Chapter VIII: Part 8

"Then I will lie for you, and confess later. I have never lied to my wife, M'sieu--except upon rare occasions," Mr. La Branche chuckled merrily. "And even then only about trifles. So, the result? Absolute trust; supreme confidence on her part. A happy state for man and wife, is it not? Ha! I am a very good liar, an adept, as you shall see, for I am not calloused by practice and therefore liable to forgetfulness. With me a lie is always fresh in my mind; it is a matter of absorbing interest, hence I do not forget myself. Heaven knows the excitement of nursing an innocent deceit and of seeing it grow and flower under my care will be most welcome, for the monotony of this abominable confinement--But I must inquire, do you play piquet?"

"I am rather good at it," Norvin confessed, whereat Papa La Branche seemed about to embrace him.

"You are sent from heaven!" he declared. "You deliver me from darkness. Thirty-seven games of Napoleon to-day! Think of it! I was dealing the thirty-eighth when you came. But piquet! Ah, that is a game, even though my angel wife abominates it. We have still five days of this hideous imprisonment, so let us agree to an hour before lunch, an hour before dinner, then--um-,--perhaps two hours in the evening at a few cents a game, eh? You agree, my friend?" The little man peered up timidly. "Perhaps--but no, I dare say you are sleepy, and it _is_ late."

"I should enjoy a game or two right now," Norvin falsified. "But first, don't you think we'd better rehearse our explanation of my presence?"

"A good idea. You came to see me upon business. I telephoned, and you came like a good friend, then--let me see, I was so overjoyed to see a new face that I rushed forth to greet you, and behold! that scorpion, that loathsome reptile outside pronounced you infected. He forced you to enter, even against my protestations. It was all my fault. I am desolated with regrets. Eh? How is that? You see nature designed me for a rogue."

"Excellent! But what is our important business?"

"True. Since I retired from active affairs I have no business. That is awkward, is it not? May I ask in what line you are engaged?"

"I am a cotton factor."

"Then I shall open an account with you. I shall give you money to invest. Come, there need be no deceit about that; I shall write you a check at once."

"That's hardly necessary, so long as we understand each other."

But Mr. La Branche insisted, saying:

"One lie is all that I dare undertake. I have told two at the same time, but invariably they clashed and disaster resulted. There! I trust you to make use of the money as you think best. But enough! What do women know of business? It is a mysterious word to them. Now--piquet!" He dragged Norvin to a seat at a table, then trotted away in search of cards, his slippers clap-clapping at every step as if in gleeful applause. "Shall we cut for deal, M'sieu? Ah!" He sighed gratefully as he won, and began to shuffle. "With four hours of piquet every day, and a lie upon my conscience, I feel that I shall be happy in spite of this execrable smallpox."

Myra Nell's emotions may be imagined when, on the following morning, she learned who had broken through the cordon while she slept.

"Lordy! Lordy!" she exclaimed, with round eyes. "He said he'd do it; but I didn't think he really would."

She had flounced into Vittoria's room to gossip while she combed her hair.

"Mr. La Branche says it's all his fault, and he's terribly grieved," Miss Fabrizi told her. "Now, now! Your eyes are fairly popping out."

"Wouldn't your eyes pop out if the handsomest, the richest, the bravest man in New Orleans deliberately took his life in his hands to see you and be near you?"

"But he says it was important business which brought him." Vittoria smiled guiltily.

"Tell that to your granny! You don't know men as I do. Have you really seen him? I'm not _dreaming_?"

"I have seen him, with these very eyes, and if you were not such a lazy little pig you'd have seen him, too. Shall you take your breakfast in your room, as usual?" Vittoria's eyes twinkled.

"Don't tease me!" Miss Warren exclaimed, with a furious blush. "I--I love to tease other people, but I can't stand it myself. Breakfast in my room, indeed! But of course I shall treat him with freezing politeness."

"Why should you pretend to be offended?"

"Don't you understand? This is bound to cause gossip. Why, the idea of Norvin Blake, the handsomest, the richest--"

"Yes, yes."

"The idea of his getting himself quarantined in the same house with _me_, and our being here together for days--maybe for _months!_ Why, it will create the loveliest scandal. I'll never dare hold up my head again in public, _never_. You see how it must make me feel. I'm compromised." Myra Nell undertook to show horror in her features, but burst into a gale of laughter.

"Do you care for him very much?"

"I'm crazy about him! Why, dearie, after _this_--we're--we're almost married! Now watch me show him how deeply I'm offended."

But when she appeared in the dining-room, late as usual, her frigidity was not especially marked. On the contrary, her face rippled into one smile after another, and seizing Blake by both hands, she danced around him, singing:

"You did it! You did it! You did it! Hurrah for a jolly life in the pest-house!"

Madame La Branche was inclined to be shocked at this behavior, but inasmuch as Papa Montegut was beaming angelically upon the two young people, she allowed herself to be mollified.

"I couldn't believe Vittoria," Myra Nell told Norvin. "Don't you know the danger you run?"

Mr. La Branche exclaimed: "I am desolated at the consequences of my selfishness! I did not sleep a wink. I can never atone."

"Quite right," his wife agreed. "You must have been mad, Montegut. It was criminal of you to rush forth and embrace him in that manner."

"But, delight of my soul, the news he bore! The joy of seeing him! It unmanned me." The Creole waved his hands wildly, as if at a loss for words.

"Oh, you fibber! Norvin told me he'd never met you," said Myra Nell.

"Eh! Impossible! We are associates in business; business of a most important--But what does that term signify to you, my precious ladybird? Nothing! Enough, then, to say that he saved me from disaster. Naturally I was overjoyed and forgot myself."

His wife inquired, timidly, "Have your affairs gone disastrously?"

"Worse than that! Ruin stared us in the face until _he_ came. Our deliverer!"

Blake flushed at this fulsome extravagance, particularly as he saw Myra Nell making faces at him.

"Fortunately everything is arranged now," he assured his hostess. But this did not satisfy Miss Warren, who, with apparent innocence, questioned the two men until Papa La Branche began to bog and flounder in his explanations. Fortunately for the men, she was diverted for the moment by discovering that the table was set for only four.

"Oh, we need another place," she exclaimed, "for Vittoria!"

The old lady said, quietly: "No, dear. While we were alone it was permissible, but it is better now in this way."

Myra Nell's ready acquiescence was a shock to Norvin, arguing, as it did, that these people regarded the Countess Margherita as an employee. Could it be that they were so utterly blind?

He was allowed little time for such thoughts, however, since Myra Nell set herself to the agreeable task of unmasking her lover and confounding Montegut La Branche. But Cousin Althea was not of a suspicious nature, and continued to beam upon her husband, albeit a trifle vaguely. Then when breakfast was out of the way the girl added to Norvin's embarrassment by flirting with him so outrageously that he was glad to flee to Papa Montegut's piquet game.

At the first opportunity he said to Vittoria: "I feel dreadfully about this. Why, they seem to think you're a--a--servant! It's unbearable!"

"That is part of my work; I am accustomed to it." She smiled.

"Then you _have_ changed. But if they knew the truth, how differently they'd act!"

"They must never suspect; more depends upon it than you know."

"I feel horribly guilty, all the same."

"It can make no difference what they think of me. I'm afraid, however, that you have--made it--difficult for Myra Nell."

"So it appears. I didn't think of her when I entered this delightful prison."

"You had no choice."

"It wasn't altogether that. I wanted to be near you, Vittoria."

Her glance was level and cool, her voice steady. "It was chivalrous to try to spare me the necessity of explaining. The situation was trying; but we were both to blame, and now we must make the best of it. Myra Nell's misunderstanding is complete, and she will be unhappy unless you devote yourself to her."

"I simply can't. I think I'll keep to myself as much as possible."

"You don't know that girl," Vittoria said. "You think she is frivolous and inconsequent, that she has the brightness of a sunbeam and no more substance; but you are mistaken. She is good and true and steadfast underneath, and she can feel deeply."

Blake found that it was impossible to isolate himself. Mr. La Branche clung to him like a drowning man; his business affairs called him repeatedly to the telephone; Myra Nell appropriated him with all the calm assurance of a queen, and Madame La Branche insisted upon seeing personally to his every want. The only person of whom he saw little was Vittoria Fabrizi.

His disappearance, of course, required much explaining and long conversations with his office, with his associates, and with police headquarters, where his plight was regarded as a great joke. This was all very well; but there were other and unforeseen consequences.

Bernie Dreux heard of the affair with blank amazement, which turned into something resembling rage. His duty, however, was plain. He packed a valise and set out for the quarantined house like a man marching to his execution; for he had a deathly horror of disease, and smallpox was beyond compare the most loathsome.

But the Health Department had given strict orders, and he was turned away; nay, he was rudely repulsed. Crushed, humiliated, he retired to his club, and there it was that Rilleau found him, steeped in melancholy and a very insidious brand of Kentucky Bourbon.

When Lecompte accused Blake of breaking the rules of the game, the little bachelor rose resolutely to his sister's defense.

"Norvin's got a perfect right to protect her," he lied, "and I honor him for it."

"You mean he's engaged to her?" Rilleau inquired, blankly.

Bernie nodded.

"Well, so am I, so are Delevan and Mangny, and the others."

"Not this way." Mr. Dreux's alcoholic flush deepened. "He thought she was in danger, so he flew to her side. Mighty unselfish to sacrifice his business and brave the disease. He did it with my consent, y'understand? When he asked me, I said, 'Norvin, my boy, she needs you.' So he went. Unselfish is no word for it; he's a man of honor, a hero."

Mr. Rilleau's gloom thickened, and he, too, ordered the famous Bourbon. He sighed.

"I'd have done the same thing; I offered to, and I'm no hero. I suppose that ends us. It's a great disappointment, though. I hoped--during Carnival week that she'd--Well, I wanted her for my real queen."

Bernie undertook to clap the speaker on the shoulder and admonish him to buck up; but his eye was wavering and his aim so uncertain that he knocked off Mr. Rilleau's hat. With due apologies he ran on:

"She couldn't have been queen at all, only for him. He made it possible."

"I had as much to say about it as he did."

Bernie whispered: "He lent me the money, y'understand? It was all right, under the circumstances, everything being settled but the date, y'understand?"

Rilleau rose at last, saying: "You're all to be congratulated. He is the best fellow in New Orleans, and there's only one man I'd rather see your sister marry than him; that's me. Now I'm going to select a present before the rush commences. What would you think of an onyx clock with gold cupids straddling around over it?"

"Fine! I'm sorry, old man--I like you, y'understand?" Bernie upset his chair in rising to embrace his friend, then catching sight of August Kulm, who entered at the moment, he made his way to him and repeated his explanations.

Mr. Kulm was silent, attentive, despairing, and spoke vaguely of suicide, whereupon Dreux set himself to the task of drowning this Teutonic instinct in the flowing bowl.

"I don't know what has happened to the boys," Myra Nell complained to Norvin, on the second day after his arrival. "Lecompte was going to read me the Rubaiyat, and Raymond Cline promised me a bunch of orchids; but nobody has shown up."

"It's jealousy," he said, lightly.

"I suppose so. Of course it was nice of you to compromise me this way--it's delicious, in fact--but I didn't think it would scare off the others."

"You think I have compromised you?"

"You know you have, _terribly_. I'm engaged to all of them--everybody, in fact, except you--"

"But they know my presence here is unintentional."

"Oh! _Is_ it, really?" She laughed.

"Don't you believe it is?"

"Goodness! Don't spoil all my pleasure. If ever I saw two cringing, self-conscious criminals, it's you and Papa Montegut. Men are so deceitful. Heigh-ho! I thought this was going to be splendid, but you play cards all day with Mr. La Branche while I die of loneliness."

"What would you like me to do?" he faltered.

"I don't know. It's very dull. Couldn't you sally forth and drag in Lecompte or Murray or Raymond?" She looked up with eyes beaming. "Bernie was furious, wasn't he?"

Mr. La Branche came trotting in with the evening newspaper in his hand. "It's in the paper," he chuckled. "Those reporters get everything."

"What's in the paper?" Myra Nell snatched the sheet from his hand and read eagerly as he went trotting out again with his slippers applauding every step. "Oh, Lordy!"

Blake read over her shoulder, and his face flushed.

"Norvin, we're really, truly engaged, now. See!" After a pause, "And you've never even asked me."

There was only one thing to say.

"Myra Nell," he began, "I want you--Will you--"

"Oh, you goose, you're not taking a cold shower!"

"Will you do me the honor to be my wife?"

She burst into delightful laughter. "So you actually have the courage to propose? Shall I take time to think it over, or shall I answer now?"

"Now, by all means."

"Very well, of course I--won't."

"Why not?" he exclaimed, with a start.

"The idea! You don't mean it!"

"I do."

"Why, Norvin, you're old enough to be my father."

"Oh, no, I'm not."

"Do you think I could marry a man with gray hair?"

"It all gets gray after a while."

"No. I'll be engaged to you, but I'll never marry any one, never. That would spoil all the fun. This very thing shows how stupid it must be; the mere rumor has scared the others away."

"You're a Mormon."

"I'm not. I'll tell you what I'll do; if I ever marry any one, I'll marry you."

"That's altogether too indefinite."

"I don't see it. Meanwhile we're engaged, aren't we?"

"If that's the case--" He reached uncertainly for her hand, and pressed it. "I--I'm very happy!"

She waited an instant, watching him shyly, then said: "Now I must show this to Vittoria. But--please don't look so frightened."

The next instant she was gone. When Miss Fabrizi entered her room, a half-hour later, it was to find her with her eyes red from weeping.

As for Norvin, he had risen to the occasion as best he could. He loved Myra Nell sincerely, tenderly, in a big-brotherly way; he would have gone to any lengths to serve her, yet he could not feel toward her as he felt toward Vittoria Fabrizi. He nerved himself to stand by his word, even though it meant the greatest sacrifice. But the thought agonized him.

Nor was he made more easy as time went on, for Mr. and Mrs. La Branche took it for granted that he was their cousin's affianced lover; and while the girl herself now bewildered him with her shy, inviting coquetry, or again berated him for placing her in an unwelcome position, he could never determine how much she really cared.

When the quarantine was finally lifted he walked out with feelings akin to those of a prisoner who has been reprieved.

XVIII

BELISARIO CARDI

After his enforced idleness Blake was keen to resume his task, yet there was little for him to do save study the one big problem which lay at the root of the whole matter.

The evidence against the prisoners was in good shape; they were indicted, and the trial date would soon be set. They had hired competent lawyers and were preparing for a desperate fight. Where the necessary money came from nobody seemed to know, although it was generally felt that a powerful influence was at work to free them. The district attorney expressed the strongest hopes of obtaining convictions; but there came disturbing rumors of alibis for the accused, of manufactured evidence, and of overwhelming surprises to be sprung at the last moment. Detectives were shadowed by other detectives, lawyers were spied upon, their plans leaked out; witnesses for the State disappeared. Opposing the authorities was a master hand, at once so cunning and so bold as to threaten a miscarriage of justice.

This could be none other then Belisario Cardi, yet he seemed no nearer discovery than ever. Norvin had no idea how to proceed. He could only wait for some word from his new ally, Vittoria Fabrizi. It might be that she would find a clue, and he feared to complicate matters by any premature or ill-judged action. Meanwhile, he encountered the results of Bernie Dreux's garrulity. He found himself generally regarded as Myra Nell's accepted suitor, and, of course, could make no denial. But when he telephoned to the girl herself and asked when he might call he was surprised to hear her say:

"You can't call at all Why, you've ruined all my enjoyment as it is! There hasn't been a man in this whole neighborhood since I came home. Even the policeman takes the other side of the street."

"All the more reason why I should come."

"I won't have you hanging around until I get my Carnival dresses fitted. Oh, Norvin, you ought to see them. There's one-white brocaded peau de soie, all frills and rosebuds; the bodice is trimmed with pearl passementerie, and it's a dear." After a moment's hesitation she added: "Norvin dear, what does it cost to rent the front page of a newspaper?"

"I don't know. I don't think it can be done."

"I wondered if you couldn't do it and--deny our engagement."

"Do you want to break it?" He could hardly keep the eagerness out of his voice.

"Oh, no! But I'd like to deny it until after the Carnival. Now don't be offended. I'll never get my dances filled if I'm as good as married to you. Imagine a queen with an empty programme. I just love you to pieces, of course, but I can't allow our engagement to interfere with the success of the Carnival, can I?"

"Don't you know this is a thing we can't joke about?"

"Of course I do. It has taught me a good lesson."

"What?"

"I'll never be engaged to another man."

"Well! I should hope not. Do you intend to marry me, Myra Nell?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I think I will, then again I'm afraid nobody'd ever come to see me if I did. I'll get old, like you."

"I'm not old."

"We'd both have gray hair and--I can't talk any more. Here comes Bernie with an armful of dresses and a mouthful of pins. If he coughs I'll be all alone in the world. No, you can't see me for a week. I don't even want to hear from you except--"

"What?"

"Well, the strain of dress-fitting is tremendous. I'm nearly always hungry--ravenous for nourishment."

"You mean you're out of candy, I suppose?"

"Practically. There's hardly a whole piece left. They've all been nibbled."

Blake did not know whether to feel amused or ashamed. He was relieved at the girl's apparent carelessness, yet this half-serious engagement had put Myra Nell in a new light. He could not think of their relations as really unchanged, and this was inevitable since his sentiment for her was genuine. The grotesqueness of the affair--even Myra Nell's own attitude toward it--seemed a violation of something sacred.

But nothing could subdue the joy he felt in his growing intimacy with Vittoria, whom he managed to see frequently, although she never permitted him to come to Oliveta's house. Little by little her reserve melted, and more and more she seemed to forget her intention of devoting herself to a religious life, while fears for her friend's safety appealed to the deep mother instinct which had remained latent in her.

She was unable, however, even with Oliveta's assistance, to put any information in his way, and Blake could think of no better plan than to try once more to sound Caesar Maruffi. If Caesar had really written the letters, it would be strange if he could not be induced to go farther, despite his obvious fear of Cardi. It was unbelievable that a man who knew so much about the Mafia was really in ignorance of its leader's identity, and Blake was convinced that if he acted diplomatically and seized the right occasion he could bring the fellow to unbosom himself.

Discarding all thought of his own safety, he went often to the Red Wing Club. But he found Caesar wary, and he dared not be too abrupt. Time and again he was upon the verge of speaking out, but something invariably prevented, some inner voice warned him that the man's mood was unpropitious, that his extravagant caution was not yet satisfied. He allowed the Sicilian to feel him out to his heart's content, and, at last, seeing that he made no real progress, he set out one evening resolved to risk all in an effort to reach some definite understanding.

He was delayed in reaching the foreign quarter, and the dinner-hour was nearly over when he arrived at the cafe. Maruffi was there, as usual, but he had finished his meal and was playing cards with some of his countrymen, swarthy, eager-faced, voluble fellows whose chatter filled the place. They greeted Norvin politely as he seated himself near by, then went on with their amusement as he ordered and ate his dinner. He was near enough to hear their talk, and to catch an occasional glimpse of the game, so that he was not long in finding that they played for considerable stakes. They were as earnest as school-boys, and he watched their ever-changing expressions with interest, particularly when he discovered that Maruffi was in hard luck. The big Sicilian sat bulked up in a corner, black, silent, and sinister, his scowling brows bespeaking his rage. Occasionally he growled a curse, then sent the waiter scurrying with an order. Other Italians were drawn to the scene and crowded about the players.

When Norvin had finished his meal he sat back to smoke and idly sip his claret, thinking he would wait until the game broke up, so that he might get Caesar to himself and perhaps put the issue to the test. He began to study the fellow's face, thinking what force, what passion lay in it, puzzling his brain for some means of enlisting that energy upon his side. But as fortune continued to run against Maruffi, he began to fear that the time was not favorable.

What a picture those laughing, hawk-like men formed, surrounding the black, resentful merchant! Martel Savigno could have drawn a group like that, he mused, for he had a rare appreciation of his own people, no matter what might be said of his talent. He had done some very creditable Sicilian sketches; in fact, Norvin had one framed in his room. What a pity the Count had been stricken in the first years of his promise! What a ruthless hand it was that had destroyed him! What a giant mind it was which had kept all Sicily in terror and scaled its lips!

In that very group yonder there probably was more than one who knew the evil genius in person, and yet they were held in a thralldom of fear which no offer of riches could break. What manner of man was this Cardi? What hellish methods did he follow to wield such despotism? Those card-players were impudent, unscrupulous blades, as ready to gamble with death as with their jingling coins, and yet they dared not lift a hand against him.

Blake saw that the game had reached a point of unusual intensity; the players were deeply engrossed; the spectators had fallen silent, with bright eyes fixed upon the mounting stakes. When the tension broke Norvin saw that Caesar had lost again, and smiled at the excited conversation which ensued. There was a babble of laughter, of curses, of expostulation, shafts of badinage flew at the Sicilian merchant. In the midst of it he raised a huge, hairy fist and brought it down, smiting the table until the coins, the cards, and the glasses leaped. His face was distorted; his voice was thick with passion.

"_Silenzio!_" he growled, with such imperative fury that the others fell silent; then hoarsely: "I play my own game, and I lose. That is all! You are like old wives with your advice. It is my accursed luck, which will some day bring me to the gallows. Now deal!"

That same nausea which invariably seized Norvin Blake in moments of extreme excitement swept over him now. His whole body went cold, the knot of figures faded from his vision, he heard the noisy voices as if from a great distance. A giant hand had reached forth and gripped him, halting his breath and his heart-beats. The room swam dizzily, in a haze.

He found, an instant later, that he had risen and was gripping the table in front of him as if for support. He had upset his goblet of wine, and a wide red stain was spreading over the white cloth. To him it was the blood of Martel Savigno. He stared down at it dazedly, his eyes glazed with horror and surprise.

As the crimson splotch widened his heart took up its halting labors, then began to race, faster and faster, until he felt himself smothering; his frame was swept with tremors. Then the raucous voices grew louder and louder, mounting into a roar, as if he were coming out from a swoon, and all the time that red blotch grew until he could see no other color; it blurred the room and the quarreling gamblers; it steeped the very air. He was still deathly sick, as only those men are whose blood sours, whose bones and muscles disintegrate at the touch of fear.

He did not remember leaving the place, but found the cool night air fanning fresh upon his face as he lurched blindly down the dark street, within his eyes the picture of a scowling, black-browed visage; in his ears that hoarse, unforgettable command, _"Silenzio!"_

A single word, burdened with rage and venom, had carried him back over the years to a certain moment and a certain spot on a Sicilian mountain-side. The peculiar arrogance, the harsh vibrations of that voice permitted no mistake. He saw again a ghost-gray road walled in with fearful shadows, and at his feet two silent, twisted bodies dimly outlined against the dust. A match flared and Ricardo Ferara grinned up into the night beneath his grizzled mustache, Narcone, the butcher, his hands still wet, was whining for the blood of the American. He heard Martel Savigno call, heard the young Count's voice rise and break in a shriek, heard a thunder of hoofs retreating into the blackness. Sicilian men were peering into his face, talking excitedly; through their chatter came that same voice, imperative, furious, filled with rage, and it cried:

"_Silenzio!_"

There was no mistaking it. The veil was ripped at last.

Blake recalled the dim outlines of that burly, bull-necked figure as it had leaped into brief silhouette against the glare of the blazing match, that night so long ago, and then he cried out aloud in the empty street as he realized how complete was the identification. He remembered Donnelly's vague prediction five minutes before he was stricken:

"If what I suspect is true, it will cause a sensation,"

A sensation indeed! The surprise, the realization of consequences, was too overpowering to permit coherent thought. This Maruffi, or Cardi, or whoever he might prove to be, was tremendous. No wonder he had been hard to uncover. No wonder his power was absolute. He had the genius of a great general, a great politician, and a great criminal, all in one, and he was as pitiless as a panther, more deadly than a moccasin. What influence had perverted such intellect into a weapon of iniquity? What evil of the blood, what lesion of the brain, had distorted his instincts so monstrously?

Caesar Maruffi, rich, respected, honored! It was unbelievable.

Blake halted after a time and took note of the surroundings into which his feet had led him. He was deep in the foreign quarter, and found, with a start, that he had been heading for Vittoria Fabrizi's dwelling as if guided by some extraneous power. By a strong exercise of will he calmed himself. What he needed above all things was counsel, some one with whom he could share this amazing discovery. Perhaps his presence here was a sign; at any rate, he decided to follow his first impulse, so hastened onward.

Inside the house his brain cleared in a measure, as he waited; but his agitation must have left plain traces, for no sooner had Vittoria appeared than she exclaimed:

"My friend! Something has happened."

He rose and met her half-way. "Yes. Something tremendous, something terrible."

"It was unwise of you to come here--you may be followed. Tell me quickly what has made you so indiscreet?"

"I have found Belisario Cardi."

She paled; her eyes flamed.

"Yes--it's incredible." His voice shook. "I know the man well, that's the marvel of it. I've trusted him; I've rubbed shoulders with him; I went to him to-night to enlist his aid." He paused, realizing for the first time that the mystery of those letters was now deeper than ever. If Maruffi had not written them, who then? "He's the best and richest Italian in the city. God! The thing is appalling."

"He must go to justice," said Vittoria, quietly. "His name?"

"Caesar Maruffi!"

The girl's eager look faded into one of blank dismay.

"No!" she said, strangely. "No!"

"Do you know him?"

In a daze she nodded; then cast a hurried, frightened look over her shoulder.

"Madonna mia! Caesar Maruffi!" Disbelief and horror leaped into her eyes. "You are mad! Not Caesar. I do not believe it."

"Caesar, _Caesar_." he cried. "Why do you call him that? Why do you doubt? What is he to you?"

She drew away with a look that brought him to his senses.

"There is no mistake," he mumbled. "He is Cardi. I know it. I--"

"Wait, wait; don't tell me." She went groping uncertainly to the door. "Don't tell me yet."

A moment later he heard her call:

"Oliveta! Come quickly, sorella mia. A friend. Quickly!"

Oliveta--recognizably the same girl that he had known in Sicily--entered with her black brows lifted in anxious inquiry, her dark eyes wide with apprehension.

"Some evil has befallen; tell me!" she said, wasting no time in greeting.

"No. Nothing evil," Blake assured her.

"Our friend has made a terrible discovery," said Vittoria, in a faint voice. "I cannot believe--I--want you to hear, carina." She motioned to Norvin.

"I have been seeking our enemy, Belisario Cardi, and--I have found him."

Oliveta cried out in fierce triumph: "God be praised! He lives; that is enough. I feared he had cheated us."

"Listen!" exclaimed Vittoria, in such a tone that the peasant girl started. "You don't understand."

"I understand nothing except that he lives. His blood shall wash our blood. That is what we swore, and I have never forgotten, even though you have. He shall go to meet his dead, and his soul shall be accursed." She spoke with the same hysterical ferocity as when she had cursed her father's murderer in the castello of Terranova.

"He calls himself Caesar Maruffi," Blake told her.

There was a pause, then she said, simply: "That is a lie."

"No, no! I saw him that night. I saw him again to-night."

"It cannot be."

"That is what I have said," concurred Vittoria, with strange eagerness. "No, no--it would be too dreadful."

Mystified and offended, Blake defended his statement forcibly. "Believe it or not, as you please, it is true. That night in Sicily he came among the brigands who held me prisoner. They were talking excitedly. He cried, 'Silenzio!' in a voice I can never forget. To-night he was gambling, and he lost heavily. He was furious; his friends began to chatter, and he cried that word again! I would know it a thousand years hence. I saw it all in a flash. I saw other things I had failed to grasp--his size, his appearance. I tell you he is Belisario Cardi."

"God help me!" whispered the daughter of Ferara, crossing herself with uncertain hand. She was staring affrightedly at Vittoria. "God help me!" She kept repeating the words and gesture.

Blake turned inquiringly to the other woman and read the truth in her eyes.

"Good Lord!" he cried. "He is her--"

She nodded. "They were to be married."

Oliveta began speaking slowly to her foster sister. "Yes, it is indeed true. I have suspected something, but I dared not tell you all--the things he said--all that I half learned and would not ask about. I was afraid to know. I closed my eyes and my ears. Body of Christ! And all the time my father's blood was on his hands!"

Vittoria appealed helplessly to Blake. "You see how it is. What is to be done?"

But his attention was all centered upon Oliveta, whose face was changing curiously.

"His blood!" she exclaimed. "I have loved that infamous man. His hands--" She let her gaze fall to her own, as if they too might be stained from contact.

"Does Maruffi know who you really are?" he asked.

Vittoria answered; "No. She would have told him soon; we were waiting until we had run down those men. You see, it was largely through her that I worked. Those things which I could not discover she learned from--him. It was she who secured the names of Di Marco and Garcia and the others."

Sudden enlightenment brought a cry from him.

"You! Then you wrote those letters! You are the 'One Who Knows'?"

Vittoria nodded; but her eyes were fixed upon the girl.

Oliveta was whispering through white lips: "It is the will of God! He has been delivered into my hands."

"I am beginning to--"

"Wait!" Vittoria did not withdraw her anxious gaze. After an instant she inquired, gently, "Oliveta, what shall we do?"

"There is but one thing to do."

"You mean--"

"I have been sent by God to betray him." Her face became convulsed, her voice harsh. "I curse him, living and dead, in the name of my father, in the name of Martel Savigno, who died by his hand. May he pray unheard, may he burn in agony for a thousand thousand years. Take him to the hangman, Signore. He shall die with my curse in his ears."

"I can't bring him to justice," Blake confessed. "I know him to be the assassin, but my mere word isn't enough to convict him. I have no way of connecting him with the murder of Chief Donnelly, and that is what he must answer for."

Oliveta's lips writhed into a tortured smile. "Never fear, I shall place the loop about his neck where my arms have lain. He has told me little, for I feared to listen. But wait! Give me time."

Vittoria cried in a shocked voice: "Child! Not--that,"

"It was from him I learned of Gian Narcone and his other friends; now I shall learn from his own mouth the whole truth. He shall weave the rope for his own destruction. Oh, he is like water in my hands, and I shall lie in his arms--"

"Lucrezia! You can't touch him--knowing--"

"I will have the truth, if I give myself to him in payment, if I am damned for eternity. God has chosen me!"

She broke down into frightful sobs. With sisterly affection the other woman put her arms about her and tried to soothe her. At length she led her away, but for a long time Norvin could hear sounds of the peasant girl's grief. When Vittoria reappeared her face was still pale and troubled.

"I can do nothing with her. She seems to think we are all divine instruments."

"Poor girl! She is in a frightful position. I'm too amazed to talk sensibly. But surely she won't persist."

"You do not know her; she is like iron. Even I have no power over her now, and I--fear for the result. She is Sicilian to the core, she will sacrifice her body, her soul, for vengeance, and that--man is a fiend."

"It's better to know the truth now than later."

"Yes, the web of chance has entangled our enemies and delivered them bound into our hands. We cannot question the wisdom of that power which wove the net. Oliveta is perhaps a stronger instrument than I; she will never rest until her father is avenged."

"The strangest part is that you are the 'One Who Knows,' You told me you had given up the quest."

"And so I had. I was weary of it. My life was bleak and empty. I could not return to Sicily, because of the memories it held. We came South in answer to the call of our blood, and I took up a work of love instead of hate, while Oliveta found a new interest in this man, who was wonderful and strong and fierce in his devotion to her. I attained to that peace for which I had prayed. Then, when I was nearly ready for my vows, my foster sister learned of Gian Narcone and came to me. We talked long together, and I finally yielded to her demands--she is a contadina, she never forgets--and I wrote that first letter to Mr. Donnelly. I feared you might see and recognize my handwriting, so I bought one of those new machines and learned to use it. What followed you know. When we discovered that the Mafia had vowed to take Chief Donnelly's life in payment for Narcone's, we were forced to go on or have innocent blood upon our hands.

"The Chief was killed in spite of our warnings, and then you appeared as the head of his avengers--you--my truest friend, the brother of Martel. I knew that the Mafia would have your life unless you crushed it, and in a sense I was responsible for your danger. It seemed my duty to help break up this accursed brotherhood, much as I wished that the work might fall to other hands. Oliveta was eager for the struggle, and while she fought for her vengeance, I--I fought to save you."

"You did this for _me!_" he cried, falteringly.

"Yes. My position at the hospital, my occupation made it easy for me to learn many things. It was I who discovered the men who actually killed Chief Donnelly; for Normando, after his injury, was brought there and I attended him. I learned of his accomplices, where the boy, Gino Cressi, was concealed, and other things. Lucrezia was a spy here among her countrypeople, and Caesar was forever dropping bits of information, though we never dreamed who he was."

She went to the long French window, and, shading her eyes with her hands, peered down into the dark street.

"Then you have--thought of me," he urged. "You thought of me even before we were drawn together by this net of chance?"

"You have seldom been out of my thoughts," she told him, quietly. "You were my only friend, and I live a lonely life." Turning with a wistful smile, she asked: "And have you now and then remembered that Sicilian girl you knew so long ago?"

His voice was unruly; it broke as he replied: "Your face is always before me, Contessa. I grew very tired of waiting, but I always felt that I would find you."

She gave him her two hands. "The thought of your affection and loyalty has meant much to me; and it will always mean much. When I have entered upon my new life and know that you are happy in yours--"

"But I never shall be happy," he broke out, hoarsely.

She stopped him with a grave look.

"Please! You must go now. I will show you a way. So long as Cardi is at liberty you must not return; the risks are too great for all of us. As Oliveta learns the truth I shall advise you. Poor girl, she needs me tonight. Come!"

She led him through the house, down a stairway into the courtyard, and directed him into a narrow passageway which led out to the street behind. "Even this is not safe, for they may be waiting." She laid her hand upon his arm and said, earnestly, "You will be careful?"

"I will."

He fought down the wild impulse to take her in his arms. As he skulked through the gloom, searching the darkest shadows like a criminal, his fear was gone, and in his heart was something singing joyously.

XIX

FELICITE

"You're just the man I'm looking for," Bernie Dreux told Norvin, whom he chanced to meet on the following morning. "I've made a discovery."

"Indeed! What is it?"

"Hist! The walls have ears." Bernie cast a glance over his shoulder at the busy, sunlit street and the hurrying crowds. "Come!" With a melodramatic air he led Blake into a coffee-house near by. "You can't guess it!" he exclaimed, when they were seated.

"And what's more, I won't try. You're getting too mysterious, Bernie."

"I've found him."

"Whom?"

"The bell-cow; the boss dago; the chief head-hunter; Belisario Cardi!"

Blake started and the smile died from his lips. Dreux ran on with some heat:

"Oh, don't look so skeptical. Any man with intelligence and courage can become as good a detective as I am. I've found your Capo-Mafia, that's all."

"Who is he?"

"You won't believe me; but he's well thought of. You know him; O'Neil knows him. He's generally trusted."

Norvin began to suspect that by some freak of fortune his little friend had indeed stumbled upon the truth. Dreux was leaning back in his chair and beaming triumphantly.

"Come, come! What's his name?"

"Joe Poggi."

"Poggi? He's the owner of that fruit-stand you've been watching."

"Exactly! Chief Donnelly suspected him."

"Nonsense!" Norvin's face was twitching once more. "Poggi is on the force; he's a detective, like you."

"Come off!" Bernie was shocked and incredulous.

"Have you shadowed him for months without learning that he's an officer?"

"I--I--He's the fellow, just the same."

"Oh, Bernie, you'd better stick to the antique business."

Mr. Dreux flushed angrily. "If he isn't one of the gang," he cried, "what was he doing with Salvatore di Marco and Frank Garcia the night after Donnelly's murder? What's he doing now with Caesar Maruffi if he isn't after him for money?"

Blake's amusement suddenly gave place to eagerness.

"Maruffi!" he exclaimed. "What's this?"

"Joe Poggi is blackmailing Caesar Maruffi out of the money to defend his friends. He was at di Marco's house an hour before Salvatore's arrest. I saw him with Garcia and Bolla and Cardoni more than once."

"Why didn't you tell this to O'Neil?"

"I tried to, but he wouldn't listen. When I said I was a detective he laughed in my face, and we had a scene. He told me I couldn't find a ham at a Hebrew picnic. Since then I've been working alone. Poggi has been lying low lately, but--" Bernie hesitated, and a slight flush stole into his cheeks. "I've become acquainted with his wife--we're good friends."

"And what have you learned from her?"

"Nothing directly; but I think she's acting as her husband's agent, collecting blackmail to hire lawyers for the defense. Poor Caesar! he's rich, and Poggi is bleeding him. Since Joe is on the police force he knows every thing that goes on. No wonder you can't break up the Mafia!"

"By Jove!" said Norvin. "I was warned of a leak in the department. But it couldn't be Poggi!"

He began to question Bernie with a peremptoriness and rapidity that made the little man blink. Mingled with much that was grotesque and irrelevant, he drew out a fairly credible story of nocturnal meetings between the Italian detective and Caesar Maruffi, which, taken in connection with what he already knew, was most disturbing.

"How did you come to meet Mrs. Poggi?" he inquired, at last.

The question brought that same flush to Mr. Dreux's cheeks.

"She found I was following her one day," he explained, "so I told her I was smitten by her beauty. I got away with it, too. Rather clever, for an amateur, eh?"

"Is she good-looking?"

Bernie nodded. "She's an outrageous flirt, though, and--oh, what a temper!" He shuddered nervously. "Why, she'd stick a knife into me or bite my ears off if she suspected. She's insanely jealous."

"It's not a nice position for you."

"No. But I've something far worse than her on my hands--Felicite. She's more to be feared than the Mafia."

"Surely Miss Delord isn't dangerous."

"Isn't she?" mocked the bachelor. "You ought to see--" He started, his eyes fixed themselves upon the entrance to the cafe with a look of horror, he paled and cast a hurried glance around as if in search of a means of escape. "Here she is now!"

Norvin turned to behold Miss Delord approaching them like an arrow. She was a tiny creature, but it was plain that she was out in all her fighting strength. Her pretty face was dark with passion, her eyes were flashing, and they pierced her lover with a terrible glance as she paused before him, crying furiously:

"Well? Where is she?"

"Felicite," stammered Dreux, "d-don't cause a scene."

Miss Delord stamped a ridiculously small foot and cried again, oblivious of all save her black jealousy:

"Where is she, I say? Eh? You fear to answer. You shield her, perhaps." A plump brown hand darted forth and seized Bernie by the ear, giving it a tweak like the bite of a parrot.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, loudly. "Felicite, you'll ruin us!"

A waiter began to laugh in smothered tones.

"Tell me," stormed the diminutive fury. "It is time we had a settlement, she and I. I will lead you to her by those ass's ears of yours and let her hear the truth from your own mouth."

"Miss Delord, you do Bernie an injustice," Norvin said, placatingly.

She turned swiftly. "Injustice? Bah! He is a flirt, a loathsome trifler. What could be more abominable?"

"Felicite! D-don't make a scene," groaned the unhappy Dreux, nursing his ear and staring about the cafe with frightened, appealing eyes.

"Bernie was just--"

"You defend him, eh?" stormed the creole girl. "You are his friend. Beware, M'sieu, that I do not pull your ears also. I came here to unmask him."

"Please sit down. You're attracting attention."

"Attention! Yes! But this is nothing to what will follow. I shall make known his depravity to the whole city, for he has sweethearts like that King Solomon of old. It is his beauty, M'sieu! Listen! He loves a married woman! Imagine it!"

"Felicite! For Heaven's sake--"

"A dago woman by the name of Piggy. But wait, I shall make her squeal. Piggy! A suitable name, indeed! He follows her about; he meets her secretly; he adores her, the scoundrel! Is it not disgusting? But I am no fool. I, too, have watched; I have followed them both, and I shall scratch her black face until it bleeds, then I shall tell her husband the whole truth."

Miss Delord paused, out of breath for the moment, while Bernie pawed at her in a futile manner. Beads of perspiration were gathering upon his brow and he seemed upon the verge of swooning. As if from habit, however, he reached forth a trembling hand and deftly replaced a loose hairpin, then tucked in a stray lock which Felicite's vehemence had disarranged.

"Y-your hat's on one side, my dear," he told her.

She tossed her head and drew away, saying, "Your touch contaminates me--monster!"

Blake drew out a chair for her; his eyes were twinkling as he said, "Won't you allow him to explain?"

"There is nothing to explain, since I know everything. See! His tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth. He quails! He cannot even lie! But wait until I have told the Piggy's husband--that big, black ruffian--then perhaps he will find his voice. Ah, if I had found that woman here there would have been a scene, I promise you."

"Help me--out," gasped Mr. Dreux, and Norvin came willingly to his friend's rescue.

"Bernie loves no one but you," he said.

"So? I glory in the fact that I loathe him."

"Please sit down."

"No!" Miss Delord plumped herself down upon the edge of the proffered seat, her toes bardy touching the floor.

"I'm--working Mrs. Poggi," Bernie explained. "I'm a--detective."

"What new falsehood is this?"

"No falsehood at all," Norvin told her. "He is a detective--a very fine one, too--and he has been working on the Mafia case for a long time. It has been part of his work to follow the Poggis. Please don't allow your jealousy to ruin everything."

"I am not jealous. I merely will not let him love another, that is all--But what is this you say?" Her velvet eyes had lost a little of their hardness; they were as round as buttons and fixed inquiringly upon the speaker.

"You must believe me," he said, impressively, "though I can't tell you more. Even of this you mustn't breathe a word to any one. Mr. Dreux has had to permit this misunderstanding, much against his will, because of the secrecy imposed upon him."

With wonderful quickness the anger died out of Felicite's face, to be replaced by a look of sweetness.

"A detective!" she cried, turning to Bernie. "You work for the public good, at the risk of your life? And that dago woman is one of the Mafia? What a noble work! You forgive me?"

Instantly Mr. Dreux's embarrassment left him and he assumed a chilling haughtiness.

"Forgive you? After such a scene? My dear girl, that's asking a good deal."

Felicite's lips trembled, her eyes, as they turned to Norvin, held such an appeal that he hastened to reassure her.

"Of course he forgives you. He's delighted that you care enough to be jealous."

Bernie grinned, whereupon his peppery sweetheart exploded angrily:

"You delight in my unhappiness, villain! You enjoy my sufferings! Very well! You have flirted; I shall flirt You drive me to distraction; I shall behave accordingly. That Antoine Giroux worships me and would buy a ring for me to-morrow if I would consent."

"I'll murder him!" exclaimed Dreux, with more savagery than his friend believed was in him.

"Now, don't start all over again," Blake cautioned them. "You are mad about each other--"

"Nothing of the sort," declared Felicite.

"At least Bernie worships you."

The girl fell silent and beamed openly upon her lover.

"Why don't you two end this sort of misunderstanding and--marry?"

Miss Delord paled at this bold question. Dreux gasped and flushed dully, but seemed to find no words.

"That is impossible," he said, finally.

"It's nothing of the sort," urged Blake. "You think you're happy this way, but you're not and never will be. You're letting the best years of your lives escape. Why care what people say if you're happy with each other and unhappy when apart?"

To his surprise, the girl turned upon him fiercely. "Do not torture Bernie so," she cried. "There are reasons why he cannot marry. I love him, he adores me; that is enough." Two tears gathered and stole down her smooth cheeks. "You are cruel to hurt him so, M'sieu."

"Bernie, you're a coward!" Blake said, with some degree of feeling, but the girl flew once more to her lover's defense.

"Coward, indeed! His bravery is unbelievable. Does he not risk his life for this miserable Committee of yours? He has the courage of a thousand lions."