he had done, vowing that it was
admirable. Then, at a signal, the gondolier gave a stroke of his oar and
the little vessel shot across to the steps, where they landed close to
where I was standing. I stepped back in order that they might pass, but
they took no sort of notice of my presence. Passing on, they entered the
house.
"They do not see us," said Nikola, who was beside me. "Let us enter and
hear what the famous Admiral Francesco del Revecce thinks of his
property."
We accordingly did so to find ourselves in a magnificent courtyard. In
the centre of this courtyard was a well, upon which a carver in stone
was putting the finishing touches to a design of leaves and fruit. From
here led a staircase, and this we ascended. In the different rooms
artists were to be observed at work upon the walls, depicting
sea-fights, episodes in the history of the Republic, and of the famous
master of the house. Before each the owner paused, bestowing approval,
giving advice, or suggesting such alteration or improvement as he
considered needful. In his company we visited the kitchens, the
pantler's offices, and penetrated even to the dungeons below the
water-level. Then we once more ascended to the courtyard, and stood at
the great doors while the owner took his departure in his barge, pleased
beyond measure with his new abode. Then the scene changed.
Once more I stood before the house with Nikola. It was night, but it was
not dark, for great cressets flared on either side of the door, and a
hundred torches helped to illuminate the scene. All the Great World of
Venice was making its way to the Palace Revecce that night. The first of
the series of gorgeous _fetes_ given to celebrate the nuptials of
Francesco del Revecce, the most famous sailor of the Republic, who had
twice defeated the French fleet, and who had that day married the
daughter of the Duke of Levano, was in progress. The bridegroom was
still comparatively young, he was also rich and powerful; the bride was
one of the greatest heiresses of Venice, besides being one of its
fairest daughters. Their new home was as beautiful as money and the
taste of the period could make it. Small wonder was it, therefore, that
the world hastened to pay court to them.
"Let us once more enter and look about us," said Nikola.
"One moment," I answered, drawing him back a step as he was in the act
of coming into collision with a beautiful girl who had just disembarked
from her gondola upon the arm of a grey-haired man.
"You need have no fear," he replied. "You forget that we are Spirits in
a Spirit World, and that they are not conscious of our presence."
And indeed this appeared to be the case, for no one recognized us, and
more than once I saw people approach Nikola, and, scarcely believable
though it may seem, walk through him without being the least aware of
the fact.
On this occasion the great courtyard was brilliantly illuminated. Scores
of beautiful figures were ascending the stairs continually, while
strains of music sounded from the rooms above.
"Let us ascend," said Nikola, "and see the pageant there."
It was indeed a sumptuous entertainment, and when we entered the great
reception-rooms, no fairer scene could have been witnessed in Venice. I
looked upon the bridegroom and his bride, and recognized the former as
being the man I had seen praising the architect on the skill he had
displayed in the building of the palace. He was more bravely attired
now, however, than on that occasion, and did the honours of his house
with the ease and assurance of one accustomed to uphold the dignity of
his name and position in the world. His bride was a beautiful girl, with
a pale, sweet face, and eyes that haunted one long after they had looked
at them. She was doing her best to appear happy before her guests, but
in my own heart I knew that such was not the case. Knowing what was
before her, I realized something of the misery that was weighing so
heavily upon her heart. Surrounding her were the proudest citizens of
the proudest Republic of all time. There was not one who did not do her
honour, and among the women who were her guests that night, how many
were there who envied her good fortune? Then the scene once more
changed.
This time the room was that with which I was best acquainted, the same
in which Nikola had taken up his abode. The frescoes upon the walls and
ceilings were barely dry, and Revecce was at sea again, opposing his
old enemy the French, who once more threatened an attack upon the city.
It was towards evening, and the red glow of the sunset shone upon a
woman's face, as she stood beside the table at which a man was writing.
I at once recognized her as Revecce's bride. The man himself was young
and handsome, and when he looked up at the woman and smiled, the
love-light shone in her eyes, as it had not done when she had looked
upon Revecce. There was no need for Nikola to tell me that he was Andrea
Bunopelli, the artist to whose skill the room owed its paintings.
"Art thou sure 'twill be safe, love?" asked the woman in a low voice, as
she placed her hand upon his shoulder. "Remember 'tis death to bring a
false accusation against a citizen of the Republic, and 'twill be worse
when 'tis against the great Revecce."
"I have borne that in mind," the man answered. "But there is nought to
fear, dear love. The writing will not be suspected, and I will drop it
in the Lion's Mouth myself,--and then?"
Her only answer was to bend over him and kiss him. He scattered the sand
upon the letter he had written, and when it was dry, folded it up and
placed it in his bosom. Then he kissed the woman once more and prepared
to leave the room. The whole scene was so real that I could have sworn
that he saw me as I stood watching him.
"Do not linger," she said in farewell. "I shall know no peace till you
return."
Drawing aside the curtain he disappeared, and then once more the scene
changed.
A cold wind blew across the lagoon, and there was a suspicion of coming
thunder in the air. A haggard, ragged tatterdemalion was standing on the
steps of a small door of the palace. Presently it was opened to him by
an ancient servant, who asked his business, and would have driven him
away. When he had whispered something to him, however, the other
realized that it was his master, whom he thought to be a prisoner in the
hands of the French. Then, amazed beyond measure, the man admitted him.
Having before me the discovery he was about to make, I looked at him
with pity, and when he stumbled and almost fell, I hastened forward to
pick him up, but only clasped air. At last, when his servant had told
him everything, he followed him to a distant portion of the palace,
where he was destined to remain hidden for some days, taking advantage
of the many secret passages the palace contained, and by so doing
confirming his suspicions. His wife was unfaithful to him, and the man
who had wrought his dishonour was the man to whom he had been so kind
and generous a benefactor. I seemed to crouch by his side time after
time in the narrow passage behind the arras, watching through a secret
opening the love-making going on within. I could see the figure beside
me quiver with rage and hate, until I thought he would burst in upon
them, and then the old servant would lead him away, his finger upon his
lips. How many times I stood with him there I cannot say, it is
sufficient that at last he could bear the pain no longer, and, throwing
open the secret door, entered the room and confronted the man and woman.
As I write, I can recall the trembling figures of the guilty pair, and
the woman's shriek rings in my ears even now. I can see Bunopelli rising
from the table, at which he had been seated, with the death-look in his
face. Within an hour the confession of the crime they had perpetrated
against Revecce had been written and signed, and they were separated and
made secure until the time for punishment should arrive. Then, for the
first time since he had arrived in Venice, he ordered his barge and set
off for the Council Chamber to look his accusers in the face and to
demand the right to punish those who had betrayed him.
[Illustration: "Throwing open the secret door ... he confronted them."]
When he returned his face was grim and set, and there was a look in his
eyes that had not been there before. He ascended to the room in which
there was the trap-door in the floor, and presently the wretched couple
were brought before him. In vain Bunopelli pleaded for mercy for the
woman. There was no mercy to be obtained there. I would have pleaded for
them too, but I was powerless to make myself heard. I saw the great
beads of perspiration that stood upon the man's brow, the look of
agonizing entreaty in the woman's face, and the relentless decision on
her husband's countenance. Nothing could save them now. The man was
torn, crying to the last for mercy for her, from the woman's side, the
trap-door gave a click, and he disappeared. Then they laid hands upon
the woman, and I saw them force open her mouth--but I cannot set down
the rest. My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, and though I rushed
forward in the hope of preventing their horrible task, my efforts were
as useless as before. Then, with the pitiless smile still upon the
husband's face, and the moans ascending from the vault below, and the
woman with.... The scene changed.
When I saw it again a stream of bright sunshine was flooding the room.
It was still the same apartment, and yet in a sense not the same. The
frescoes were faded upon the walls, there was a vast difference in the
shape and make of the furniture, and in certain other things, but it
was nevertheless the room in which Francesco del Revecce had taken his
terrible revenge. A tall and beautiful woman, some thirty years of age,
was standing beside the window holding a letter in her hand. She had
finished the perusal of it and was lingering with it in her hand,
looking lovingly upon the signature. At last she raised it to her lips
and kissed it passionately. Then, crossing to a cradle at the further
end of the room, she knelt beside it and looked down at the child it
contained. She had bent her head in prayer, and was still praying, when
with a start I awoke to find myself sitting beside Glenbarth and the Don
in the room in which we had been smoking after dinner. Nikola was
standing before the fireplace, and there was a look like that of death
upon his face. It was not until afterwards that the Spaniard and
Glenbarth informed me that they had witnessed exactly what I had seen.
Both, however, were at a loss to understand the meaning of the last
picture, and, having my own thoughts in my mind, I was not to be tempted
into explaining it to them. That it was Nikola's own mother, and that
this house was her property, and the same in which the infamous governor
of the Spanish Colony had made his love known to her, I could now see.
And if anything were wanting to confirm my suspicions, Nikola's face,
when my senses returned to me, was sufficient to do so.
"Let me get out of this house," cried the Duke thickly. "I cannot
breathe while I am in it. Take me away, Hatteras; for God's sake take me
away!"
I had already risen to my feet and had hastened to his side.
"I think it would be better that we should be going, Doctor Nikola," I
said, turning to our host.
The Spaniard, on his side, did not utter a word. He was so dazed as to
be beyond the power of speech. But Nikola did not seem to comprehend
what I said. Never before had I seen such a look upon his face. His
complexion was always white, now, however, it was scarcely human. For my
own part I knew what was passing in his mind, but I could give no
utterance to it.
"Come," I said to my companions, "let us return to our hotel."
They rose and began to move mechanically towards the door. The Duke had
scarcely reached it, however, before Nikola, with what I could see was a
violent effort, recovered his self-possession.
"You must forgive me," he said in almost his usual voice. "I had for the
moment forgotten my duties as host. I fear you have had but a poor
evening."
When we had donned our hats and cloaks, we accompanied him down-stairs
through the house, which was now as silent as the grave, to the great
doors upon the steps. Having hailed a gondola we entered it, after
wishing Nikola "good-night." He shook hands with Glenbarth and myself,
but I noticed that he did not offer to do so with the Don. Then we shot
out into the middle of the canal and had presently turned the corner and
were making our way towards our hotel. I am perfectly certain that
during the journey not one of us spoke. The events of the evening had
proved too much for us, and conversation was impossible. We bade
Martinos "good-night" in the hall, and then the Duke and I ascended to
our own apartments. Spirits had been placed upon the table, and I
noticed that the Duke helped himself to almost twice his usual quantity.
He looked as if he needed it.
"My God, Dick," he said, "did you see what happened in that room? Did
you see that woman kneeling with the----"
He put down his glass hurriedly and walked to the window. I could
sympathize with him, for had I not seen the same thing myself?
"It's certain, Dick," he said, when he returned a few moments later,
"that, were I to see much more of Nikola in that house, I should go
mad. But why did he let me see it? Why? Why? For Heaven's sake answer
me."
How could I tell him the thought that was in my own mind? How could I
reveal to him the awful fear that was slowly but surely taking
possession of me? Why had Nikola invited the Don to his house? Why had
he shown him the picture of that terrible crime? Like Glenbarth I could
only ask the same question--Why? Why? Why?