Guy Boothby

When I had picked up Nikola we continued our voyage. Dawn was just breaking, and Venice appeared very strange and uncanny in the weird morning light. A cold wind was blowing in from the sea, and when I experienced its sharpness, I could not help feeling thankful that I had the foresight to bring my cloak.

"How do you know where the meeting is to take place?" I asked, after we had been travelling a few minutes.

"Because, when I am unable to find things out for myself, I have agents who can do it for me," he replied. "What would appear difficult, in reality is very simple. To reach the place in question it would be necessary for them to employ gondolas, and for the reason that, as you are aware, there are not many plying in the streets of Venice at such an early hour, it would be incumbent upon them to bespeak them beforehand. A few inquiries among the gondoliers elicited the information I wanted. That point satisfactorily settled, the rest was easy."

"And you think we shall be there in time to prevent the meeting?" I asked.

"We shall be at the rendezvous before they are," he answered. "And I have promised you they shall not fight."

Comforted by this reassuring news, I settled myself down to watch the tortuous thoroughfares through which we were passing. Presently we passed the church of St. Maria del Formosa, and later the Ducal Palace, thence out into the commencement of the Grand Canal itself. It was then that Nikola urged the gondoliers, for we had two, to greater speed. Under their powerful strokes the light little craft sped over the smooth bay, passed the island of St. Georgio Maggiore, and then turned almost due south. Then I thought of Glenbarth, and wondered what his feelings were at that moment. At last I began to have an inkling of our destination. We were proceeding in the direction of the Lido, and it was upon the sandy beach that separates the lagoons and Venice from the open sea that the duel was to be fought. Presently we landed, and Nikola said something to the gondoliers, who turned their craft and moved slowly away. After walking along the sands for some distance, we hid ourselves at a place where it was possible to see the strip of beach, while we ourselves remained hidden.

"They will not be here before another ten minutes," said Nikola, consulting his watch; "we had a good start of them."

Seating ourselves we awaited their arrival, and while we did so, Nikola talked of the value set upon human life by the inhabitants of different countries. No one was more competent to speak on such a subject than he, for he had seen it in every clime and in every phase. He spoke with a bitterness and a greater scorn for the petty vanities and aims of men than I had ever noticed in him before. Suddenly he stopped, and looking towards the left said—

"If I am not mistaken, the Duke of Glenbarth has arrived."

I looked in the direction indicated, and was able to descry the tall figure of the Duke coming along the sands. A little later two other persons made their appearance and followed him. One was undoubtedly the Don, but who was the third? As they drew closer, I discovered that he was unknown to me; not so to Nikola, however.

"Burmaceda," he said to himself, and there was an ugly sneer upon his face.

The Duke bowed ceremoniously to the two men, and the stranger, having returned his salute, knelt upon the sand, and proceeded to open a box he had brought with him. From it he produced a pair of pistols which he loaded with ostentatious care. This work finished, he took them by their barrels and gave Glenbarth his choice. The Spaniard, I noticed, was dressed entirely in black, not showing a particle of white; the Duke was attired very much as usual. When each had taken a pistol, the stranger measured the distance upon the sands and allotted them their respective positions. By this time I was in such a fever of excitement that Nikola laid his hand upon my arm to restrain me.

"Wait," he whispered. "Have I not pledged you my word that your friend shall not be hurt? Do not interrupt them yet. I have my suspicions, and am anxious to confirm them."

"'Put down your pistols,' said Nikola."

I accordingly waited, but though it was only for a few seconds it seemed to me an eternity. The two men were in position, and the stranger, I gathered, was giving them their final instructions. They were to stand with their faces turned from each other, and at the word of command were to wheel round and fire. In a flash I saw what Nikola had in his mind. The stranger was favouring the Don, for while Glenbarth would have faithfully carried out his portion of the contract, the Spaniard did not turn at all, a fact which his opponent was scarcely likely to become aware of, seeing that he would in all probability have a bullet in his heart before he would have had time to realize the trick that had been played upon him. The stranger had raised his hand above his head, and was about to give the signal, when Nikola sprang from beside me, and in a loud voice called to them to "stop." I rose to my feet at the same instant, and followed him across the sands to where the men stood.

"Put down your pistols, gentlemen," said Nikola in a voice that rang like a trumpet-call. "I forbid the duel. Your Grace, the challenge comes from you, I beg that you will apologize to Don Martinos for having sent it."

"I shall do nothing of the kind," the Duke returned.

On learning this Nikola took him on one side and talked earnestly with him for a few minutes. Then, still with his hand upon the other's arm, he led him back to where we were standing.

"I express my regret for having challenged you," said Glenbarth, but with no good grace.

"I thank you, your Grace," said Nikola. Then turning to the Don, he went on—"And now, Don Martinos, I hope you will apologize to the Duke for the insults that occasioned the challenge."

With an oath the Spaniard vowed that he was the last man to do anything of the kind. He had never apologized to any man in his life, and he was not going to do so now, with more to the same effect. Then Nikola fixed his glittering eyes upon him. His voice, however, when he spoke was as conciliatory as ever.

"To oblige me you will do it," he said, and then drawing a little closer to him he murmured something that we could not hear. The effect upon the Don was magical. His face turned a leaden hue, and for a moment I thought he would have fallen, but he recovered his self-possession with an effort, and muttered the apology Nikola had demanded of him.

"I thank you, gentlemen," said Nikola. "Now, with your permission, we will return to the city." Here he wheeled round upon the stranger, and continued:—"This is not the first of these little affairs in which you have played a part. You have been warned before, profit by it, for the time may come when it will be too late. Remember Pietro Sallomi."

I do not know who Pietro Sallomi may have been, but I know that the mere mention of his name was sufficient to take all the swagger out of the stranger. He fell to pieces like a house of cards.

"Now, gentlemen, let us be moving," said Nikola, and taking the Don with him he set off quickly in the direction of the spot where we had disembarked from the gondola. I followed with the Duke.

"My dear boy," I said, as we walked along, "why on earth did you do it? Is your life of so little value to yourself or to your friends, that you try to throw it away in this reckless fashion?"

"I am the most miserable brute on the face of the earth," he replied. "I think it would have been far better for me had I been shot back there."

"Look here, Glenbarth," I said with some anger, "if you talk nonsense in this manner, I shall begin to think that you are not accountable for your actions. What on earth have you to be so unhappy about?"

"You know very well," he answered gloomily.

"You are making yourself miserable because Miss Trevor will not marry you," I said. "You have not asked her, how therefore can you tell?"

"But she seems to prefer Don Martinos," he went on.

"Fiddlesticks!" I answered. "I'm quite certain she hasn't thought of him in that way. Now, I am going to talk plainly to you. I have made up my mind that we leave to-day for Rome. We shall spend a fortnight there, and you should have a fair opportunity of putting the question to Miss Trevor. If you can't do it in that time, well, all I can say is, that you are not the man I took you for. You must remember one thing, however: I'll have no more of this nonsense. It's all very well for a Spanish braggart to go swaggering about the world, endeavouring to put bullets into inoffensive people, but it's not the thing for an English gentleman."

"I'm sorry, Dick. Try to forgive me. You won't tell Lady Hatteras, will you?"

"She knows it already," I answered. "I don't fancy you would get much sympathy from her. Try for a moment to picture what their feelings would have been—mine may be left out of the question—if you had been lying dead on the beach yonder. Think of your relations at home. What would they have said and thought? And for what?"

"Because he insulted me," Glenbarth replied. "Was I to put up with that?"

"You should have treated him with the contempt he merited. But there, do not let us discuss the matter any further. All's well that ends well; and I don't think we shall see much more of the Don."

When we reached the gondolas Nikola took me aside.

"You had better return to the city with the Duke in one," he said; "I will take the Don back in another."

"And what about the other fellow?" I inquired.

"Let him swim if he likes," said Nikola, with a shrug of his shoulders. "By the way, I suppose you saw what took place back yonder?"

I nodded.

"Then say nothing about it," he replied. "Such matters are best kept to one's self."

It was a very sober-minded and reflective young man that sat down to breakfast with us that morning. My wife, seeing how matters stood, laid herself out to be especially kind to him. So affable indeed was she, that Miss Trevor regarded her with considerable surprise. During the meal the journey to Rome was discussed, and it was decided that I should telegraph for our old rooms, and that we should leave Venice at half-past two. This arrangement was duly carried out, and nightfall saw us well advanced on our journey to the capital. The journey is so well known that I need not attempt to describe it here. Only one incident struck me as remarkable about it. No sooner had we crossed the railway-bridge that unites Venice with the mainland, than Miss Trevor's lethargy, if I may so describe it, suddenly left her. She seemed to be her old self instantly. It was as though she had at last thrown off the load under which she had so long been staggering. She laughed and joked with my wife, teased her father, and was even inclined to be flippant with the head of the family. After the events of the morning the effect upon the Duke was just what was wanted.

In due course we reached Rome, and installed ourselves at our old quarters in the Piazza Barberini. From that moment the time we had allowed ourselves sped by on lightning wings. We seemed scarcely to have got there before it was time to go back to Venice. It was unfortunately necessary for the Dean to return to England, at the end of our stay in Rome, and though it was considerably out of his way, he proposed journeying thither by way of Venice. The change had certainly done his daughter good. She was quite her old self once more, and the listless, preoccupied air that had taken such a hold upon her in Venice had entirely disappeared.

"Make the most of the Eternal City," my wife announced at dinner on the eve of our departure, "for to-morrow morning you will look your last upon it. The dragon who has us in his power has issued his decree, and, like the laws of the Medes and Persians, it changeth not."

"A dragon?" I answered. "You should say the family scapegoat! I protest to you, my dear Dean, that it is most unfair. If it is some disagreeable duty to be performed, then it is by my order; if it is something that will bestow happiness upon another, then it is my lady that gets the credit."

"A very proper arrangement," said my wife, "as I am sure the Dean will agree with me."

"I agree with you in everything," replied the polite old gentleman. "Could I do otherwise?"

"I appeal to the Duke, then. Is it your Grace's opinion that a husband should of necessity take upon himself the properties of a dragon?"

Even that wretched young man would not stand by an old friend.

"I am not going to be drawn into an argument with you," he said. "If Lady Hatteras calls you a dragon, then a dragon you must remain until the end of the chapter, so far as I am concerned."

"Phyllis is always right," answered Miss Trevor unblushingly.

"I give in," I said in mock despair. "If you are all against me, I am undone."

It was a beautiful moonlight night when we rose from dinner, and it was arranged that our last evening in Rome should be spent in a visit to the Colosseum. A carriage was immediately ordered, and when the ladies had wrapped themselves up warmly we set off. To those unfortunate individuals who have not had an opportunity of visiting that ancient structure, I can only justify my incompetency by saying that it would be well-nigh impossible to furnish a description that would give them an adequate idea of the feeling of awe it inspires in one. By moonlight it presents a picture that for solemn grandeur is, to my thinking, without its equal in the world. Pompeii by moonlight suggests reflections. The great square of St. Mark's in Venice seen by the same mellow light is a sight never to be forgotten; but in my humble opinion the Colosseum eclipses them all. We entered it and stood in the great ring looking up at the tiers of seats, and recalling its Past. The Dean was profoundly impressed, and spoke of the men who had given up their lives in martyrdom within those great walls.

"How many of the crowd gathered here to witness the agony of the tortured Christians," he said, "believed that the very religion which they so heartily despised was destined to sway the world, and to see the mighty Colosseum and the mightier Power that built it, a ruin? It is a wonderful thought."

After the Dean's speech we crossed to a spot where a better view was obtainable. It was only then that we discovered that the Duke and Miss Trevor were not of our party. When, however, it was time to return they emerged from the shadow and followed us out. Both were unusually silent, and my wife, putting two and two together in her own fashion, came to the conclusion that they had quarrelled. When, later on, the Duke and I were alone together, and the ladies and the Dean had retired to their respective rooms, I was about to take him to task when he stopped me.

"Dick, old man," he said with a solemnity that could not have been greater had he been telling me of some great tragedy, "I want you to give me your congratulations. Miss Trevor has consented to become my wife."

I was so surprised that I scarcely knew what to do or say.

"Good gracious, man!—then why are you so downcast?" I replied. "I had made up my mind that she had refused you!"

"I am far from being downcast," he said as solemnly as before. "I am the happiest man in the world. Can't you understand how I feel? Somehow—now that it is over, and I have won her—it seems so great a thing that it almost overwhelms me. You don't know, Dick, how proud I am that she should have taken me!"

"And so you ought to be," I said enthusiastically. "You'll have a splendid wife, and I know you'll make a good husband."

"I don't deserve it, Dick," he continued in humiliating self-abasement. "She is too good for me, much too good."

"I remember that I said the same thing myself," I replied. "Come to me in five years' time and let me hear what you have to say then."

"Confound you," he answered; "why do you talk like that?"

"Because it's the way of the world, my lad," I answered. "But there, you'll learn all for yourself soon enough. Now let me order a whisky-and-potash for you, and then off you go to bed."

"A whisky-and-potash?" he cried, with horror depicted on his face. "Do you think I'm going to drink whisky on the night that she has accepted me? You must be mad."

"Well, have your own way," I answered. "For my own part, I have no such scruples. I have been married too long."

I rang the bell, and, when my refreshment was brought to me, drank it slowly, as became a philosopher.

It would appear that Miss Trevor had already told my wife, for I was destined to listen to a considerable amount of information concerning it before I was allowed to close my eyes that night.

"I always said that they were suited to each other," she observed. "She will make an ideal Duchess, and I think he may consider himself a very lucky fellow. What did he say about it?"

"He admitted that he was not nearly good enough for her."

"That was nice of him. And what did you say?"

"I told him to come to me in five years' time and let me hear what he had to say then," I answered with a yawn.

I had an idea that I should get into trouble over that remark, and I was not mistaken. I was told that it was an unfeeling thing to have said, that it was not the sort of idea to put into a young man's head at such a time, and that if every one had such a good wife as some other people she could name, they would have reason to thank their good fortune.

"If I am not mistaken, you told me you were not good enough for me when I accepted you," she retorted. "What do you say now?"

"Exactly what I said then," I answered diplomatically. "I am not good enough for you. You should have married the Dean."

"Don't be absurd. The Dean is a dear old thing, but is old enough to be my father."

"He will be Glenbarth's father-in-law directly," I said with a chuckle, "and then that young man will have to drink his claret and listen to his sermons. In consideration of that I will forgive him all his sins against me."

Then I fell asleep, to dream that I was a rival of St. George chasing a dragon over the seats of the Colosseum; to find, when I had run him to earth, that he had assumed human shape, and was no other than my old friend the Dean of Bedminster.

Next morning the young couple's behaviour at breakfast was circumspection itself. The worthy old Dean ate his breakfast unconscious of the shell that was to be dropped into his camp an hour later, while my wife purred approval over the teapot. Meanwhile I wondered what Nikola would have to say when he heard of the engagement. After the meal was over we left the Duke and Dean together. Somehow, I don't think Glenbarth was exactly at his ease, but when he reappeared half-an-hour later and shook me by the hand, he vowed that the old gentleman was the biggest trump in the world, and that I was the next. From this I gathered that the matter had been satisfactorily settled, and that, so far as parental consent was concerned, Miss Gertrude Trevor was likely to become the Duchess of Glenbarth without any unnecessary delay. Though there was not much time to spare before our train started, there was still sufficient for the lovers to make a journey to the Piazza di Trevi, where a magnificent diamond ring was purchased to celebrate the engagement. A bracelet that would have made any woman's mouth water was also dedicated to the same purpose. A memorial bracelet on the Etruscan model was next purchased for my wife, and was handed to her later on by her grateful friends.

"You did so much for us," said the Duke simply, when Miss Trevor made the presentation.

My lady thereupon kissed Miss Trevor and thanked the Duke, while I looked on in amazement.

"Come, now," I said, "I call that scarcely fair. Is the poor dragon to receive nothing? I was under the impression that I had done more than any one to bring about this happy result."

"You shall have our gratitude," Miss Trevor replied. "That would be so nice, wouldn't it?"

"We'll see what the Duke says in five years," I answered, and with this Parthian shot I left them.

Next morning we reached Venice. The journey had been a very pleasant one, but I must say that I was not sorry when it was over. The picture of two young lovers, gazing with devotion into each other's eyes hour after hour, is apt to pall upon one. We had left Mestre behind us, and were approaching the bridge I have described before as connecting Venice with the mainland, when I noticed that Gertrude Trevor had suddenly become silent and preoccupied. She had a headache, she declared to my wife, but thought it would soon pass off. On reaching the railway-station we chartered a barca to take us to our hotel. When we reached it, Galaghetti was on the steps to receive us. His honest face beamed with satisfaction, and the compliments he paid my wife when she set foot upon the steps, were such as to cover her with confusion. I directed my party to go up-stairs, and then drew the old man on one side.

"Don JosÈ de Martinos?" I asked, knowing that it was sufficient merely to mention his name.

"He is gone, my lord," Galaghetti replied. "Since he was a friend of yours, I am sorry I could keep him no longer. Perhaps your lordship does not know that he has gambled all his money away, and that he has not even enough left to discharge his indebtedness to me."

"I certainly did not know it," I replied. "And I am sorry to hear it. Where is he now?"

"I could not say," Galaghetti replied. "But doubtless I could find out if your lordship desires to know."

"You need not do that," I answered. "I merely asked out of curiosity. Don Martinos was no friend of mine."

Then, bidding him good-day, I made my way up-stairs, turning over in my mind what I had heard. I was not at all surprised to hear that the Don had come to grief, though I had not expected that the catastrophe would happen in so short a time. It was satisfactory to know, however, that in all probability he would never trouble us again.

That afternoon, according to custom, we spent an hour at Florian's cafÉ. The Duke and Gertrude strolled up and down, while my wife drew my attention to their happiness. I had on several occasions sang Glenbarth's praises to the Dean, and as a result the old gentleman was charmed with his future son-in-law, and seemed to think that the summit of his ambition had been achieved. During our sojourn on the piazza I kept my eyes open, for I was in hopes of seeing Nikola, but I saw nothing of him. If I was not successful in that way, however, I was more so in another. I had found a budget of letters awaiting me on my return from Rome, and as two of them necessitated my sending telegrams to England, I allowed the rest of the party to return to hotel by boat, while I made my way to the telegraph-office. Having sent them off, I walked on to the Rio del Barcaroli, engaged a gondola there, and was about to step into it, when I became aware of a man watching me. He proved to be none other than the Spaniard, Don Martinos, but so great was the change in him that for a moment I scarcely recognized him. Though only a fortnight had elapsed since I had last seen him, he had shrunk to what was only a shadow of his former self. His face was of a pasty, fishy whiteness, and his eyes had a light in them that I had not seen there before. For the moment I thought he had been drinking, and that his unnatural appearance was the result. Remembering his murderous intention on the morning of the frustrated duel, I felt inclined not to speak to him. My pity, however, got the better of me, and I bade him good-day. He did not return my salutation, however, but looked at me as if I were some one he had seen before, but could not remember where. I then addressed him by name.

In reply he beckoned to me to follow him out of earshot of the gondolier.

"I cannot remember your name," he said, gripping me by the arm, "but I know that I have met you before. I cannot remember anything now because—because——" Here he paused and put his hand to his forehead as if he were in pain. I endeavoured to make him understand who I was, but without success. He shook his head and looked at me, talking for a moment in Italian, then in Spanish, with interludes of English. A more pitiable condition for a man to get into could scarcely be imagined. At last I tried him with a question I thought might have some effect upon him.

"Have you met Doctor Nikola lately?" I inquired.

The effect it produced upon him was instantaneous. He shrunk from me as if he had been struck, and, leaning against the wall of the house behind him, trembled like an aspen leaf. For a man usually so self-assertive—one might almost say so aggressive—here was a terrible change. I was more than ever at a loss to account for it. He was the last man I should have thought would have been taken in such a way.

"Don't tell him; you must not tell him, promise me that you will not do so," he whispered in English. "He would punish me if he knew, and—and——" Here he fell to whimpering like a child who feared chastisement. It was not a pretty exhibition, and I was more shocked by it than I can say. At this juncture I remembered the fact that he was without means, and as my heart had been touched by his pathetic condition, I was anxious to render him such assistance as was in my power. For this reason I endeavoured to press a loan upon him, telling him that he could repay me when things brightened.

"No, no," he answered, with a flash of his old spirit; then he added in a whisper, "He would know of it!"

"Who would know of it?" I asked.

"Doctor Nikola," he answered. Then laying his hand upon my arm again, and placing his mouth close to my ear as if he were anxious to make sure that no one else should hear, he went on, "I would rather die of starvation in the streets than fall into his hands. Look at me," he continued, after a moment's pause. "Look what I am! I tell you he has got me body and soul. I cannot escape from him. I have no will but his, and he is killing me inch by inch. I have tried to escape, but it is impossible. If I were on the other side of the world and he wanted me I should be obliged to come." Then with another change as swift as thought he began to defy Nikola, vowing that he would go away, and that nothing should ever induce him to see him again. But a moment later he was back in his old condition once more.

"Farewell, Senor," he whispered. "I must be going. There is no time to lose. He is awaiting me."

"But you have not told me where you are living now?"

"Cannot you guess?" he answered, still in the same curious voice. "My home is the Palace Revecce in the Rio del Consiglio."

Here was surprise indeed! The Don had gone to live with Nikola. Was it kindness that had induced the latter to take him in? If not, what were his reasons for so doing?