Chapter XII: The Restaurant Napolitain

One of my most thrilling adventures was the result of my desire to look out of as many of life’s windows as one may. My friend Dr. Rodaccini, an Italian physician, practising among his compatriots in London, being aware of my insatiable curiosity, suggested to me that I might find something of interest in a function to which he had been invited. It was a ball given by the restaurant keepers, and waiters, who had come from a certain district in Italy, and who associated themselves in a sort of club. Dr. Rodaccini, as the physician to whom most of them went when attacked by illness, was to be an honoured guest. He invited me to go with him, and I went.

The ball was held in a street off Leicester Square, in a series of good-sized rooms, which I understood were, in the ordinary way, used by theatrical companies for purposes of rehearsal. The rooms were filled by as cheerful, light-hearted, well-dressed an assembly as one might wish to see. Every one danced; girls and boys in their early teens, men and women with snowy hair.

Not long before I had been to Italy on one of those errands which sometimes did take me abroad; an institute had been established for the oral instruction of the deaf and dumb, and my services had been retained to assist the staff in putting the work on a sound footing. I have, as I may have remarked before, what is called the gift of tongues, and I had come back to London knowing Italian almost as well as my mother tongue. The dancers struck me as a whole as being like a lot of grown-up children, and I saw with amusement the distinctly odd things which some of them said to each other. Then, all at once, amid the general gaiety, I came upon what might be the beginning of a tragedy.

The band was playing a waltz. I had had as partner a very energetic gentleman, whose name I had not caught. A few turns round the room at his idea of what was the proper rate of speed to dance a waltz was enough for me. “Let’s rest,” I said--so we rested. I was rather put to it for breath, but he, who was by no means as young as he had been, and was shaped like a barrel, was positively gasping. Chairs were not so plentiful as they might have been. We stood by an open doorway through which I hoped some air might come. I glanced about me. I had noticed all the evening an extremely pretty, fair-haired girl who had been an object of much attention from the men. When an Italian girl has fair hair she is nearly always worth looking at--this one was lovely. So a good many of the men seemed to think. Her partner of the moment was, in his way, almost as good-looking as she was; one did not need to have as good eyes as I have to suspect that they would have liked to be partners in something more than a dance. As I watched them, a short, broad, stout man, with a round, bald head, and no neck, took the girl’s partner by the arm and drew him away from her. The girl’s face had been all smiles and gaiety, but at sight of him she changed countenance, shrank away from her partner, and slunk off towards the other end of the room. Her act was eloquent. The big man drew the younger towards the wall, and going close up to him, whispered in his ear. No doubt his intention was that his words should be private and confidential, but as I had my eyes upon his face, and he had one of the most easily read mouths I ever saw, what he whispered was plain enough to me.

“It is not enough to warn you?--Good!--You have been warned for the last time. I do not waste words on such as you.”

The big man gave the youngster a contemptuous push which sent him cannoning against an advancing couple, and came with the little, rapid steps of a short-legged, fat man towards where I was standing. Just as he had nearly reached us the couple with whom the youngster had collided stopped within a couple of feet of where we were. The big man instantly addressed the lady, again in what he no doubt meant to be a confidential whisper.

“Pardon, madam, if I speak to Gaspare--for one moment. It is important.”

The lady yielded her partner with what struck me as a curious smile. Indeed, there was a curious smile on Gaspare’s face as he went off with the big man--and the big man himself was smiling. There was something about the fashion in which these three people smiled which gave me quite a shiver. One felt, somehow, that with neither of them was it natural to smile. When the big man and Gaspare had passed through the open doorway by which we were standing I said to my companion:

“Do you happen to know who that gentleman with the bald head may be?”

He replied--as if he knew him well:

“That is Signor Alessandro of the Restaurant Napolitain, in Greek Street. His restaurant is well known. You find there macaroni, spaghetti, and all that, in a hundred different ways. He is a rich man, Signor Alessandro--a man who is well esteemed.”

He might be; but somehow I felt that he never would be esteemed by me. I have been told that it is because I am a woman that I like and dislike so hastily--but I do; and the moment I saw Signor Alessandro, the well-esteemed proprietor of the Restaurant Napolitain in Greek Street, I disliked him.

I disliked him still more when, a short time afterwards, I saw him walking off with the fair-haired girl, her arm through his, as if she were an unwilling captive. She was not looking very gay then. Her cheeks were white; fear was in her eyes. The good-looking youngster with whom she had been dancing stood against the wall as she went past. She never glanced at him--I felt she dare not--but the big man whispered--I saw his words quite distinctly:

“I will settle with you to-night.”

Although he did his best to meet the other’s gaze, I had a notion that the muscles of the young man’s face were twitching; Signor Alessandro smiled. I was sure he squeezed the girl’s arm with unpleasant force--I saw her start. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, as if both afraid and ashamed. The young man made as if he would have rushed after the vanishing pair, but he was stopped by some one who touched him on the arm; it was the lady with whom Gaspare had been dancing. She whispered in her turn, and I saw her words. She spoke the broadest Neapolitan.

“Are you, then, in such a hurry for the finish?”

She just whispered her question and went on; and that young man seemed to cling to the wall as if it were a friend.

I suppose I was the only one present who had been conscious of the drama which was brewing. My instinct told me there was more to come, but I did not know that there would be so short an interval between the first and second acts.

When I had had enough of the dance I left. It was a lovely night--even in that street off Leicester Square. Dr. Rodaccini suggested that we should stroll a little before he put me into a cab. I was willing. He took me along a street whose name I do not know. Presently we came to a house with an archway which led, it seemed, into some sort of yard. In this archway some one was lying. I saw him first--I stooped to see what was wrong. It was the youngster who had danced with the fair-haired girl. He lay on his face, quite still.

“Doctor,” I cried, “what’s the matter with him?”

But somehow I knew before I was told--a knife had been driven into his back, and he was dead. The thing made me hot with rage; it seemed so hideous, so monstrous, so cruel, so out of harmony with all that had gone before--that he should have been struck down and killed almost on the threshold of the ballroom by a coward who had not even dared to attack him from the front. When others came to render what assistance they might I stole away. I do get into great furies sometimes. It seems to me that horrible wickedness forces one to be furious. The sight of that dead young man recalled Signor Alessandro, of the Restaurant Napolitain; how he had whispered that he would settle with him that night. He had kept his promise within a few minutes of its being given--this was the settlement. Now I would settle with him.

I had no evidence to take to the police. I could not say to them--I know it is this man who did it because of certain words which I saw him whisper. They would want more evidence than a whisper that I had not heard, but seen--they would be right in wanting it. I meant to get that evidence in my own way. I had some idea of the whereabouts of Greek Street--I would find the Restaurant Napolitain.

I had to be directed twice--by a policeman and the driver of a taxi-cab; they both stared at me as if they wondered what I would be at, marching over the pavements, in full evening-dress, in search of Greek Street. At last I came to it. There was the name on the wall at the corner.

As I stood there I became conscious that a man was on the pavement on the other side of the road. A window opened in the house in front of which he was standing. A woman put her head out. I knew her--she was the woman who had been dancing with Gaspare. Then I knew that the man on the pavement was Gaspare. The electric light shone on the woman’s face so that I saw it as clearly as if it had been the brightest day. She spoke as before in the Neapolitan of the streets. She began with a question.

“Well, is it done, the little business with Emilio?”

He said something which I could not see, since his back was towards me, but I could guess what it was from her rejoinder.

“That is fifty pounds in your pocket--and also mine--eh, Gaspare?”

Again I could not see what he said, but it made her laugh. Then, diverting her attention for a moment from her friend, she saw me.

“Hush!” she said, “there is some one opposite; I will see you to-morrow, at the usual time.” She withdrew her head--then instantly put it out again. “Bring the money--my share!”

Again she laughed--and again withdrew. This time the window shut and the blind came down--and the man on the pavement turned, and, with his hands in his pockets, stood and looked at me.

I was not in the least afraid of him--although I knew that only a few minutes before he had murdered that young man, like a coward, for the sum of fifty pounds. If any good purpose would have been served I would have gone across to him and said a word or two which would have surprised him. He might have tried to put his knife into me--but I don’t think he would have succeeded.

But what I wished to do could not be done by confronting him; he was the mere tool, the hireling, whose price, apparently, was fifty pounds, of which the woman who had so odd a sense of humour would have her share. I wanted the man who had paid the money, the master, the man who found everything in his purse--even murder. So I waited to see what the gentleman on the other side of the road would do.

It seemed that he did not know what to make of me, and presently he crossed the road to see if he could succeed better if he had a nearer view. I still waited. He came right up to me and stared me in the face. I did not move. I fancy he knew still less what to make of me when he saw me closer.

“You have been to the ball?” he asked. I said nothing. “Are you deaf, or do you not understand Italian?” When I still said nothing, he tried again. “You speak English--only?” He himself spoke English rather well. When I still said nothing, it began to dawn on him that I meant to say nothing. He shrugged his shoulders. “Very well; I wish you good night, miss. I hope you will not catch cold.”

With his hands in his coat-pockets he strolled off down Greek Street. I turned and watched him as he went. This was an impudent villain--with an assurance which was amazing. Perhaps the blood was still wet on his hands--the knife secreted somewhere on his person--yet he bore himself with an air of greater ease than I did. His was the coolness, within and without, of the man whose conscience was at peace; while I--I was burning. I watched him as he went--he was so entirely at his ease that he did not even take the trouble to look round to see if I was doing so. He paused under a lamp which, attached to a building, projected over the pavement. At that hour--it was perhaps two hours after midnight on a summer morning--the lamp was unlighted; I wondered if, when lighted, it served as an advertisement of the Restaurant Napolitain. He rapped at the door with his knuckles; somebody must have been awaiting him--he was almost instantly admitted.

When he was in I strolled up the other side of the road. It was as I thought--the lamp was an advertisement. It was by no means a large or a pretentious establishment. Over a small window, which was divided into three long panes, was a board--“Restaurant Napolitain. Alessandro.” Exactly; it was all as I had expected--was Gaspare being paid for the work he had done? Almost exactly opposite was an entry which ran by a picture theatre. I drew a little back into it and waited.

Not very long. Hardly ten minutes. Then the door of the restaurant opened--two men came out--Signori Gaspare and Alessandro. I could hear their voices, but I could not see their faces. After a few words they parted--Gaspare went back down the street, Alessandro came out on to the pavement, in search, perhaps, of the clean air, which he certainly must have wanted. He remained there after Gaspare had turned the corner. As he was about to return indoors, I darted out of my entry and quickly crossed to him.

“I want to speak to you,” I said.

He turned and looked at me.

“Pardon?” It was a question--he was probably wondering where I had come from; a second before the street had been empty.

“I want to speak to you,” I repeated. “I’ll come inside.”

I was inside before he guessed my intention and he was still on the doorstep. Clearly this was a restaurant; in the uncertain light I could see the marble tables. Presently he followed, coming closer to me than I liked.

“What do you mean by coming into my place like this? I will have no nonsense. You make a mistake if you think so.”

Possibly he mistook me for some improper character, whose intentions were of the worst. I did my best to disabuse him. I had no clear plan of action, I just felt that I wanted to strike--and I struck.

“That fellow Gaspare, with whom you were talking, has just killed a young man named Emilio.”

I could not see his face very clearly, but I think it very probable that he was startled.

“Of what are you talking?” He spoke very quietly. He was one of those big men with soft voices, whom a wise woman never trusts.

“You know very well of what I’m talking. He killed him at your instigation; you’ve just paid him fifty pounds for doing it.”

I rather lost my head, or I should have chosen my words more carefully, or felt my way a little first. I knew the man was dangerous. He pushed the street door to--the hinges must have been well oiled; it shut without a sound.

“Don’t you dare to touch me!” I was a little scared; the darkness was like a shroud; the silence was ominous.

“Come,” he said, “I want to talk to you.”

He gripped me by the wrist and began to pull me along. My wrists are not made of putty; his must have been made of steel. Besides, he took me unawares--I was powerless to offer any effectual resistance. I caught at a marble table as we passed. He snatched me away without pausing in his stride. He must have had cat’s eyes; he steered through the various impedimenta without coming into contact with so much as a chair.

We came to a door, which he opened. We were in a passage with stairs and a light somewhere above.

“I advise you to release me,” I told him, “and to be careful what you do. However it may be in Naples, you can’t commit murder with impunity here.”

He said nothing, but he caught me in some way by the shoulders and began to run me up those stairs as if it had been level ground. I am agile, but his agility was amazing. I have heard of men called “chuckers out,” who spend their lives in ridding public-houses, and similar places, of unwelcome characters, regardless of their size or disposition to be violent. Even in the midst of my rage, as he hustled me up the stairs, I caught myself wondering if he had ever been a chucker out--he handled me with a skill which must have been the fruit of experience.

We came to a landing; he swung me round a corner and along a passage; at the end there was a door through which he thrust me; having done so, he shut it, and I heard him turn the key. He himself remained outside. All was still--there was not a sound to show what he might be doing.

It would be silly to attempt to describe my feelings--they were chaotic. For some seconds I stood shaking with rage and gasping for breath. I realized what an idiot I had been in saying nothing to Dr. Rodaccini, to the police, to anyone, before turning out on this mad adventure. No one had a notion where I was. If Signor Alessandro chose to make an end of me in any of the various ways of which he was doubtless master my fate might remain undiscovered for all eternity--how was anyone to guess that in such an insane fashion I had visited the Restaurant Napolitain?

When I again became, in some degree, mistress of myself I tried to think what was the best thing I could do. My first impulse was to resort to the feminine device of screaming, to make the night hideous with my yells and screams. My feelings would have been relieved if I had done so if no other benefit had ensued. But I caught my tongue between my teeth just as I was starting, and waited for the impulse to pass.

If I had been a man I should have had matches about me somewhere, and I should have been able to see in what sort of place I was. Being a matchless woman I had to feel. First along the wall. I was in a good-sized room--I took twelve fairly long steps before I came to a corner which showed I was at the end of it. It seemed to be a sitting-room; there were chairs and a couch and a table. When I came to the table something caused me to put up my hand. I touched something overhead--it was the bulb of an electric light. It suggested that the room was lighted by electricity; then in that case somewhere about it there ought to be a switch. I got back to the wall, moved slowly along it, feeling up and down for what I sought. I came to a fire-place, then to something which I knew was the push-piece of an electric bell. I pressed my thumb upon it and kept it there; if a bell was ringing it was beyond my hearing, and anyhow, I didn’t want anyone to come into that room while it was still in pitchy darkness. I pursued my investigations--and found what I sought. In an instant the room was lit in a fashion which after the previous darkness was almost dazzling.

It was a sitting-room. There were two doors; one which I took to be that through which I had been propelled; and a second, by the fire-place, which perhaps led to an adjoining apartment. What I took to be the window was guarded by heavy dark green curtains. When I drew them I found that behind were iron shutters, painted white; there was nothing to show if there was a window on the other side, or if they were ever opened.

I sat down on a chair feeling rather bewildered. Clearly this was a curious place I was in. It was necessary that I should regain my presence of mind, and get hold of as much common sense as I could. Soon my courage, which had gone a little at the knees, stood up straight again. Probably, if I stayed there, sooner or later Signor Alessandro would return, and I ought to be prepared to meet him. I looked round for something which I could use as a weapon. There was a poker standing up against the fire-place, but I did not fancy that a poker would be of much service against him.

I examined the doors, first the one through which I had come, striking the panels, first with my open palm and then with my clenched fist. It was as solidly constructed a door as I have met; it would need a great deal of breaking down.

Then I went to the other door. There was a small brass bolt my side. I drew it back--nothing resulted. I had seen that kind of door before--there was probably a bolt on either side. I got that poker, gripped it hard, and brought the point with all my force against the panel. I did it twice--the third time the point went through. I used that poker as a lever and broke away enough of the woodwork to enable me to insert my hand and arm. I felt for the bolt which I believed to be on the other side--and found it--slipped it back, and the door was open.

I waited to see what was going to happen next. This might be a trap--there might be some one in that room waiting for me to enter. There seemed to be no one. I looked through the open door; it was a sleeping apartment. There was a bed, the usual equipments of a bedroom; I entered. The room was certainly empty. By aid of the light which came from the room I had just left I saw that there was a switch near to the bed. When I got the room lighted I saw something which pleased me almost more than anything else could possibly have done.

In that bedroom there was a telephone; there was the receiver on the mantelpiece. I rushed to it. With what anxiety I waited to learn if my call had been heard! It might be a telephone for domestic purposes only; if so I had better be careful what I said, Signor Alessandro might be at the other end. No, it was the kind of telephone I wanted. In a second or two there came the operator’s familiar query:

“What number, please?”

I asked for a number which I knew very well. There was another interval of waiting, during which I do believe I heard my own heart beating. Then there came the operator’s voice again.

“You’re on.”

And, almost in the same instant, there came another voice.

“Who are you?”

I dare say my voice trembled as I asked a question in my turn.

“Is that Scotland Yard?”

“Yes--who is speaking?”

I fancy I very nearly jumped--I knew I was within reach of a friend.

“Judith Lee. Can I speak to Inspector Ellis?”

“If you’ll hold the wire, Miss Lee, I’ll ascertain.”

I held the wire--I did hope they would not cut me off. What seemed to me at that moment to be the faintest voice I had ever heard answered before they had a chance.

“I’m here--just come in and just going out. What’s up?”

“I’m up--a tree.”

I fancy my voice quavered, and that a smile came back along the wire.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Lee. Can we do anything to help you down? Where are you?”

“I’m in the Restaurant Napolitain, in Greek Street, which I believe belongs to a man named Alessandro.”

“We know the gentleman very well. What on earth are you doing there?”

“There’s been murder done--in a street near Leicester Square.”

“How do you know that? The report has only just come in.”

“A young man named Emilio has been murdered by a man named Gaspare, at the instigation of the Alessandro who owns this restaurant; I believe he paid Gaspare fifty pounds for doing it. I can’t stop to tell you how I know it; but perhaps you can guess. Instead of like a wise person communicating at once with you, I was so wild with rage at the cruelty of the thing that I was idiot enough to think I could tackle Alessandro single-handed. He has locked me in a room on the first floor of his restaurant, which seems to have no window, and which I can’t get out of.”

A cheery voice came back.

“That’s all right.” It did not seem to be all right to me. “We’ve had an eye on Signor Alessandro and his Restaurant Napolitain for a good long time. I’m obliged to you for putting the game into our hands. We shall probably be with you inside ten minutes.”

“Mind you are.”

Whether he heard or not I could not determine; there came no answer. I asked twice if anyone was there, but as no voice came back I took it that I had been disconnected. All I could do was to wait for deliverance to come. Ten minutes was not a very long time, even placed as I was, but I earnestly trusted that that period of time might not be very much exceeded.

They seemed to me to be a pretty long ten minutes. I had no means of knowing how the time was passing. There was a clock on the sitting-room mantelpiece, but it had stopped, and apparently wanted winding up, because it declined to go even when I set the pendulum swinging. There were no signs of any key with which to wind it--so I actually started to count six hundred slowly; at least that might give me some idea of how the minutes were going. I had got as far as three hundred--half the allotted period--when I caught the sound of a footstep in the passage without. It was not a very audible footstep, but my ears were wide open. Then I heard some one turning the key in the lock.

I had still that poker in my hand, and something in the feel of it not only set my courage up but gave me an idea. I thought of taking refuge in the bedroom; a moment’s reflection told me that I should gain nothing by doing that; I should be just as accessible to whoever might want me. I would try another way. First of all I switched the light off, then I stood by the side of the door at which it opened, and I held that poker tight; and the moment the door began to open, and I dimly saw the figure of a man without, I raised that poker above my head, and I brought it down with all my might.

Something had happened to some one--some one who went down on to the floor with quite a thud. I leaped right over him. There, in the passage beyond, was Signor Alessandro; I knew him--and that time I was on to him before he knew that I was coming. I struck him with the point of that poker in the chest, and I think I hurt him, because he made a curious sound, staggering back without making any effort to seize me as I passed.

He stood at the turn in the passage which led to the restaurant below, so that his huge figure blocked the way. There was a staircase beyond, so I made for that. I went up it three steps at a time. There was a light on the landing at the top--a passage to the left; one to the right. I chose the one to the right. There was a door at the end. I did not stop to consider what might be beyond, but I caught hold of the handle, and turned it. The door yielded--I found myself in a room with the fair-haired girl whom I had seen dancing with the youngster who was dead.

That did startle me. I had been occupied with so many other things that, at least for the time being, I had forgotten her existence. It was a bedroom--not by any means a large one, nor over furnished, nor over tidy. A ball-dress was thrown over a chair--the dress in which she had been dancing. Her hair was hanging loose over her shoulders--even then I thought what beautiful hair it was. She was standing in a stooping position, with her arms held out as if to ward off a blow. Apparently she had taken me for quite another person from whom she had reason to fear the worst. When she saw me I am inclined to think she was more frightened even than before; and really it was not surprising if she took me to be some sort of apparition.

Having realized on whom I had intruded, I paid attention first not to the occupant of the room, but to the door. I tried to lock it. There was no key.

“Where’s the key to this door?” I asked.

She replied to my question with one of her own.

“Who are you?--What do you want?--What do you mean by coming in here?”

I persisted in my inquiry.

“Haven’t you a key to this door?”

She shook her head. “No--they won’t let me have one. I used to have one, but they took it away.”

I did not stop to ask who “they” was, I was too pressed for time.

“Haven’t you anything with which you can keep the door fastened against intrusion--even for a few moments? Help me with that chest of drawers and the bed. If we can get them up against this door we may manage to keep them out just long enough.”

Without understanding what it was I would be at she did as I asked. Together we rigged up a sort of barricade. As she helped she rained questions.

“Who are you? Who is coming? Of what are you afraid? What has happened? Tell me, I beg of you.”

She spoke quite good English, but with a strong accent of Southern Italy. She was getting almost as excited as I was.

“They have killed Emilio.”

I spoke in her own language. She stared at me, her hands against her breast. Her voice dropped, the pupils of her eyes expanded.

“Emilio!--I feared it!--How do you know?--Who are you?--I feared it. Alessandro swore that he would do it. When I saw him speak to Gaspare I feared still more.”

“What is Alessandro to you? Are you his wife?”

“He is the patron; he wants me to be his wife, but I do not want to marry him; it is my mother who would force me. If it were not for him she would starve. He is a rich man, Alessandro. He says to my mother: ‘If Lucrezia will marry me’--I am Lucrezia!--‘all will be well. I will give you a regular income; you may live in comfort for the rest of your life. If not--out into the street you go; you die in the gutter, you starve, besides the other things you know I can do to you.’ He can do many things, Alessandro. ‘As for the nonsense Lucrezia talks,’ he says, ‘Young girls do not know their own mind. You bid her to marry me, I will see that she obeys her mother.’ But I do not want to marry him--I do not.”

“What position do you occupy in this place?”

“I am the cashier. I have been here nearly a year. I wish I had never been here at all. Until lately Emilio was a waiter. He is from the same village from which I come; we have known each other all our lives. How can I help but be fond of him, since he is so kind, so generous, so tender, and so thoughtful--and also he is so handsome.”

“Are you the only woman in the house?”

“In general there are two others. We had, all three of us, a holiday until the morning. I was to sleep with my sister, whose husband has a restaurant at Brixton. But when Alessandro saw me dancing with Emilio he said that I must come home with him. I did not dare to disobey. He threw Emilio out of the restaurant, not yet a fortnight ago, because of something he thought he had discovered--I don’t know what. Since then he has been scolding me all the time. Gaspare told me only the other day that if I was not more attentive to Alessandro’s wishes, more careful to keep him in a good temper--I know what he meant!--he was afraid that something might happen to Emilio.”

“Who is this man Gaspare? It is he who is the actual murderer.”

“Oh yes, I know--it is always like that.”

“Always like that?--What do you mean?--Who is this man?”

The girl dropped her voice still lower; she glanced round as if fearful that a listener might be hidden in the corner. Clearly the girl, with her susceptible Sicilian temperament, was half out of her mind with fear, and grief, and I don’t know what besides. I was the match and she was tinder--my appearance had set her all aflame.

“I don’t know who you are, or why I tell you--but I feel you may be a friend, and I am so much in need of a friend. I have not one friend in all the world, for even my mother is against me. And now that you say Emilio is dead--it is still worse. I will be revenged on them, I will be revenged! You ask me who Gaspare is. I will tell you. I care not what they do to me; since it is he who has killed Emilio I will tell you. He is of the Mafia--Alessandro is of the Mafia--all of them are of the Mafia. This house, this Restaurant Napolitain, this is where they meet; I will show you the room in which they have their meetings. Gaspare is just back from America--it is not the first time he has been there, not the first time he has been chased by the police; I know. They think I don’t, but I do. As for Alessandro, with him it has come to this; he scarcely dares to show his face in the street for fear of the police. They are after him all over Europe, and if they once catch him--rich or poor--ah!--it is all over with him. I know, and he knows I know. It is partly because he knows that he so wishes to make me his wife. He thinks he shuts my mouth, but now that they have killed Emilio I will open it to its widest. I care not what they do to me! No, no, I care not!”

I do not remember to have ever before seen anyone in such a whirlwind of passion. At least at that moment she struck me as being more mad than sane. None the less she had her wits about her. Suddenly, with a gesture, she requested silence; the whisper in which she spoke was only just audible.

“There are footsteps on the stairs--who is it? Who is coming?”

“There are two of them. Alessandro is one, I think Gaspare is the other, but I am not sure. Whoever it is, I hit him with this poker.”

“This is good. I hope you hit him hard. I will hit him hard when I have a chance, I promise you. I also have a knife.”

To my amazement she stooped and whipped a gleaming blade out of her stocking. I foresaw lively times ahead. I did not wish Inspector Ellis to come and find me engaged in a fight to death with understudies for carving knives. I deemed it desirable to get that knife from that fair-haired damsel.

“Do not use that; let me have it.”

“Why should I let you have it? No, no, I will keep it for myself. I can use it better than you.” I did not doubt that for a moment. I had no desire to emulate her in that direction. Before I could say so she continued. “Be still! They are there, outside the door--more than one.”

As she spoke some one without tried the handle. When it was found that the door would not yield a soft voice demanded, in the broadest argot of Naples.

“Lucrezia, what have you against the door? Don’t fool, open at once.”

The girl said nothing. She beckoned to the other side of the room.

“To this cupboard.” Throwing back a door which was covered with the same paper as the wall she disclosed an aperture behind. “That is a door at the back; it is locked. They do not think I have the key, but I have. I am not such an idiot as they suppose.”

While she took a key from some curious hiding-place in her corsets she burst, as it were, into a sudden flood of explanation.

“This house is old, very old, hundreds of years old. It belongs to the Mafia, it was they who built it, it is their head-quarters in London. Strange things have happened in London--they happen still, though the people of London do not think it: what do they know of their own city, the people of London? This house could tell them tales--to which they would not listen. The police--they guess--but without proof--what can the police do without proof in London? And they have never had any proof at all, only what they guess.”

While words had been pouring from her at the rate of I do not know how many a minute, she had been unlocking that door. The lock seemed to be a trifle unmanageable. I doubt if the key she was using had been meant for it. But at last it stood open--just as the door of her bedroom yielded to the vigorous attack which was being made on it from without. As I passed through the door at the back of the cupboard I saw Alessandro rush into the bedroom, and behind him Gaspare. I thought they would catch the girl, but she was too quick for them. With surprising speed she had whipped the key out of the lock, she was through the door, had shut it, and was locking it again on the other side. The closing of the door had left us in pitch darkness--some vigorous Sicilian adjectives were coming from the other side of it.

“Where are we?” I asked. “I can see nothing.”

“This is a recess--here is another door; it is not locked.” She opened it, but it did not make things much clearer. “These steps lead down into the restaurant. Be careful, they are steep--it is little more than a ladder.”

Those steps were certainly steep. I went down backwards, as down a ladder. In the darkness it was not easy. The girl’s voice as she followed came from above.

“At the bottom is a door. They think it is locked, but it is not. I am not so simple as they suppose.”

I began to be of that opinion myself. There, sure enough, was a door, and it was not locked--it yielded to a turn of the handle. I could not see her, but I felt her arm. Her voice seemed less confident.

“This is the restaurant; I do not know what we can do now; the door into the street is certainly locked, and shuttered. I promise you I will use my knife. Have you a knife? I know of a place in which there is one--you can have that. Come.”

She began to lead me among the marble-topped tables through which I had been so unceremoniously conducted by Signor Alessandro. Her kind offer to furnish me with a knife did not appeal to me in the least.

“I want no knife,” I told her, “nor must you use yours. We shall not improve matters by making bad worse. Besides, the police are coming.”

She stopped so suddenly that she pressed me against the sharp corner of a marble table.

“What do you mean by the police are coming? Who has told them? How do you know?”

“I sent a message to a friend of mine at Scotland Yard--through the telephone.”

“The telephone? Then--you have been in that room?”

“I don’t know what you mean by that room. I have been in a room, a bedroom. Alessandro locked me in a sitting-room. I broke down the door which divided it from the next room--which is a bedroom; and there was the telephone.”

“There is only one apartment in the house in which there is a telephone, and that is the one which belongs to the chief of the Mafia. He is there sometimes for days without anyone knowing he is in the house--or, I fancy, even in England. There has been history made in those two rooms--I know it, although I am only a girl. Here’s the knife of which I told you.”

She thrust something into my hand, which I refused to take.

“Thank you, I would rather do without it. Inspector Ellis promised that the police should be here within ten minutes. The ten minutes must have more than gone. They will be here before any harm can be done to us.”

“You think so? We shall see. Gaspare and Alessandro move quickly--they will hide us where the police will never find us. For my part, I have no faith in the police, they always come a little too late--I know. I have a knife, and I will use it. If you are wise you will take this one and use it also.”

I still refused to fasten my fingers round the handle which she pressed against them, though there was that both in her tone and her words which grated on my nerves. I quite believed that Alessandro and Gaspare did move quickly, I had seen proofs of it; nor did I relish her allusion to a place in which they could hide us which the police would never find; it seemed to suggest a state of preparation for all eventualities which I did not fancy. Nor did I relish her hint that the police might come too late. Altogether, when presently a door at the back opened, I was more than ever disposed to wish that my adventurous spirit had not lured me into the Restaurant Napolitain. After all, the quarrels of the mad Sicilians were no affair of mine. I had a strong feeling that the less I saw of the working of that remarkable organization, the Mafia, the better it might be for my health.

I did not need that girl to tell me what the opening of that door portended, I knew it for myself--but she did tell me.

“You see now they come--we shall soon know which it is to be--us or them; down behind my desk.”

We were standing behind the sort of counter which served as buffet and _caisse_ combined. She drew me down as the door opened--but I peeped round the corner. Alessandro came in, and behind him Gaspare; I fancied the latter held himself as if he were in pain; that poker, which I still retained, had not come down for nothing. Alessandro held an electric torch above his head. It tickled me--even then!--to see them whisper to each other, wishing to remain unheard, while all the time the flare of that torch upon their faces told me everything they said.

It was Gaspare who whispered first. “They are not here.” His glance travelled over the restaurant.

Alessandro’s eyes also searched. “They must be here. If they are not here, where are they? They could not get out of the house.”

“Have we searched it all?”

“Where have we not searched? You know the house almost as well as I do.” There was a moment’s pause, then Signor Alessandro added, with what I had no doubt was genuine feeling: “I will cut both their throats when I get them.”

“Lucrezia’s?--her pretty throat?”

“From ear to ear. I will send her to Emilio. And that black-faced devil’s spawn, only let me get her within reach of my hand.”

The last delicate allusion, I took it, was to me. Even allowing for the poetic licence which one associates with the wild tongue of Sicily, the prospect which these two gentlemen offered to the imagination was not alluring; to say nothing of the fact that I was solemnly convinced that they would do their best to be as good as their word.

“We have to get them first,” I saw Gaspare whisper. “Before you talk of cutting throats, let us have throats to cut.”

The girl behind me did something, tried to change her position, or to keep under cover--anyhow she moved, and a board creaked just loudly enough to be audible. Alessandro heard. Leaning towards Gaspare I saw him whisper:

“They are behind the _caisse_--we have got them--quick! You go one side and I the other.”

“Look out,” I whispered to the girl, “they know where we are. We will give them a chase before they get us.” I stood up straight, and by way of a little diversion I brought the poker down on the top of the counter. “You pair of murderous villains,” I cried, “do you think you have us at your mercy? We’ll teach you better!”

In my excitement, giving the poker a flourish, I swept half a dozen bottles off the buffet, and they fell crashing to the floor.

“Is that your black-faced beauty?” inquired Gaspare aloud. “It looks as if she means to ruin you--she starts to destroy your stock in trade.”

“Do you suppose, you idiot,” retorted Alessandro, “that there is anything in those bottles? They are dummies with which I dress the counter.”

“Be careful how you come.” This was the girl, who was standing by me even more excited than I was. She was flourishing a knife in either hand. “For each of you I have a knife. I will pay you with them for Emilio.”

Acting on Alessandro’s advice, they came at us from either side. As Alessandro passed, leaning over the counter, I knocked the torch out of his hand, and in the same instant, turning towards Gaspare, I struck him with the poker a blow which was more than brother to the first. He staggered back with curses which were deep, but not loud. I was past him in a flash. I hesitated whether to make towards the door which I knew led to the staircase; but he made a grab at me and almost caught my skirt. I rushed across the restaurant among the marble tables.

“Gaspare! Gaspare!” It was Signor Alessandro’s voice, considerably raised. Apparently he was having a little argument with Lucrezia, of which in the darkness he was not getting the best. There was a crash--what had happened I did not know; it sounded as if more bottles had fallen to the floor. Then I knew that Lucrezia, following my example, had got past Alessandro and was seeking refuge among the marble tables. Then there was silence--broken by Alessandro’s voice. It sounded as if he were a little discouraged.

“Gaspare, I believe that cat has knifed me in half a dozen places; my fingers are wet with my own blood.”

Then came Gaspare’s voice--he seemed angry. I should not like to report his exact language; your true Sicilian can be vigorous; but in effect he said:

“That black-faced friend of yours has struck me for a second time with that poker. I swear to you all by the saints that she shall not strike me again. Give us some light, we can do nothing in this darkness. Where are your switches?”

Alessandro said something which I could not catch; but I could hear him moving, and presently the whole place was flooded with electric light.

“Can they see these lights outside?” asked Gaspare.

“Not a glimmer. The door and windows are so constructed that from the street nothing can be seen.”

“Then to business!”--and Gaspare started to carry out what I presume was his idea of business.

There ensued a scene as remarkable, I take it, as any which was ever enacted in a London restaurant. They chased us, those two men. In the hand of each was a knife; I dare say Gaspare’s was still stained with Emilio’s blood. I knew quite well what would happen if he got that knife within reach of me. I also knew that at any moment the police might be knocking at the door. If Inspector Ellis had carried out his undertaking literally they would have been there before; I scouted Lucrezia’s idea that they were always too late. At any instant they might arrive and all would be well. Still, I did hope that they would not be very long, because---- Then Gaspare came towards me.

I suppose in that restaurant there were a dozen marble-topped tables--oblong, round, and square. Most of the chairs had been piled upon the tables--I was entrenched behind a row of them. When Gaspare came towards me at one end I pushed them towards him; he swept the lot of them upon the floor--and came round my side of the table towards me. I retreated as he came. He followed. He was not the sort of man who would have seemed to the casual critic as likely to be quick upon his feet; but he was--he was quicker than any man I had ever met before; how he did it I could not understand. I am quick--every one has always told me so, and I know it. I never moved quicker than I did then--but I could not get away from Gaspare. Among the tables we twisted and twirled; sometimes I vaulted them, sometimes I ran round--he was always just beyond reach of me, and only just. I began to realize that I was bound to be caught. In that circumscribed space I could not get away from him; and presently he had me, just when I least expected it. I had pushed a chair in his way and he fell over it, and in falling he caught me by the skirt with so sure a hold that he all but dragged me over backwards. I reached round at him with the poker, struggling to get free. I struck him again and again, but though he was still in difficulties with the chair I could not make him loose his hold. He was cursing with an intensity which was significant. I did not give him a chance to get upon his feet--I knew if he once did that there would be an end of me. He was still mixed up with that chair--I dragged both him and it forward. He held me with his left hand; suddenly I felt something prick me--I knew he had struck me with the knife which was in his right. Frantically I whipped round again at him with the poker. I fancied I had struck the wrist which held the knife, but I was not sure. I leaped forward--as his feet were still entangled in the chair it must have been all that he could do to retain his hold. But he did. I wondered what would happen if my skirt gave way. It was made of one of those flimsy stuffs which one uses for a dance dress. If I relinquished my skirt, could I get out of it, leave it, without me inside, in his hands? I tugged and tugged; I felt the stuff tearing; I felt sure I must have hurt his wrist or he would have been at me again with his knife. I was straining every nerve to tear myself loose, when all at once the skirt did give way--but not with the result I had hoped for. As it yielded, the strain being unexpectedly relaxed, I slipped, and he, probably without intention, gave an unlooked-for jerk. Down he went on his face, and down I went on him--backwards. At that same moment there came a hammering at the front door, a loud, insistent hammering--and I knew that Inspector Ellis’s ten minutes had expired.

With the sound of the knocking there came a scream from Lucrezia, something very like a roar from Alessandro. I was conscious that they were striking at each other with their knives, and that each was getting home in turn. Then I felt Gaspare’s knife in my shoulder. I twisted myself round--I felt it again. I caught him by the wrist; he slipped the knife from his right hand to his left--I do not know how, but he did it. It pricked me again.

Out in the street they were breaking down the door. The force of their blows shook the building. That door had been constructed on sound if peculiar principles. It was not easy to break it down. In my agony--because Gaspare’s knife hurt--I wondered how long they would take to do it. As Lucrezia had put it--would they be too late--for her, as well as for me? Those men were like two wild beasts--if they could kill us first they would care nothing for what might happen to themselves afterwards.

Gaspare got at me with his knife again and again, but he never had a chance to get home with a good straight blow; somehow I managed to break the force of each one before it reached me. But he had cut me all about the neck and shoulders. I was a reek of blood; I saw it falling on his face and on his hands. If they did not get that door down in a second or two it would be too late. Then I reeled, and Gaspare got up, and I thought it was too late.

That I am still alive to tell the tale is sufficient proof that it was not too late--I have been told by the merest fraction of a second. Inspector Ellis informed me that when he and his men succeeded in forcing an entrance he saw a man on his knees, with a knife held above his head, and a woman immediately in front of him, upon the floor; that he rushed forward and caught Gaspare’s wrist just as it was in the act of descending. When Gaspare turned and saw him, somehow--the Inspector assured me he did not know how it was done; but I had seen him perform similar feats before and could understand how that was--Gaspare slipped from his hold, stood up straight, buried the knife in his own bosom, and fell down right across me, dead.

Lucrezia had even a worse time than I had--and I was nearly three weeks in the ward of a hospital. They took Signor Alessandro alive--all the world knows that he expiated his crimes upon the gallows. There are still three marks upon my chest in front which I am told will never pass away, so I am not likely to be without reminders--if any were needed--of my adventure--which, when I look back, was really as mad a one as it could have been--at the Restaurant Napolitain.

[The End]

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

These short stories were originally serialized in the _The Strand Magazine_ volumes 42-44 (1911-12). They _Strand_ series was consulted for many of the changes listed below.

Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g., notebook/note-book, passage way/passage-way, etc.) have been preserved.

Alterations to the text:

Abandon the use of drop-caps.

Fix some quotation mark pairings.

[Chapter III]

Change “The comedy--_it_ it were a comedy--was repeated” to _if_.

“the envelope, which I addressed in large _bald_ letters to” to _bold_. Also add a comma after _large_.

“engaged _on_ the company’s business” to _in_.

[Chapter IV]

“that _episiode_ at Charing Cross Station was the result” to _episode_.

[Chapter V]

“then he looked after the _door_--the expression on his face” to _donor_.

[Chapter VI]

“Moving stealthily towards the man with the _shallow_ cheeks” to _sallow_.

[Chapter VII]

“_conflower_ blue is her favourite colour” to _cornflower_.

[Chapter IX]

“That cabman carried out my instructions to the letter we certainly did not exceed the limit I had imposed” add a semicolon after _letter_.

“ran his fingers through his victim’s pockets with a _swftness_” to _swiftness_.

[End of text]