Raffles: Further Adventures of the Amateur Cracksman

by E. W. Hornung

  THE FATE OF FAUSTINA

  "Mar--ga--ri, e perzo a Salvatore! Mar--ga--ri, Ma l'ommo e cacciatore! Mar--ga--ri, Nun ce aje corpa tu! Chello ch' e fatto, e fatto, un ne parlammo cchieu!"

  A piano-organ was pouring the metallic music through our open windows,while a voice of brass brayed the words, which I have since obtained,and print above for identification by such as know their Italy betterthan I. They will not thank me for reminding them of a tune so latelyepidemic in that land of aloes and blue skies; but at least it isunlikely to run in their heads as the ribald accompaniment to atragedy; and it does in mine.

  It was in the early heat of August, and the hour that of the lawful andnecessary siesta for such as turn night into day. I was thereforeshutting my window in a rage, and wondering whether I should not dothe same for Raffles, when he appeared in the silk pajamas to which thechronic solicitude of Dr. Theobald confined him from morning to night.

  "Don't do that, Bunny," said he. "I rather like that thing, and wantto listen. What sort of fellows are they to look at, by the way?"

  I put my head out to see, it being a primary rule of our quaintestablishment that Raffles must never show himself at any of thewindows. I remember now how hot the sill was to my elbows, as I leantupon it and looked down, in order to satisfy a curiosity in which Icould see no point.

  "Dirty-looking beggars," said I over my shoulder: "dark as dark; bluechins, oleaginous curls, and ear-rings; ragged as they make them, butnothing picturesque in their rags."

  "Neapolitans all over," murmured Raffles behind me; "and that's acharacteristic touch, the one fellow singing while the other grinds;they always have that out there."

  "He's rather a fine chap, the singer," said I, as the song ended. "Myhat, what teeth! He's looking up here, and grinning all round hishead; shall I chuck him anything?"

  "Well, I have no reason to love the Neapolitans; but it takes meback--it takes me back! Yes, here you are, one each."

  It was a couple of half-crowns that Raffles put into my hand, but I hadthrown them into the street for pennies before I saw what they were.Thereupon I left the Italians bowing to the mud, as well they might,and I turned to protest against such wanton waste. But Raffles waswalking up and down, his head bent, his eyes troubled; and his oneexcuse disarmed remonstrance.

  "They took me back," he repeated. "My God, how they took me back!"

  Suddenly he stopped in his stride.

  "You don't understand, Bunny, old chap; but if you like you shall. Ialways meant to tell you some day, but never felt worked up to itbefore, and it's not the kind of thing one talks about for talking'ssake. It isn't a nursery story, Bunny, and there isn't a laugh in itfrom start to finish; on the contrary, you have often asked me whatturned my hair gray, and now you are going to hear."

  This was promising, but Raffles's manner was something more. It wasunique in my memory of the man. His fine face softened and set hard byturns. I never knew it so hard. I never knew it so soft. And thesame might be said of his voice, now tender as any woman's, now flyingto the other extreme of equally unwonted ferocity. But this was towardthe end of his tale; the beginning he treated characteristicallyenough, though I could have wished for a less cavalier account of theisland of Elba, where, upon his own showing, he had met with muchhumanity.

  "Deadly, my dear Bunny, is not the word for that glorified snag, or forthe mollusks, its inhabitants. But they started by wounding my vanity,so perhaps I am prejudiced, after all. I sprung myself upon them as ashipwrecked sailor--a sole survivor--stripped in the sea and landedwithout a stitch--yet they took no more interest in me than you do inItalian organ-grinders. They were decent enough. I didn't have topick and steal for a square meal and a pair of trousers; it would havebeen more exciting if I had. But what a place! Napoleon couldn'tstand it, you remember, but he held on longer than I did. I put in afew weeks in their infernal mines, simply to pick up a smattering ofItalian; then got across to the mainland in a little woodentimber-tramp; and ungratefully glad I was to leave Elba blazing in justsuch another sunset as the one you won't forget.

  "The tramp was bound for Naples, but first it touched at Baiae, where Icarefully deserted in the night. There are too many English in Naplesitself, though I thought it would make a first happy hunting-groundwhen I knew the language better and had altered myself a bit more.Meanwhile I got a billet of several sorts on one of the loveliest spotsthat ever I struck on all my travels. The place was a vineyard, but itoverhung the sea, and I got taken on as tame sailorman and emergencybottle-washer. The wages were the noble figure of a lira and a half,which is just over a bob, a day, but there were lashings of sound winefor one and all, and better wine to bathe in. And for eight wholemonths, my boy, I was an absolutely honest man. The luxury of it,Bunny! I out-heroded Herod, wouldn't touch a grape, and went in themost delicious danger of being knifed for my principles by the thievingcrew I had joined.

  "It was the kind of place where every prospect pleases--and all therest of it--especially all the rest. But may I see it in my dreamstill I die--as it was in the beginning--before anything began tohappen. It was a wedge of rock sticking out into the bay, thatchedwith vines, and with the rummiest old house on the very edge of all, adevil of a height above the sea: you might have sat at the windows anddropped your Sullivan-ends plumb into blue water a hundred and fiftyfeet below.

  "From the garden behind the house--such a garden, Bunny--oleanders andmimosa, myrtles, rosemarys and red tangles of fiery, untamedflowers--in a corner of this garden was the top of a subterranean stairdown to the sea; at least there were nearly two hundred steps tunnelledthrough the solid rock; then an iron gate, and another eighty steps inthe open air; and last of all a cave fit for pirates,a-penny-plain-and-two-pence-colored. This cave gave upon the sweetestlittle thing in coves, all deep blue water and honest rocks; and here Ilooked after the vineyard shipping, a pot-bellied tub with a brownsail, and a sort of dingy. The tub took the wine to Naples, and thedingy was the tub's tender.

  "The house above was said to be on the identical site of a suburbanretreat of the admirable Tiberius; there was the old sinner's privatetheatre with the tiers cut clean to this day, the well where he used tofatten his lampreys on his slaves, and a ruined temple of thoseripping old Roman bricks, shallow as dominoes and ruddier than thecherry. I never was much of an antiquary, but I could have become onethere if I'd had nothing else to do; but I had lots. When I wasn'tbusy with the boats I had to trim the vines, or gather the grapes, oreven help make the wine itself in a cool, dark, musty vault underneaththe temple, that I can see and smell as I jaw. And can't I hear it andfeel it too! Squish, squash, bubble; squash, squish, guggle; and yourfeet as though you had been wading through slaughter to a throne. Yes,Bunny, you mightn't think it, but this good right foot, that never wason the wrong side of the crease when the ball left my hand, has alsobeen known to

  'crush the lees of pleasure From sanguine grapes of pain.'"

  He made a sudden pause, as though he had stumbled on the truth in jest.His face filled with lines. We were sitting in the room that had beenbare when first I saw it; there were basket-chairs and a table in itnow, all meant ostensibly for me; and hence Raffles would slip to hisbed, with schoolboy relish, at every tinkle of the bell. Thisafternoon we felt fairly safe, for Theobald had called in the morning,and Mrs. Theobald still took up much of his time. Through the openwindow we could hear the piano-organ and "Mar--gar--ri" a few hundredyards further on. I fancied Raffles was listening to it while hepaused. He shook his head abstractedly when I handed him thecigarettes; and his tone hereafter was never just what it had been.

  "I don't know, Bunny, whether you're a believer in transmigration ofsouls. I have often thought it easier to believe than lots of otherthings, and I have been pretty near believing in it myself since I hadmy being on that villa of Tiberius. The brute who had it in my day, ifhe isn't still running it with a whole skin, was or is as cold-bloodeda blackgu
ard as the worst of the emperors, but I have often thought hehad a lot in common with Tiberius. He had the great high sensual Romannose, eyes that were sinks of iniquity in themselves, and that swelledwith fatness, like the rest of him, so that he wheezed if he walked ayard; otherwise rather a fine beast to look at, with a huge graymoustache, like a flying gull, and the most courteous manners even tohis men; but one of the worst, Bunny, one of the worst that ever was.It was said that the vineyard was only his hobby; if so, he did hisbest to make his hobby pay. He used to come out from Naples for theweek-ends--in the tub when it wasn't too rough for his nerves--and hedidn't always come alone. His very name sounded unhealthy--Corbucci.I suppose I ought to add that he was a Count, though Counts aretwo-a-penny in Naples, and in season all the year round.

  "He had a little English, and liked to air it upon me, much to mydisgust; if I could not hope to conceal my nationality as yet, I atleast did not want to have it advertised; and the swine had Englishfriends. When he heard that I was bathing in November, when the bay isstill as warm as new milk, he would shake his wicked old head and say,'You are very audashuss--you are very audashuss!' and put on no end ofside before his Italians. By God, he had pitched upon the right wordunawares, and I let him know it in the end!

  "But that bathing, Bunny; it was absolutely the best I ever hadanywhere. I said just now the water was like wine; in my own mind Iused to call it blue champagne, and was rather annoyed that I had noone to admire the phrase. Otherwise I assure you that I missed my ownparticular kind very little indeed, though I often wished that YOU werethere, old chap; particularly when I went for my lonesome swim; firstthing in the morning, when the Bay was all rose-leaves, and last thingat night, when your body caught phosphorescent fire! Ah, yes, it was agood enough life for a change; a perfect paradise to lie low in;another Eden until ...

  "My poor Eve!"

  And he fetched a sigh that took away his words; then his jaws snappedtogether, and his eyes spoke terribly while he conquered his emotion.I pen the last word advisedly. I fancy it is one which I have neverused before in writing of A. J. Raffles, for I cannot at the momentrecall any other occasion upon which its use would have been justified.On resuming, however, he was not only calm, but cold; and this flyingfor safety to the other extreme is the single instance of self-distrustwhich the present Achates can record to the credit of his impiousAEneas.

  "I called the girl Eve," said he. "Her real name was Faustina, and shewas one of a vast family who hung out in a hovel on the inland borderof the vineyard. And Aphrodite rising from the sea was less wonderfuland not more beautiful than Aphrodite emerging from that hole!

  "It was the most exquisite face I ever saw or shall see in this life.Absolutely perfect features; a skin that reminded you of old gold, sodelicate was its bronze; magnificent hair, not black but nearly; andsuch eyes and teeth as would have made the fortune of a face withoutanother point. I tell you, Bunny, London would go mad about a girllike that. But I don't believe there's such another in the world.And there she was wasting her sweetness upon that lovely but desolatelittle corner of it! Well, she did not waste it upon me. I would havemarried her, and lived happily ever after in such a hovel as herpeople's--with her. Only to look at her--only to look at her for therest of my days--I could have lain low and remained dead even to you!And that's all I'm going to tell you about that, Bunny; cursed be hewho tells more! Yet don't run away with the idea that this poorFaustina was the only woman I ever cared about. I don't believe in allthat 'only' rot; nevertheless I tell you that she was the one being whoever entirely satisfied my sense of beauty; and I honestly believe Icould have chucked the world and been true to Faustina for that alone.

  "We met sometimes in the little temple I told you about, sometimesamong the vines; now by honest accident, now by flagrant design; andfound a ready-made rendezvous, romantic as one could wish, in the cavedown all those subterranean steps. Then the sea would call us--my bluechampagne--my sparkling cobalt--and there was the dingy ready to ourhand. Oh, those nights! I never knew which I liked best, the moonlitones when you sculled through silver and could see for miles, or thedark nights when the fishermen's torches stood for the sea, and a redzig-zag in the sky for old Vesuvius. We were happy. I don't mindowning it. We seemed not to have a care between us. My mates took nointerest in my affairs, and Faustina's family did not appear to botherabout her. The Count was in Naples five nights of the seven; the othertwo we sighed apart.

  "At first it was the oldest story in literature--Eden plus Eve. Theplace had been a heaven on earth before, but now it was heaven itself.So for a little; then one night, a Monday night, Faustina burst outcrying in the boat; and sobbed her story as we drifted without mishapby the mercy of the Lord. And that was almost as old a story as theother.

  "She was engaged--what! Had I never heard of it? Did I mean to upsetthe boat? What was her engagement beside our love? 'Niente, niente,'crooned Faustina, sighing yet smiling through her tears. No, but whatdid matter was that the man had threatened to stab her to theheart--and would do it as soon as look at her--that I knew.

  "I knew it merely from my knowledge of the Neapolitans, for I had noidea who the man might be. I knew it, and yet I took this detailbetter than the fact of the engagement, though now I began to laugh atboth. As if I was going to let her marry anybody else! As if a hairof her lovely head should be touched while I lived to protect her! Ihad a great mind to row away to blazes with her that very night, andnever go near the vineyard again, or let her either. But we had not alira between us at the time, and only the rags in which we sat barefootin the boat. Besides, I had to know the name of the animal who hadthreatened a woman, and such a woman as this.

  "For a long time she refused to tell me, with splendid obduracy; but Iwas as determined as she; so at last she made conditions. I was not togo and get put in prison for sticking a knife into him--he wasn't worthit--and I did promise not to stab him in the back. Faustina seemedquite satisfied, though a little puzzled by my manner, having herselfthe racial tolerance for cold steel; and next moment she had taken awaymy breath. 'It is Stefano,' she whispered, and hung her head.

  "And well she might, poor thing! Stefano, of all creatures on God'searth--for her!

  "Bunny, he was a miserable little undersizedwretch--ill-favored--servile--surly--and second only to his master inbestial cunning and hypocrisy. His face was enough for me; that waswhat I read in it, and I don't often make mistakes. He was Corbucci'sown confidential body-servant, and that alone was enough to damn him indecent eyes: always came out first on the Saturday with the spese, tohave all ready for his master and current mistress, and stayed behindon the Monday to clear and lock up. Stefano! That worm! I couldwell understand his threatening a woman with a knife; what beat me washow any woman could ever have listened to him; above all, that Faustinashould be the one! It passed my comprehension. But I questioned heras gently as I could; and her explanation was largely the thread-bareone you would expect. Her parents were so poor. They were so many infamily. Some of them begged--would I promise never to tell? Thensome of them stole--sometimes--and all knew the pains of actual want.She looked after the cows, but there were only two of them, andbrought the milk to the vineyard and elsewhere; but that was notemployment for more than one; and there were countless sisters waitingto take her place. Then he was so rich, Stefano.

  "'Rich!' I echoed. 'Stefano?'

  "'Si, Arturo mio.'

  "Yes, I played the game on that vineyard, Bunny, even to going my ownfirst name.

  "'And how comes he to be rich?' I asked, suspiciously.

  "She did not know; but he had given her such beautiful jewels; thefamily had lived on them for months, she pretending an avocat had takencharge of them for her against her marriage. But I cared nothing aboutall that.

  "'Jewels! Stefano!' I could only mutter.

  "'Perhaps the Count has paid for some of them. He is very kind.'

  "'To you, is he?'

 
"'Oh, yes, very kind.'

  "'And you would live in his house afterwards?'

  "'Not now, mia cara--not now!'

  "'No, by God you don't!' said I in English. 'But you would have doneso, eh?'

  "'Of course. That was arranged. The Count is really very kind.'

  "'Do you see anything of him when he comes here?'

  "Yes, he had sometimes brought her little presents, sweetmeats,ribbons, and the like; but the offering had always been made throughthis toad of a Stefano. Knowing the men, I now knew all. ButFaustina, she had the pure and simple heart, and the white soul, by theGod who made it, and for all her kindness to a tattered scapegrace whomade love to her in broken Italian between the ripples and the stars.She was not to know what I was, remember; and beside Corbucci and hishenchman I was the Archangel Gabriel come down to earth.

  "Well, as I lay awake that night, two more lines of Swinburne came intomy head, and came to stay:

  "God said 'Let him who wins her take And keep Faustine.'

  "On that couplet I slept at last, and it was my text and watchword whenI awoke in the morning. I forget how well you know your Swinburne,Bunny; but don't you run away with the idea that there was anythingelse in common between his Faustine and mine. For the last time let metell you that poor Faustina was the whitest and the best I ever knew.

  "Well, I was strung up for trouble when the next Saturday came, andI'll tell you what I had done. I had broken the pledge and burgledCorbucci's villa in my best manner during his absence in Naples. Notthat it gave me the slightest trouble; but no human being could havetold that I had been in, when I came out. And I had stolen nothing,mark you, but only borrowed a revolver from a drawer in the Count'sdesk, with one or two trifling accessories; for by this time I had themeasure of these damned Neapolitans. They are spry enough with aknife, but you show them the business end of a shooting-iron, andthey'll streak like rabbits for the nearest hole. But the revolverwasn't for my own use. It was for Faustina, and I taught her how touse it in the cave down there by the sea, shooting at candles stuckupon the rock. The noise in the cave was something frightful, but highup above it couldn't be heard at all, as we proved to each other'ssatisfaction pretty early in the proceedings. So now Faustina wasarmed with munitions of self-defence; and I knew enough of hercharacter to entertain no doubt as to their spirited use upon occasion.Between the two of us, in fact, our friend Stefano seemed tolerablycertain of a warm week-end.

  "But the Saturday brought word that the Count was not coming this week,being in Rome on business, and unable to return in time; so for a wholeSunday we were promised peace; and made bold plans accordingly. Therewas no further merit in hushing this thing up. 'Let him who wins hertake and keep Faustine.' Yes, but let him win her openly, or lose herand be damned to him! So on the Sunday I was going to have it out withher people--with the Count and Stefano as soon as they showed theirnoses. I had no inducement, remember, ever to return to surreptitiouslife within a cab-fare of Wormwood Scrubbs. Faustina and the Bay ofNaples were quite good enough for me. And the prehistoric man in merather exulted in the idea of fighting for my desire.

  "On the Saturday, however, we were able to meet for the last time asheretofore--just once more in secret--down there in the cave--as soonas might be after dark. Neither of us minded if we were kept forhours; each knew in the end that the other would come; and there was acharm of its own even in waiting with such knowledge. But that night Idid lose patience: not in the cave, but up above, where first on onepretext and then on another the direttore kept me going until I smelt arat. He was not given to exacting overtime, this direttore, whose onlyfault was his servile subjection to our common boss. It seemed prettyobvious, therefore, that he was acting upon some secret instructionsfrom Corbucci himself, and, the moment I suspected this, I asked him tohis face if it was not the case. And it was; he admitted it with manyshrugs, being a conveniently weak person, whom one felt almost ashamedof bullying as the occasion demanded.

  "The fact was, however, that the Count had sent for him on finding hehad to go to Rome, and had said he was very sorry to go just then, asamong other things he intended to speak to me about Faustina. Stefanohad told him all about his row with her, and moreover that it was on myaccount, which Faustina had never told me, though I had guessed as muchfor myself. Well, the Count was going to take his jackal's part forall he was worth, which was just exactly what I had expected him to do.He intended going for me on his return, but meanwhile I was not to makehay in his absence, and so this tool of a direttore had orders to keepme at it night and day. I undertook not to give the poor beast away,but at the same time told him I had not the faintest intention of doinganother stroke of work that night.

  "It was very dark, and I remember knocking my head against the orangesas I ran up the long, shallow steps which ended the journey between thedirettore's lodge and the villa itself. But at the back of the villawas the garden I spoke about, and also a bare chunk of the cliff whereit was bored by that subterranean stair. So I saw the stars closeoverhead, and the fishermen's torches far below, the coastwise lightsand the crimson hieroglyph that spelt Vesuvius, before I plunged intothe darkness of the shaft. And that was the last time I appreciatedthe unique and peaceful charm of this outlandish spot.

  "The stair was in two long flights, with an air-hole or two at the topof the upper one, but not another pin-prick till you came to the irongate at the bottom of the lower. As you may read of an infinitelylighter place, in a finer work of fiction than you are ever likely towrite, Bunny, it was 'gloomy at noon, dark as midnight at dusk, andblack as the ninth plague of Egypt at midnight.' I won't swear to myquotation, but I will to those stairs. They were as black that nightas the inside of the safest safe in the strongest strong-room in theChancery Lane Deposit. Yet I had not got far down them with my barefeet before I heard somebody else coming up in boots. You may imaginewhat a turn that gave me! It could not be Faustina, who went barefootthree seasons of the four, and yet there was Faustina waiting for medown below. What a fright she must have had! And all at once my ownblood ran cold: for the man sang like a kettle as he plodded up and up.It was, it must be, the short-winded Count himself, whom we allsupposed to be in Rome!

  "Higher he came and nearer, nearer, slowly yet hurriedly, now stoppingto cough and gasp, now taking a few steps by elephantine assault. Ishould have enjoyed the situation if it had not been for poor Faustinain the cave; as it was I was filled with nameless fears. But I couldnot resist giving that grampus Corbucci one bad moment on account. Acrazy hand-rail ran up one wall, so I carefully flattened myselfagainst the other, and he passed within six inches of me, puffing andwheezing like a brass band. I let him go a few steps higher, and thenI let him have it with both lungs.

  "Buona sera, eccellenza, signori!' I roared after him. And a screamcame down in answer--such a scream! A dozen different terrors were init; and the wheezing had stopped, with the old scoundrel's heart.

  "'Chi sta la?' he squeaked at last, gibbering and whimpering like awhipped monkey, so that I could not bear to miss his face, and got amatch all ready to strike.

  "'Arturo, signori.'

  "He didn't repeat my name, nor did he damn me in heaps. He did nothingbut wheeze for a good minute, and when he spoke it was with insinuatingcivility, in his best English.

  "'Come nearer, Arturo. You are in the lower regions down there. I wantto speak with you.'

  "'No, thanks. I'm in a hurry,' I said, and dropped that match backinto my pocket. He might be armed, and I was not.

  "'So you are in a 'urry!' and he wheezed amusement. 'And you thought Iwas still in Rome, no doubt; and so I was until this afternoon, when Icaught train at the eleventh moment, and then another train from Naplesto Pozzuoli. I have been rowed here now by a fisherman of Pozzuoli. Ihad not time to stop anywhere in Naples, but only to drive from stationto station. So I am without Stefano, Arturo, I am without Stefano.'

  "His sly voice sounded preter
naturally sly in the absolute darkness,but even through that impenetrable veil I knew it for a sham. I hadlaid hold of the hand-rail. It shook violently in my hand; he also washolding it where he stood. And these suppressed tremors, or rathertheir detection in this way, struck a strange chill to my heart, justas I was beginning to pluck it up.

  "'It is lucky for Stefano,' said I, grim as death.

  "'Ah, but you must not be too 'ard on 'im,' remonstrated the Count.'You have stole his girl, he speak with me about it, and I wish tospeak with you. It is very audashuss, Arturo, very audashuss! Perhapsyou are even going to meet her now, eh?'"

  I told him straight that I was.

  "'Then there is no 'urry, for she is not there.'

  "'You didn't see her in the cave?' I cried, too delighted at thethought to keep it to myself.

  "'I had no such fortune,' the old devil said.

  "'She is there, all the same.'

  "'I only wish I 'ad known.'

  "'And I've kept her long enough!'

  "In fact I threw this over my shoulder as I turned and went runningdown.

  "'I 'ope you will find her!' his malicious voice came croaking afterme. 'I 'ope you will--I 'ope so.'

  "And find her I did."

  Raffles had been on his feet some time, unable to sit still or tostand, moving excitedly about the room. But now he stood still enough,his elbows on the cast-iron mantelpiece, his head between his hands.

  "Dead?" I whispered.

  And he nodded to the wall.

  "There was not a sound in the cave. There was no answer to my voice.Then I went in, and my foot touched hers, and it was colder than therock ... Bunny, they had stabbed her to the heart. She had foughtthem, and they had stabbed her to the heart!"

  "You say 'they,'" I said gently, as he stood in heavy silence, his backstill turned. "I thought Stefano had been left behind?"

  Raffles was round in a flash, his face white-hot, his eyes dancingdeath.

  "He was in the cave!" he shouted. "I saw him--I spotted him--it wasbroad twilight after those stairs--and I went for him with my barehands. Not fists, Bunny; not fists for a thing like that; I meantgetting my fingers into his vile little heart and tearing it out by theroots. I was stark mad. But he had the revolver--hers. He blazed itat arm's length, and missed. And that steadied me. I had smashed hisfunny-bone against the rock before he could blaze again; the revolverfell with a rattle, but without going off; in an instant I had ittight, and the little swine at my mercy at last."

  "You didn't show him any?"

  "Mercy? With Faustina dead at my feet? I should have deserved none inthe next world if I had shown him any in this! No, I just stood overhim, with the revolver in both hands, feeling the chambers with mythumb; and as I stood he stabbed at me; but I stepped back to that one,and brought him down with a bullet in his guts.

  "'And I can spare you two or three more,' I said, for my poor girlcould not have fired a shot. 'Take that one to hell with you--andthat--and that!'

  "Then I started coughing and wheezing like the Count himself, for theplace was full of smoke. When it cleared my man was very dead, and Itipped him into the sea, to defile that rather than Faustina's cave.And then--and then--we were alone for the last time, she and I, in ourown pet haunt; and I could scarcely see her, yet I would not strike amatch, for I knew she would not have me see her as she was. I couldsay good-by to her without that. I said it; and I left her like a man,and up the first open-air steps with my head in the air and the starsall sharp in the sky; then suddenly they swam, and back I went like alunatic, to see if she was really dead, to bring her back to life ...Bunny, I can't tell you any more."

  "Not of the Count?" I murmured at last.

  "Not even of the Count," said Raffles, turning round with a sigh. "Ileft him pretty sorry for himself; but what was the good of that? Ihad taken blood for blood, and it was not Corbucci who had killedFaustina. No, the plan was his, but that was not part of the plan.They had found out about our meetings in the cave: nothing simpler thanto have me kept hard at it overhead and to carry off Faustina by bruteforce in the boat. It was their only chance, for she had said more toStefano than she had admitted to me, and more than I am going to repeatabout myself. No persuasion would have induced her to listen to himagain; so they tried force; and she drew Corbucci's revolver on them,but they had taken her by surprise, and Stefano stabbed her before shecould fire."

  "But how do you know all that?" I asked Raffles, for his tale was goingto pieces in the telling, and the tragic end of poor Faustina was noending for me.

  "Oh," said he, "I had it from Corbucci at his own revolver's point. Hewas waiting at his window, and I could have potted him at my ease wherehe stood against the light listening hard enough but not seeing athing. So he asked whether it was Stefano, and I whispered, 'Si,signore'; and then whether he had finished Arturo, and I brought thesame shot off again. He had let me in before he knew who was finishedand who was not."

  "And did you finish him?"

  "No; that was too good for Corbucci. But I bound and gagged him aboutas tight as man was ever gagged or bound, and I left him in his roomwith the shutters shut and the house locked up. The shutters of thatold place were six inches thick, and the walls nearly six feet; thatwas on the Saturday night, and the Count wasn't expected at thevineyard before the following Saturday. Meanwhile he was supposed to bein Rome. But the dead would doubtless be discovered next day, and I amafraid this would lead to his own discovery with the life still in him.I believe he figured on that himself, for he sat threatening me gamelytill the last. You never saw such a sight as he was, with his headsplit in two by a ruler tied at the back of it, and his great moustachepushed up into his bulging eyes. But I locked him up in the darkwithout a qualm, and I wished and still wish him every torment of thedamned."

  "And then?"

  "The night was still young, and within ten miles there was the best ofports in a storm, and hundreds of holds for the humble stowaway tochoose from. But I didn't want to go further than Genoa, for by thistime my Italian would wash, so I chose the old Norddeutscher Lloyd, andhad an excellent voyage in one of the boats slung in-board over thebridge. That's better than any hold, Bunny, and I did splendidly onoranges brought from the vineyard."

  "And at Genoa?"

  "At Genoa I took to my wits once more, and have been living on nothingelse ever since. But there I had to begin all over again, and at thevery bottom of the ladder. I slept in the streets. I begged. I didall manner of terrible things, rather hoping for a bad end, but nevercoming to one. Then one day I saw a white-headed old chap looking atme through a shop-window--a window I had designs upon--and when Istared at him he stared at me--and we wore the same rags. So I hadcome to that! But one reflection makes many. I had not recognizedmyself; who on earth would recognize me? London called me--and here Iam. Italy had broken my heart--and there it stays."

  Flippant as a schoolboy one moment, playful even in the bitterness ofthe next, and now no longer giving way to the feeling which had spoiltthe climax of his tale, Raffles needed knowing as I alone knew him fora right appreciation of those last words. That they were no mere wordsI know full well. That, but for the tragedy of his Italian life, thatlife would have sufficed him for years, if not for ever, I did and dostill believe. But I alone see him as I saw him then, the lines uponhis face, and the pain behind the lines; how they came to disappear,and what removed them, you will never guess. It was the one thing youwould have expected to have the opposite effect, the thing indeed thathad forced his confidence, the organ and the voice once more beneathour very windows:

  "Margarita de Parete, era a' sarta d' e' signore; se pugneva sempe e ddete pe penzare a Salvatore! "Mar--ga--ri, e perzo e Salvatore! Mar--ga--ri, Ma l'ommo e cacciatore! Mar--ga--ri, Nun ce aje corpa tu! Chello ch' e fatto, e fatto, un ne parlammo cchieu!"

  I simply stared at Raffles. Instead of deepe
ning, his lines hadvanished. He looked years younger, mischievous and merry and alert asI remembered him of old in the breathless crisis of some madcapescapade. He was holding up his finger; he was stealing to the window;he was peeping through the blind as though our side street wereScotland Yard itself; he was stealing back again, all revelry,excitement, and suspense.

  "I half thought they were after me before," said he. "That was why Imade you look. I daren't take a proper look myself, but what a jest ifthey were! What a jest!"

  "Do you mean the police?" said I.

  "The police! Bunny, do you know them and me so little that you canlook me in the face and ask such a question? My boy, I'm dead tothem--off their books--a good deal deader than being off the hooks!Why, if I went to Scotland Yard this minute, to give myself up, they'dchuck me out for a harmless lunatic. No, I fear an enemy nowadays, andI go in terror of the sometime friend, but I have the utmost confidencein the dear police."

  "Then whom do you mean?"

  "The Camorra!"

  I repeated the word with a different intonation. Not that I had neverheard of that most powerful and sinister of secret societies; but Ifailed to see on what grounds Raffles should jump to the conclusionthat these everyday organ-grinders belonged to it.

  "It was one of Corbucci's threats," said he. "If I killed him theCamorra would certainly kill me; he kept on telling me so; it was likehis cunning not to say that he would put them on my tracks whether orno."

  "He is probably a member himself!"

  "Obviously, from what he said."

  "But why on earth should you think that these fellows are?" I demanded,as that brazen voice came rasping through a second verse.

  "I don't think. It was only an idea. That thing is so thoroughlyNeapolitan, and I never heard it on a London organ before. Then again,what should bring them back here?"

  I peeped through the blind in my turn; and, to be sure, there was thefellow with the blue chin and the white teeth watching our windows,and ours only, as he bawled.

  "And why?" cried Raffles, his eyes dancing when I told him.

  "Why should they come sneaking back to us? Doesn't that looksuspicious, Bunny; doesn't that promise a lark?"

  "Not to me," I said, having the smile for once. "How many people,should you imagine, toss them five shilling for as many minutes oftheir infernal row? You seem to forget that's what you did an hourago!"

  Raffles had forgotten. His blank face confessed the fact. Thensuddenly he burst outlaughing at himself.

  "Bunny," said he, "you've no imagination, and I never knew I had somuch! Of course you're right. I only wish you were not, for there'snothing I should enjoy more than taking on another Neapolitan or two.You see, I owe them something still! I didn't settle in full. I owethem more than ever I shall pay them on this side Styx!"

  He had hardened even as he spoke: the lines and the years had comeagain, and his eyes were flint and steel, with an honest grief behindthe glitter.