CHAPTER XLII
LANGHETTI'S ATTEMPT.
Two days after Brandon's visit to Potts, Langhetti reached the village.
A searching examination in London had led him to believe that Beatricemight now be sought for at Brandon Hall. The police could do nothingfor him. He had no right to her. If she was of age, she was herown mistress, and must make application herself for her safety anddeliverance; if she was under age, then she must show that she wastreated with cruelty. None of these things could be done, and Langhettidespaired of accomplishing any thing.
The idea of her being once more in the power of a man like Pottswas frightful to him. This idea filled his mind continually, to theexclusion of all other thoughts. His opera was forgotten. One greathorror stood before him, and all else became of no account. The onlything for him to do was to try to save her. He could find no way, andtherefore determined to go and see Potts himself.
It was a desperate undertaking. From Beatrice's descriptions he had anidea of the life from which she had fled, and other things had given hima true idea of the character of Potts. He knew that there was scarcelyany hope before him. Yet he went, to satisfy himself by making a lasteffort.
He was hardly the man to deal with one like Potts. Sensitive,high-toned, passionate, impetuous in his feelings, he could not commandthat calmness which was the first essential in such an interview.Besides, he was broken down by anxiety and want of sleep. His sorrowfor Beatrice had disturbed all his thoughts. Food and sleep were alikeabominable to him. His fine-strung nerves and delicate organization, inwhich every feeling had been rendered more acute by his mode of life,were of that kind which could feel intensely wherever the affectionswere concerned. His material frame was too weak for the presence of suchan ardent soul. Whenever any emotion of unusual power appeared he sankrapidly.
So now, feverish, emaciated, excited to an intense degree, he appearedin Brandon to confront a cool, unemotional villain, who scarcely everlost his presence of mind. Such a contest could scarcely be an equalone. What could he bring forward which could in any way affect such aman? He had some ideas in his own mind which he imagined might be ofservice, and trusted more to impulse than any thing else. He went upearly in the morning to Brandon Hall.
Potts was at home, and did not keep Langhetti long waiting. There wasa vast contrast between these two men--the one coarse, fat, vulgar, andstrong; the other refined, slender, spiritual, and delicate, with hislarge eyes burning in their deep sockets, and a strange mystery in hisface.
"I am Paolo Langhetti," said he, abruptly--"the manager of the CoventGarden Theatre."
"You are, are you?" answered Potts, rudely; "then the sooner you get outof this the better. The devil himself couldn't be more impudent. I havejust saved my daughter from your clutches, and I'm going to pay you off,too, my fine fellow, before long."
"Your daughter!" said Langhetti. "What she is, and who she is, you verywell know. If the dead could speak they would tell a different story."
"What the devil do you mean," cried Potts, "by the dead? At any rate youare a fool; for very naturally the dead can't speak; but what concernthat has with my daughter I don't know. Mind, you are playing adangerous game in trying to bully me."
Potts spoke fiercely and menacingly. Langhetti's impetuous goal kindledto a new fervor at this insulting language. He stretched out his long,thin hand toward Potts, and said:
"I hold your life and fortune in my hand. Give up that girl whom youcall your daughter."
Potts stood for a moment staring.
"The devil you do!" he cried, at last. "Come, I call that good,rich, racy! Will your sublime Excellency have the kindness to explainyourself? If my life is in your hand it's in a devilish lean and weakone. It strikes me you've got some kink in your brain--some notion orother. Out with it, and let us see what you're driving at!"
"Do you know a man named Cigole?" said Langhetti.
"Cigole!" replied Potts, after a pause, in which he had stared hard atLanghetti; "well, what if I do? Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don't."
"He is in my power," said Langhetti, vehemently.
"Much good may he do you then, for I'm sure when he was in my power henever did any good to me."
"He will do good in this case, at any rate," said Langhetti, with aneffort at calmness. "He was connected with you in a deed which you mustremember, and can tell to the world what he knows."
"Well, what if he does?" said Potts.
"He will tell," cried Langhetti, excitedly, "the true story of theDespard murder."
"Ah!" said Potts, "now the murder's out. That's what I thought.Don't you suppose I saw through you when you first began to speak somysteriously? I knew that you had learned some wonderful story, and thatyou were going to trot it out at the right time. But if you think you'regoing to bully me you'll find it hard work.
"Cigole is in my power," said Langhetti, fiercely.
"And so you think I am, too?" sneered Potts.
"Partly so."
"Why?"
"Because he was an accomplice of yours in the Despard murder."
"So he says, no doubt; but who'll believe him?"
"He is going to turn Queen's evidence!" said Langhetti, solemnly.
"Queen's evidence!" returned Potts, contemptuously, "and what's hisevidence worth--the evidence of a man like that against a gentleman ofunblemished character?"
"He will be able to show what the character of that gentleman is,"rejoined Langhetti.
"Who will believe him?"
"No one can help it."
"You believe him, no doubt. You and he are both Italians--both dearfriends--and both enemies of mine; but suppose I prove to the worldconclusively that Cigole is such a scoundrel that his testimony isworthless?"
"You can't," cried Langhetti, furiously.
Potts cast a look of contempt at him--
"Can't I!" He resumed: "How very simple, how confiding you must be,my dear Langhetti! Let me explain my meaning. You got up a wild chargeagainst a gentleman of character and position about a murder. In thefirst place, you seem to forget that the real murderer has long sincebeen punished. That miserable devil of a Malay was very properlyconvicted at Manilla, and hanged there. It was twenty years ago. WhatEnglish court would consider the case again after a calm and impartialSpanish court has settled it finally, and punished the criminal? Theydid so at the time when the case was fresh, and I came forth honoredand triumphant. You now bring forward a man who, you hint, will makestatements against me. Suppose he does? What then? Why, I will show whatthis man is. And you, my dear Langhetti, will be the first one whom Iwill bring up against him. I will bring you up under oath, and make youtell how this Cigole--this man who testifies against me--once made acertain testimony in Sicily against a certain Langhetti senior, by whichthat certain Langhetti senior was betrayed to the Government, and wassaved only by the folly of two Englishmen, one of whom was this sameDespard. I will show that this Langhetti senior was your father,and that the son, instead of avenging, or at any rate resenting,his father's wrong, is now a bosom friend of his father's intendedmurderer--that he has urged him on against me. I will show, my dearLanghetti, how you have led a roving life, and, when a drum-major atHong Kong, won the affections of my daughter; how you followed her here,and seduced her away from a kind father; how at infinite risk I regainedher; how you came to me with audacious threats; and how only the dreadof further scandal, and my own anxious love for my daughter, preventedme from handing you over to the authorities. I will prove you to be ascoundrel of the vilest description, and, after such proof as this, whatdo you think would be the verdict of an English jury, or of any judge inany land; and what do you think would be your own fate? Answer me that."
Potts spoke with savage vehemence. The frightful truth flashed at onceacross Langhetti's mind that Potts had it in his power here to showall this to the world. He was overwhelmed. He had never conceived thepossibility of this. Potts watched him silently, with a sneer on hisface.
"Don't yo
u think that you had better go and comfort yourself with yourdear friend Cigole, your father's intended murderer?" said he at length."Cigole told me all about this long ago. He told me many things abouthis life which would be slightly damaging to his character as a witness,but I don't mind telling you that the worst thing against him in Englisheyes is his betrayal of your father. But this seems to have been a veryslight matter to you. It's odd too; I've always supposed that Italiansunderstood what vengeance means."
Langhetti's face bore an expression of agony which he could not conceal.Every word of Potts stung him to the soul. He stood for some time insilence. At last, without a word, he walked out of the room.
His brain reeled. He staggered rather than walked. Potts looked afterhim with a smile of triumph. He left the Hall and returned to thevillage.
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