Benedetto, who had been pushed into the open sea in a frail bark by the Count of Monte-Cristo, had been miraculously rescued by some fishermen, and when the murderer recovered consciousness his first glance fell on the box which stood near his bed. The contents were undisturbed, the poor fishermen had not thought of opening the box which the Count of Monte-Cristo had closed again, and thus the world stood open to the wretch.

His viperous instincts had not deserted him. One evening as Benedetto lay faint and weak on the straw, he heard low murmurs of conversation in the neighboring room. He discovered that his benefactors belonged to a patriotic league similar to the Carbonari, whose object was to free Italy. On this particular evening they were discussing the question of shipping arms and ammunition to their countrymen.

The next day Benedetto, with tears in his eyes, told them that he had to depart at once, as he was expected at Lucca by a friend of his. The honest fishermen took cordial leave of him. He arrived at Lucca, got some elegant clothing there, and went to Milan, where he represented himself as Count San Pietro. His first visit was to Radetzky, to whom he denounced the fishermen who had saved his life. Radetzky took advantage of the traitor's story, captured the fishermen, had them tried by court-martial, and then shot. From that moment San Pietro became a favorite of the marshal.

The Major Bartolomeo had been formerly a croupier in a large gambling house at Lucca. Where he got his major's title from, no one knew; even his mistress, the beautiful Aurora Vertelli, was reticent on this point. When Bartolomeo came back from Paris and threw his winnings, amounting to fifty thousand francs, into the lap of the handsome Aurora Vertelli, the practical beauty said:

"Bartolomeo, suppose we open a dining-room too. You have been a croupier long enough—let us try to turn over the fifty thousand francs."

Bartolomeo gleefully assented to this proposal. They opened a magnificent place, and were soon making money hand over fist. Yet—no luck without a shadow—one evening, as Bartolomeo was receiving his guests, a tall, slim young man, whose face was disfigured by a scar, approached him, and laying his hand upon his shoulder, whispered in his ear:

"Good-evening, father."

The major trembled, and, looking with affright at the stranger, stammered:

"I do not know you, sir—it would be a great honor to me—but—"

The stranger laughed loudly, and, conducting the major to a neighboring room, impressively said:

"My dear sir, let us be candid—do you remember the name of Cavalcanti which you once wrongfully bore?"

The major grew pale, and the stranger continued unmercifully:

"If the officials were to find out that you were once a counterfeiter, it might go hard with you. Your license would be revoked, and besides—well, you understand."

The major looked about him in astonishment—who was the man who knew the secrets of his past life?

"Well, father?" mockingly said Benedetto.

"Father, father," repeated the major, dazed. "You are not—"

He mechanically opened his arms to press Benedetto to his heart.

"Not necessary," said the latter, laughing. "We are not in the Count of Monte-Cristo's house, and can dispense with tenderness."

The major sighed—for a further sum of fifty thousand francs he would have embraced ten Andreas.

"But who are you, anyhow?" he finally asked. "I thought I had heard that you—"

"Beware!" exclaimed Benedetto. "Do not refer to the past; here I am the Count of San Pietro!"

"The confidant—" stammered the major.

"Of Radetzky," added Benedetto.

"But as an Italian—"

"Keep silent and listen to me. Either you do as I say, or else I denounce you to the marshal," said Benedetto in a rough voice, and as the major bowed his head, the wretch explained to him what he wished of him. It was nothing less than to play the part of a spy.

One can call one's self a major, even play the part of a loving father for a sum of fifty thousand francs, and yet not be a traitor to one's country, and Bartolomeo, in spite of his being a criminal, was an ardent patriot; but when the count calmly said he would have Radetzky close the Casino, he gave in.

From that day the major tried to drive the Italians away from his Casino. He was pompous and disrespectful to his countrymen and polite and cordial to the Austrian officers, so that the latter were at length the only ones who came, and San Pietro's spy had very little news to report.

Aslitta, who was playing a double game, was the only one who could not be driven away. One day he took Bartolomeo aside, told him he knew his position exactly and would help him to deceive San Pietro and free Milan of the tyrant.

Bartolomeo, who until now found himself despised by his countrymen, was overjoyed; he threw himself at the feet of Aslitta, acknowledged him as his deity and vowed that he would follow him at command.

Bartolomeo arose, and as he did so he secretly resolved to square his account with Benedetto in such a way as to serve his country. He soon became the most clever of Aslitta's emissaries, and soon pictured himself as one of the most illustrious patriots of his country bedecked with laurels.

But fortune makes rapid strides. Through certain peculiar events Benedetto turned his attention to Bartolomeo and caused a strict watch to be kept upon him, and when on the evening of the 15th of March he saw him vanish from the Casino he realized all.

Night was already far advanced when he reached the damp subterranean cell of Bartolomeo and rattled the rusty hooks that held the bolts. The major having fallen into a pleasant revery in which he beheld visions of his future greatness as a martyr to duty's cause, raised his eyes and shrank back as he saw the three men, one of whom carried a cane tipped with hair of an unusual design.

"Get up, you old fool," cried the one who carried the cane, addressing the prisoner, "follow us!"

Bartolomeo rose without a murmur, and, arranging his disordered uniform, stepped between the two soldiers, who bore torches, and who rudely pushed him down a dark stair.

He was no coward, but yet he felt as though he would rather ascend to where he could at least enjoy the sunshine than go further down where it became darker and colder. They walked a considerable distance along dark passages, and halted in front of a rickety iron door. A huge key was thrust into the keyhole and slowly the bolts sprang back.

Accompanied by his guides, Bartolomeo stepped into a gloomy cavern—the torture-chamber. Heavy chains hung on the walls, blocks, tourniquets, thumbscrews, and other implements of torture lay upon the floor, while the corners contained a variety of others which the major could not recognize.

"Sit down," commanded the bearer of the cane, pointing to a block; as Bartolomeo hesitated, a well-directed blow caused him to accelerate his movements. Thereupon the man withdrew, leaving the major and the soldiers behind. The prisoner gazed timidly upon his jailers, and murmured:

"Poor prospects for me."

Although the remark was scarcely audible, a heavy blow from one of the soldiers caused him to stagger, and for the next fifteen minutes he remained silent.

At last the door was again opened and Benedetto entered; at a sign the soldiers withdrew; to his dismay, Bartolomeo saw his former son standing before him.

Benedetto wore the uniform of an Austrian officer, a kalpak was strapped over his forehead and his coat bedecked with costly gold lace. From his belt hung a dagger, whose handle was inlaid with jewels, which was partly concealed by the flowing mantle that covered his shoulders. As soon as he entered he threw off the mantle and posed, as if to dazzle Bartolomeo with the splendor of his attire.

"You know," he began, without wasting any words, "that you need expect no mercy from me."

The major remained silent, his speech failed him through the brusque manner in which he was addressed. Taking advantage of the situation, Benedetto continued:

"You have betrayed me. Don't deny it—I know all."

"I!" stammered the major, confused.

"Yes, you!—the virago has exposed you."

This remark roused the nobler qualities of Bartolomeo. He was astounded at the impudence of the knave who dared to call Aurora a virago.

"Be silent!" he cried, angrily; "and do not malign the character of a pure woman—you red-headed scoundrel!"

Benedetto moved as if to rise, but on second thoughts he remained seated, and burst into a hearty laugh.

"Your immutable confidence in your wife is to be envied, but really it is out of place here. Aurora Vertelli has confessed to me what you will doubtless deny. I forced her to admit the truth at the point of the pistol."

The major grew pale, and beneath his clinched lips a terrible feeling raged.

"Base coward! to wring a confession from a woman in such a way."

"Enough—cease your idle talk," cried Benedetto, stamping his foot nervously. "Tell me, where do the so-called patriots hold their meetings? Do not hesitate. Aslitta is a prisoner like yourself, and I desire to know the truth."

"I do not know," replied the major, with a sinister smile.

"You don't say so. I am sorry for you, for I believed that your memory would come to the rescue," said Benedetto, casting a knowing glance at the implements of torture.

Bartolomeo's heart beat fast. He knew that Benedetto was capable of any crime. Not a muscle of his face trembled as Benedetto said threateningly:

"So you will not speak!"

Bartolomeo cast a look of contempt toward him, and exclaimed: "Go to the devil!"

Benedetto clinched his fist and held it in the face of the major.

"Did you not understand me? Look here! You see those beautiful toys?" pointing to the implements of torture. "I will dismember you if you hesitate longer!"

"Tell me, what did you want," demanded the major, with a shrug of his shoulders, "at the time when you introduced me into the salon of the Count of Monte-Cristo?"

A cry of rage, uttered by Benedetto, interrupted him.

"Do not mention that name!" exclaimed the bandit, gritting his teeth. "If I kill you off and slay Aslitta it will only be to wreak my vengeance upon that man, whom I despise. Oh, he called me a galley slave once—the murderer!"

And he stopped short, his voice half choked with rage. Bartolomeo trembled visibly; and to humble him the more, Benedetto spat in his face.

The major scarcely regarded this last insult. He was busied with many reflections. How would it be if he tried to overpower Benedetto?

"Well, I am waiting," said San Pietro, after a pause; "will you speak?"

"No."

"You know that Aslitta is in my power, and you will die like him if you remain headstrong."

"Listen to me, Benedetto," said the major, earnestly. "I have lied and defrauded, but never will I consent to become a traitor to my country!"

"Well, then, come along!" cried Benedetto, seizing the major by the shoulder and shoving him to a corner of the closet. There stood an old wardrobe. Benedetto opened the door, and, by the flickering light of the torches, Bartolomeo saw the dim outlines of a human head, which stood out like a silhouette from the wall.

"Do you see that apparatus?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And do you know its purpose?"

"No."

"Then mark well what I say—you shall soon know! About a century ago an Italian nobleman was deceived by his wife, who had a liaison with one of his pages. The nobleman discovered it, but pretended ignorance in order to complete his plans for the destruction of both. One day he presented the page with a beautifully wrought helmet. As soon as the present was received, the page placed it upon his head, and, lo! it fitted him so perfectly that he could not take it off, and he died a horrible death; for as soon as it touched the forehead a concealed spring loosened and caused the helmet to drop over the head, thus choking him."

"Well," replied Bartolomeo, in suspense.

"Well, in this closet you will find the counterpart of that beautiful helmet. If you refuse to accede to my demands I shall summon aid and have you placed in the closet. A delicate attachment will push the helmet into place, and after your head has been placed inside, you will die a most horrible slow death by starvation, and that indeed is a terrible way to die."

"I am resigned," was the quick response of the major. With a strong grasp he seized Benedetto, who was unprepared for the attack, and pushed him into the wardrobe. The ominous helmet encircled his head, and, despite his struggles, he could not free himself.

Bartolomeo stopped for a moment; being a prudent man, he at once foresaw what was to be done. Throwing his green coat across his shoulders, he approached Benedetto. He tore the embroidered coat from his body, and replaced it by his own, and, together with the kalpak, which Benedetto had thrown aside, completed his toilet.

Hastily strapping the dagger to his side, he left the torture chamber. At the door he met the soldiers, who did not recognize him, and saluted him as he passed. His thoughts were not regarding his own safety—he desired to rescue Aslitta if possible.