A branch of the Meden runs through the northwestern portion of that region still known as Sherwood Forest. At one time all that country was covered with one great, dense forest, but now there are many pieces of woods and a great deal of cleared country, with beautiful cottages and winding roads.
In a little, wooded valley stands an old, deserted mill. The broken water wheel is still and covered with rank moss and slime. The mill has settled on one side until it threatens to topple into the little basin above the almost vanished dam. It seems to cling to the old-fashioned stone chimney in a pitiful way for support.
This is known as the “Haunted Mill of the Meden,” and tourists travel far to see it. Hundreds of artists have daubed its semblance on their canvases.
Years ago, it is said, the miller, crazed by solitude or something, murdered his beautiful daughter in the old mill and then committed suicide. The people of that region tell that the ghosts of both father and daughter visit the old mill nightly at the hour when the crime was committed, which was shortly after midnight.
The haunted mill stands about eight English miles from Robin Hood’s Tavern.
A cold moon had risen in the east, and it was near the hour when the ghosts of the old mill were supposed to walk.
At least half a mile from the mill three horsemen had halted. They were Dick Merriwell, Brad Buckhart, and Swinton, the keeper of Robin Hood’s Tavern.
Not only had the landlord’s demands been fully satisfied and appeased by Dick, but he had been induced by the payment of a liberal sum to guide the boys to the haunted mill.
“You can’t miss it,” he declared in a low tone. “It’s straight down this road in the wood yonder.”
“But aren’t you coming with us?” asked Brad.
“Ten pounds wouldn’t take me nearer the mill at this hour,” said the landlord. “I’ve kept my part of the agreement; I have guided you to it.”
“Let him remain here,” said Dick, “and take care of the horses. We’ll go alone, Brad. We must leave the horses, for we do not wish to give Bunol warning that we are coming, and he might hear the animals.”
“Mebbe that’s a right good idea,” nodded the Texan. “I don’t opine a man as scared as he is would be any good with us.”
So the horses were left with the landlord, who promised to remain and guard them until the boys returned.
“If you ever do return,” he added. “It seems to me as likely as not that I’ll never clap eyes on you again.”
“I hope you don’t think we’re going to run away?” exclaimed Dick.
“No, but I do think it likely you’ll run into plenty of trouble, considering the things those men did at my place. I don’t see why you do not wait until morning and gather a force to aid you. It’s the only sensible thing. What can two boys do against such ruffians!”
“We’re not the kind that waits a great deal,” said Buckhart. “I sure reckon you’ll find out what we can do, and the ruffians will find out, too.”
Both boys were armed. They lost no time in hastening along the road that led in to the dark woods which choked the little valley. It demanded plenty of courage for those two American lads to attempt such an undertaking in a strange country at such an hour, and under such circumstances; but Dick and Brad had the courage, and they did not falter.
The woods were dark and silent, and filled with many black shadows, although in spots moonlight sifted through the openings amid the trees.
Stepping cautiously and keeping constantly on the alert, the boys followed the winding road down into the valley, avoiding the patches of moonlight.
Finally a faint murmuring sound of water reached their ears. It came from the little stream that trickled over the broken dam.
A few moments later the boys saw the dark and forbidding outlines of the old mill. All about the mill reigned a stillness like death, broken only by the almost inaudible sound of trickling water.
“It sure doesn’t seem like there is much of anything doing here,” whispered Buckhart. “I hope we haven’t arrived too late, pard.”
“The only way to find out about that is to investigate,” returned Dick, in the same cautious tone.
They approached the mill, circling a last spot where the moonlight shone down through the trees.
True, their hearts were beating faster than usual in their bosoms, but they were fully as undaunted as when they had set out from Robin Hood’s Tavern.
The old mill was reached at last, and they listened as they stood close beside its rotting wall.
No sound came from within.
“Have you the candles, Dick?” asked the Texan.
“Sure,” was the assurance. “But we’ll not use them until we get inside.”
They tried the door, but it was fastened, and after a few moments they decided that it could not be opened from the outside unless the person who attempted it knew how.
“We’ll have to find a window that will let us in,” said Dick, in a whisper.
Fortunately, they had little difficulty about this, for the windows of the mill were broken, and, although they had been boarded up, the boards were torn away from one of them. This window was high, but Dick mounted on Buckhart’s shoulders and crept through it. Then he leaned far out and grasped the hands of the Texan, who followed him, but made more or less noise in scrambling up and over the sill.
“Hush!” warned Dick. “We’ll listen here a while to see if we have disturbed any one.”
The silence within the place was even more oppressive than that of the dark woods outside.
“I sure am afraid we’re on a Tom Fool’s errand, partner,” murmured Buckhart. “I’m almost ready to bet my boots that, besides ourselves, there’s no living thing in this thundering old building.”
“You may be right,” Dick admitted; “but we’ll search it from top to bottom before we quit. I hate to think that, in the face of almost certain death, Luke Durbin lied to me.”
“Mebbe he didn’t lie; mebbe Bunol changed his plan after that runaway and smash-up.”
“Perhaps so.”
“Light a candle, pard.”
“Not yet. We’ll prowl round a little first. Take care not to step into a hole or trap of any sort.”
They moved forward with the utmost caution, feeling their way along in the darkness. Soon they found a door that was standing wide open and passed into a sort of hall, beyond which another door opened into another part of the building, which Dick believed was the mill proper.
In spite of their caution, they had made some slight noises, Brad once striking the toe of his boot against some obstacle.
As they paused there in irresolution, something of a startling nature took place.
First through the empty hallowness of the vacant rooms echoed a groan that was most dismal and nerve-trying.
This sound was followed almost instantly by a shrill, piercing shriek, like that which might be uttered by some one in the agony of death!
Buckhart afterward confessed that his hair “certain rose up on its hind legs and mighty nigh kicked his hat off.”
No wonder.
Such appalling sounds breaking in on the absolute silence of the place were enough to give a man of iron something more than a slight start.
The sounds died out as suddenly as they had broken forth, and the stillness that followed was disturbed only by the tumultuous beating of the hearts of the two boys.
Brad clutched Dick’s arm.
“Great everlasting tornadoes!” groaned the Texan. “That sure was letting it out some!”
“Just a little!” admitted Dick.
It did not take the boys long to recover from the shock, which was followed by a feeling of resentment, for both knew some one had sought to frighten them in that manner.
Neither of them believed in ghosts.
“Wherever did it come from, pard?” asked Buckhart, softly—“upstairs or down?”
Dick was compelled to confess that he did not know. The groan and the shriek had echoed through the empty rooms in a most deceptive manner.
By this time both lads had their revolvers ready for use.
They remained perfectly still for many minutes, listening for some new sound to guide them. Although they were wonderfully courageous, they knew they might be plunging into a deadly trap, and neither cared about throwing his life away.
Still they had come there for the purpose of trying to rescue Professor Gunn, and they did not propose to retire without doing their best to accomplish their design.
Finally they decided to investigate the upper portion of the mill, and on their hands and knees they crept up the stairs. They knew not what moment they might be attacked, and when they reached the top of the flight they more than half expected to be set upon without further delay.
After the startling sounds which had chilled and appalled them for a few moments, there was no further demonstration, and the deathlike silence of the place placed another strain upon their nerves, which seemed to grow more and more severe. Finally they felt that they would gladly welcome a noise of some sort.
The moonlight reached some of the upper windows of the building now, and it assisted them in exploring a portion of that floor. But though they went from room to room, they found up there no sign of any living thing.
“This is a whole lot disappointing, partner,” breathed the Texan. “There is nothing doing up here.”
“Evidently not,” admitted Dick. “Let’s go down. We have not half investigated the rooms below.”
They still believed it quite probable they would be attacked while in the old mill, but neither faltered. Down the stairs they went, and Dick led the way into that part of the building that had once been the mill proper.
Suddenly he stopped in the dark and put out his hand, checking Brad.
“Don’t move!” he warned.
“What’s the matter?”
Dick had heard the sound of running water rising from almost directly beneath his feet, and a cold breath of air came up and smote him in the face.
“Keep your revolver ready for use,” he said. “I’m going to light a candle.”
A moment later he struck a match and soon lighted a candle, which he had brought in his pocket, wrapped in a paper.
The light thus provided showed the boys that it was a fortunate thing that Dick had halted just as he did. Barely a step before him the flooring had rotted and fallen away, leaving a great opening down to the bed of the stream below.
“I’ll keep this candle going now,” decided Dick.
The investigation of that portion of the mill did not consume much time, and it was productive of nothing but disappointment.
“It’s a whole lot singular!” growled the Texan. “Partner, we know somebody was here a short time ago, for we heard the galoot groan and yell.”
“There must still be a part of the building we have not searched,” said Dick.
There was. They found a door leading from the hall into a short and narrow passage, which was blocked by still another door. The second door was securely fastened.
Their efforts to open it in an ordinary manner were wasted; but while they sought to do so they were surprised and interested to hear a strange thumping sound issuing from some part of the building just beyond that very door.
As they paused to speculate concerning the meaning of that thumping, another startling and disagreeable thing happened.
In the hall behind them there was a flash, and the loud and deafening report of a pistol smote upon their ears. At the same instant a bullet clipped past Dick’s ear and struck the candle in his hand, cutting it off close to the top and extinguishing it.
Buckhart turned in a twinkling and answered the shot by firing blindly back into the hall.
The flash of his pistol blinded Brad, but Dick—who had also wheeled and was slightly to one side—plainly saw a man spring through a doorway and vanish from view.
Once more snatching out his own revolver and warning Buckhart against shooting him by mistake, Merriwell darted back into that hall and followed the man through the doorway.
He discerned a dark figure just slipping out through the very window by which the two boys had entered the mill.
Although he was tempted to fire on the fleeing man, Dick restrained the impulse, permitting the unknown to escape.
“He’s gone,” he explained, in answer to the eager questions of the Texan, who had followed closely. “Let him go. I’m for finding out as soon as possible the meaning of the thumping sounds we heard beyond that immovable door. Let’s look for something with which we may batter down the door.”
In the mill section of the building they discovered a huge, rusty hammer, and with this they returned and attacked the door, Dick having relighted his candle.
The sturdy Texan begged the privilege of smashing the door, and the old building resounded with the concussions of his blows. In a few moments he had beaten the door until it was split and ready to give way. A sort of fury seemed to possess him, and he soon smashed his way through the door and into the small room beyond.
Dick followed with the candle, the light of which showed them a human figure lying on the floor before them.
It was Professor Gunn, bound tightly with ropes wound and knotted about him and gagged in a manner that prevented him from making any outcry. However, he had managed to thump the floor with his feet when he heard the boys outside the door, and now his eyes were filled with an expression of untold relief and joy.
Dick lost not a moment in producing a knife and slashing at the cords which held the old man helpless. At the same time Brad removed the gag.
“Thank God!” mumbled Zenas weakly.
When they had freed him, he was unable to rise, so they lifted him between them and aided him from the room. Reaching the window by which they had entered, Brad sprang out, and Dick assisted Zenas in getting over the sill and lowering himself into the strong arms of the Texan.
Then Merriwell sprang out, drawing a deep breath of relief, for, regardless of the flight of the man who had fired the shot that extinguished the candle, he had feared another attack until all were clear of the building.
“Boys,” half sobbed the old professor, “I knew you would come! I knew you would rescue me somehow! But it seems as if I have been in the power of those villains for ages.”
“Where is Bunol?” asked Dick.
“Gone.”
“Gone where?”
“He was here when they brought me to the place. He compelled me to tell him where he could find Nadia Budthorne, then he left me, with a single man to guard me until morning. With the coming of daylight the man was to get away, and I might have remained there until I perished from hunger or exhaustion if you had not come to my rescue. Oh, boys, you are jewels! You are the bravest, finest chaps in the world!”
“Bunol knows!” said Buckhart hoarsely. “He accomplished his purpose!”
“But we’ll baffle him!” cried Dick. “We’ll send a warning to the Budthornes the first thing in the morning, and then—then away for Naples.”
Venice, and sunset on the Grand Canal!
Nowhere else in all the world is there such a sight. For two miles this magnificent waterway; the main thoroughfare of the most wonderful city in the world, winds in graceful curves, with red-tiled, creamy white palaces on either hand. At all times it is a source of wonder and delight to the visitor, but at sunset and in the gathering purple twilight it is the most entrancing.
So thought Dick Merriwell, as he lay amid the piled-up cushions of a gondola that was propelled by a gracefully swaying, picturesquely dressed gondolier, one beautiful evening.
Brad Buckhart and Professor Gunn were in the gondola with Dick, and they, also, were enchanted and enraptured with the scene.
The mellow rays of the sinking sun touched the shimmering surface of the water, shone on the windows of the palaces, gleamed on the hanging balconies of marble, and made the Bridge of the Rialto seem like an ivory arch against the amber-turquoise sky.
There were many other gondolas moving silently along here, there, everywhere. On this great thoroughfare there was no rumble and roar of traffic. It was a street of soft silence, as Venice is the City of Silence.
“In a short time, boys,” said the old professor, in a modulated voice, that seemed softened by the influence of his surroundings, “you shall see Venice at her best, for the moon will rise round and full. When you have seen Venice by moonlight, you may truthfully say you have beheld the most beautiful spectacle this world can show you.”
“She ain’t so almighty bad by sunlight,” observed Buckhart.
“Ah, but time has worked its ravages upon her,” sighed Zenas sadly. “Once even the dazzling sun of midday could show no flaw in her beauty, but now it reveals the fact that, although she is still charming, her face is pathetically wrinkled. Ah! those splendid days of old—those days of her magnificence and grandeur—gone, gone forever!”
In truth, Zenas was profoundly moved as he thought of the past greatness and present state of this City of the Sea.
Still Dick remained silent. He was watching the sunset. Between him and the western sky seemed falling a shower of powdered gold, and yet this wonderful, golden light was perfectly transparent. Beneath the balconies and in the narrower canals the shadows were growing deeper. Just then Dick thought that, no matter what disaster, what suffering, what sorrow might come to him in life, just to be there in Venice that night at sunset was joy and pleasure and reward enough to overbalance all else.
“Pard, are you dreaming?”
Dick turned his eyes toward the loyal Texan without moving his head.
“Yes, yes—dreaming,” he murmured.
“Of what?”
“Like the professor, of the old days—of the founding of this wonderful city by a mere handful of refugees, who fled before the devastating, barbarian army of Attila, well named the ‘Scourge of God.’ How little could they have dreamed—those terror-stricken refugees—of the wonderful future of this city of a hundred islands! I am dreaming of Venice at the height of her glory, of the power of the Doges, of the senators in their splendid robes, of battles and conquests, of riches and splendor, of pompous pageants, of Ascension Day, when amid the roar of cannon, the shouts of the people, and the throb of music, the Doge in his barge of gold flung a golden ring into the blue waves, announcing the wedding of Venice and the sea. Yes, I am dreaming—dreaming!”
“And while you dream, pard,” said Brad, “dream some of the dark deeds, the crimes, the Bridge of Sighs, the Council of Ten——”
A strange, half-startled exclamation came from the gondolier. He had paused, clutching his oar, leaning forward—apparently paying attention to their words for the first time. He could speak a little English, but Professor Gunn addressed him in Italian:
“What’s the matter, Reggio?”
“The boys, signor.”
“What of them?”
“They talk too much. It is not well. They should be more careful.”
“Careful? I do not understand you, Reggio. Why should they be careful?”
“I hear them speak of the Ten,” whispered Reggio, leaning forward. “It is very dangerous, signor. Nothing should be spoken.”
“Still I do not understand you,” persisted the amazed old pedagogue. “The time of the Council of Ten is past forever. There is now no longer danger that a citizen of Venice may be secretly denounced to the council, secretly tried and secretly executed. We know that at one time the despotism of this council was so great that even the Doge himself became a mere instrument in the hands of that body of tyrants. Now, however, there is no council——”
The agitation of Reggio had increased as Gunn was speaking, until now it became absolutely painful to behold. He was trembling violently, and with shaking hand he entreated the old man to be silent.
“You know not, signor—you know not!” he whispered. “Beware what you say! If you continue to talk, I must decline to carry you in my gondola—you and the boys. We must part. I am a poor man. I need the money you pay me for my services. But most I need my life, not for myself alone, but for Teresa, my sister.”
“Man,” said Zenas, “you must be crazy! What harm could speaking of——”
“I pray you no more, signor—no more!”
“Well, wouldn’t that beat you!” said Buckhart, who understood a little Italian, and had succeeded in getting the drift of the talk. “What do you think of it, pard?”
“I do not know what to think,” confessed Dick, quite as much surprised and bewildered as Professor Gunn. “It is most remarkable. The man seems frightened. He actually pretends that we may place his life in peril by our words.”
“It may be some kind of a trick, Dick.”
“What kind of a trick can it be?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure watching out constant for tricks by these dagoes. They’re a slippery set, and they seem to think travelers are fair and legitimate game for plucking.”
“Not all of them, Brad.”
“No, not all; but you know Naples is called ‘the city of thieves,’ and we certain found it that. This fellow has appeared a heap decent, and——”
“Just so. I’ve taken a liking to him. He’s positively handsome, and he seems honest. I’ve urged the professor to retain him while we remain in Venice. But now——”
“We can’t even discuss the history of the city in his presence.”
All effort to induce Reggio to explain proved unavailing. He declined to explain, and he continued to urge them—in whispers—to talk of something else.
“I suppose we had better humor him,” said Gunn. “I can’t understand it, but just to please him we’ll drop it now.”
“I sure judge he has a streak of the daffy in him,” nodded Brad.
The silver moon rose wondrously fair. The evening was cool, still not cold. The professor and the boys drew some wraps about their shoulders, having come prepared for the change in the atmosphere.
In the moving gondolas lights began to twinkle and gleam. Soft laughter floated over the water.
Reggio’s oar moved silently in the water, and the gondola glided through alternating patches of moonlight and shadow, glory and gloom.
Beneath the moon, Venice was indeed at her best. The defects of age, seen in the broad light of day, were now hidden by a silver veil. In places lights gleamed through the casements.
“Pard,” said Buckhart, after a long silence, “I’m a whole lot glad you were expelled from Fardale!”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Dick, surprised. “Glad I was expelled?”
“Sure!” nodded the Texan grimly. “If you hadn’t been expelled, we’d not be here together now.”
“That’s true enough.”
“Of course I’m plenty bitter on Chet Arlington, but I opine his day is coming. The professor will look out for that, all right. You’ll return to old Fardale in triumph after——”
“We’ll return together, Brad.”
“Yes, we’ll return together—after we’ve seen a right good lot of this amazing old world, and I allow you’ll be received back with high acclaim. I can see it now. I can see big Bob, Obediah, Chip, Gardner, Darrel, Flint, Smart, and all the rest of them, welcoming you back. Just to think of it stirs me some, you bet! There’ll be something doing at Fardale that day, Dick—you hear me gently gurgle! Then back to the diamond, the gridiron, the gymnasium—back to all things we love! And the yarns we’ll have to tell! The things we’ll have seen! Whoop! I’m sure busting just to think of it!”
Professor Gunn, who had been listening to the words of the boys, now observed:
“Youth and anticipation of the glories of the future! Two of the most joyous things in this old world, boys. Do you know, I’m glad myself that Dick was expelled. Remarkable, eh? Astonishing and shameful confession, hey? Well, it’s the truth. Why am I glad? Because it brought me the companionship of you two lads, something I needed. Yes, I needed it. I’m a pretty old man, boys, and I find myself inclined to look backward instead of forward. Instead of thinking of the joys to come, I find I’m inclined to think of the pleasures past. Now, that’s bad—very bad. When a man gets to living in the past, he’s in his decline—he’s beginning to decay—he’s pretty near the end of the road. It’s natural for progress to constantly look forward. Looking backward means retrogression. You boys have seemed to arouse in me the looking-forward spirit which I needed. I, too, think of the future and the pleasures to come. Therefore you have done me no end of good. Hum! ha! Ha! hum! I hope I’ve not interfered with your enjoyment of this glorious night by my little lecture.”
“What’s the matter with Reggio?” questioned Dick in a low tone. “He still seems excited. He keeps looking back, and——Why does he send the gondola darting in here so suddenly?”
They had turned with a sudden swing from the broad canal to go speeding swiftly into a very dark and very narrow passage between high buildings.
“Why did you turn in here, Reggio?” demanded the professor, in Italian.
“Signor, it is best,” was the half-spoken, half-whispered answer. “Question me not, but trust me. Soon we will be again on the Grand Canal.”
“I certain believe the man is some bughouse,” said Buckhart. “He’s sure acting and talking a heap queer to-night.”
“I think he is perfectly trustworthy,” declared Dick; “and he’s the handsomest gondolier in all Venice.”
“You picked him out, pard, because he was handsome and graceful.”
“No; because I believed I could read honor and sincerity in his face. I believed he could be trusted.”
“If he’s daffy, he can’t be trusted to any great extent.”
Out of the canal they sped, Reggio’s body swaying rhythmically as he propelled the craft. He seemed almost feverish in his haste. Soon they swung again into another narrow channel, where it was very dark, Reggio turning his head to look round just as he did so. What he saw, if anything, caused him to increase his efforts.
They began to feel a touch of the almost fierce anxiety which had seized upon their gondolier. He seemed fleeing before something of which he was in mortal terror. In the moonlight, before they were sent rushing through this second dark channel, Dick had obtained a full view of the Italian’s face. It was pale and set, and his eyes seemed glowing with strange terror.
What thing was this from which Reggio fled like a hunted man? What peril pursued him, seen by him alone?
“Reggio!” spoke Dick.
“Silence! silence! silence!” implored the man at the oar.
“He sure has gone luny of a sudden!” whispered Brad. “There is no other explanation, pard.”
“I don’t like his behavior myself,” confessed the professor. “He’s getting me nervous. You know there are banded thieves in Venice, who prey on foreigners. Now——”
“There can be no connection between Reggio’s singular conduct and the thieves of Venice,” said Dick impatiently. “If he intended to rob us, he would not first excite our suspicion by his behavior.”
“I judge that’s correct,” nodded the Texan. “I certain allow it’s just a plain case of daffy on Reggio’s part.”
Once more they glided out upon the moon-lighted surface of the Grand Canal, and the professor drew a deep breath of relief.
“This is good enough for us, Reggio,” he said. “You don’t have to take us through those dark alleys to amuse us.”
But the man addressed did not seem to hear. He swung the craft into the shadow of the palaces at one side of the canal, still sending it forward with unusual speed. Other gondolas he avoided or passed with great skill. It was evident they attracted more or less attention by their surprising haste at that hour.
“I think, boys,” said Zenas Gunn, “that it might be well for us to return to our rooms and dismiss Reggio.”
But Dick’s interest and curiosity had been aroused. Behind the peculiar behavior of the man he believed there was something worth understanding. He scented a mystery, and mysteries always aroused and interested him.
“I couldn’t think of giving up this pleasure in the open air for our gloomy old rooms,” he said.
“Nor I, pard,” joined in Brad. “I slept a whole lot this forenoon, so that I’d not be at all sleepy to-night. Night certain is the time to enjoy Venice. I opine I’ll get into bad habits about hours while we’re here; but I can’t help it.”
“You boys are tyrants!” exclaimed the professor. “Who is the master here, may I ask? Am I taking you round, or are you taking me round?”
Dick laughed, and assured the professor that he was the one in supreme authority, which seemed to relieve and satisfy the old man. In truth, the boys did just about as they pleased, but they succeeded in this by making Zenas believe he was the one who wished to do the things that interested them most. In carrying this out, Dick was far more clever than Brad.
“Reggio seems to be behaving better,” said Merriwell.
“Correct,” nodded Buckhart. “Mebbe it was a fit he had. It seems gone now.”
“Though he keeps looking back.”
Once more Dick spoke to the gondolier, asking him why he had seemed to flee through those narrow and dark channels, and why he kept turning his head to stare behind them.
Reggio paused and leaned forward.
“Ah!” he said, in a very low voice, “you don’t-a know. I—I feel-a it in da air.” He spoke in broken English now.
“What did you feel in the air?”
“Death!” whispered the gondolier. “You don’t-a know. You not see-a heem follow us. He follow. That why I hurry vera much.”
“Whoop!” muttered Brad. “That’s a heap fine! So we had a race with death, did we? Well, partner, if that isn’t daffy talk, what do you call it?”
“Do you mean that we were really and truly pursued by anything, Reggio?” demanded Dick.
“I mean-a it. Death he follow us. But mebbe he not-a after us. He follow no more now.”
A boat full of musicians appeared, gliding slowly past them in the moonlight, surrounded by many gondolas. To the throbbing of the harp and guitar, a score of voices were chanting an Italian song.
“Splendid! magnificent!” breathed the professor.
The singing ceased. The gondolas swung near the music barge, from which white, phantom hands were outstretched. Into those hands fell silver coins, and the gondolas swept away.
Dick spoke a word of command to Reggio, who quickly sent them close to the boat of the singers. Merriwell added his contribution to the collection the musicians were taking up.
“There’s still music in Venice,” said Dick, as they drifted away.
“But now,” said Professor Gunn, “the musicians are professionals, who take that way of making a living.”
“Then,” spoke Dick, “in a certain sense it is true that—
“‘In Venice Tasso’s echoes are no more,And silent rows the songless gondolier:Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,And music meets not always now the ear;Those days are gone—but beauty still is here.’”
“‘In Venice Tasso’s echoes are no more,And silent rows the songless gondolier:Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,And music meets not always now the ear;Those days are gone—but beauty still is here.’”
“‘In Venice Tasso’s echoes are no more,And silent rows the songless gondolier:Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,And music meets not always now the ear;Those days are gone—but beauty still is here.’”
“‘In Venice Tasso’s echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier:
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear;
Those days are gone—but beauty still is here.’”
“Well quoted, my boy!” exclaimed the old pedagogue, in deep satisfaction.
“Let’s follow the music boat,” suggested Brad. “That singing has stirred up something a whole lot inside of me. I sure would like to hear some more.”
So Reggio was instructed to follow the musicians.
Some fifteen minutes later, perhaps, the music boat turned into a narrow, close canal, where all was darkness and gloom, with never a gleam of light, save from the gondolas, where lamps twinkled and moved like wills-o’-the-wisp. The boats were lost in the blackness of the place, the lights alone marking their movements.
“Another right fine place for a race with death, pard,” whispered Brad.
“Why have they turned in here?” whispered the professor apprehensively.
“We’ll find out,” said Dick. “We must be close to the Bridge of Sighs. Yes, you can see it against the sky. There it is.”
“With a palace and a prison on either hand,” murmured Zenas.
The beautiful bridge could be seen, buttressed by two great hulks of gloom. It was a ghostly place, and the cool air of the night seemed to take on a deeper chill.
The music barge floated beneath the arch of the bridge and stopped. Reggio permitted his gondola to slowly move along until it was also beneath the bridge. Above them was the terrible prison. Beneath them was the dark and sluggish waters. Dick thought of the headless bodies that once had awaited the changing tide that was to bear them away from that bloodstained spot to outer sea.
Suddenly the musicians began to play and chant a solemn song, full of sadness and despair. Enraptured, enthralled, their blood cold in their bodies, the boys and the old professor listened to the most thrilling and impressive music that had ever greeted their ears. In fancy, Dick seemed to hear the tread of the condemned passing over the bloody bridge, the moans of the dying within those black walls. The air shuddered and vibrated with the horror of it.
Never as long as life lasted could any of that trio forget that chanted song.
When it ended at last, they seemed turned to stone themselves. It was several moments before one of them stirred or even seemed to breathe.
“Let’s get out of here!” Brad finally suggested, chokingly.
“Grand, but terrible!” muttered the professor.
“I would not have missed it for worlds!” declared Dick.
Reggio swung the gondola round, and they were soon moving toward the open canal.
Just as they passed out of the deeper darkness, a black gondola swept close to them—so close that the two boats almost touched.
An unseen person reached forth a ghostly hand from between divided black curtains, and something was tossed through the air, falling with a little clang at the feet of Reggio. It sounded not unlike the ring of money.
Then the phantom hand disappeared and the gondola slipped swiftly into the blackness from which they had just emerged, being lost to view.
“What was it?” muttered Buckhart. “Did some one throw Reggio a coin?”
Dick grasped the arm of his bosom friend.
“Look!” he breathed. “Look at Reggio!”
The gondolier had not moved after the thing dropped at his feet. He was poised with his body swayed backward a little, and he seemed to be gazing with wide-open eyes at the mysterious object lying within ten inches of his feet. His attitude was expressive of the greatest horror.
“Whatever does it mean?” speculated the Texan. “He certain looks a whole lot alarmed.”
Dick started to speak to the gondolier, but checked himself and continued to watch the man.
Onward glided the boat, out into the full flood of moonlight.
Then the man at the oar could plainly see the thing that had been cast before him. Slowly, slowly, as if dreading to touch it, yet forcing himself to perform the act, Reggio stooped and picked it up.
“At last!” he muttered, with a choking sound—“at last it has come to me!”
“What is it?” questioned Dick.
“Death!” answered the man.
“Death?” exclaimed Professor Gunn. “Why, what do you——”
“See!” directed the gondolier, holding the object up in the moonlight. “Here it is! By this I am told that I must die!”
“What is it?”
“A ring of iron.”
“A ring of iron? What has that to do with your death?”
“It tells me that I am chosen. I have a few hours in which to settle my affairs and make ready. I knew that death pursued us to-night!”
“He’s still making crazy talk, pard!” declared Brad, who could understand Italian, although he made a mess in attempting to speak it.
“The man is not crazy,” asserted Dick positively.
“He sure talks that way.”
“There is something behind all this, Brad—something I’d like to understand.”
Professor Gunn continued to question Reggio. They seemed quite alone just then, with no other boats near them.
“I warned you not to speak of the Ten,” said the gondolier. “It is now too late.”
“But the Council of Ten no longer exists.”
“Not as once it did; but there is another. Oh, if I talk now it will only hasten the end! I am chosen, anyhow, and there is no escape! Little Teresa, my sister—what will become of her!”
The man seemed utterly crushed and hopeless. All the buoyant life and grace had departed from his body. His shoulders were bowed and his appearance that of one aged twenty years in a few moments.
“Boys,” said Professor Gunn, “there is something mighty singular and sinister back of this. That man is badly frightened.”
“Or doing stunts,” muttered Buckhart.
“No stunts,” asserted Dick. “His terror and despair is genuine. Evidently the iron ring is a sign of some sort. He believes that the receipt of it dooms him to death.”
“Folly.”
“Perhaps not.”
For a little time now Reggio answered none of their questions. Finally he straightened up and looked around. He lifted his arms and stretched them out to the white buildings with a despairing gesture.
“Farewell—farewell, Venice!” he murmured, with a sob. “This is my last night with you! For the last time I look on your beauty! Before another night my eyes will be closed in the long, long sleep.”
Then suddenly he seemed to realize that the others were looking and listening. He threw back his shoulders, drew in a deep breath, and with that breath his manhood seemed to return. He made a careless gesture of his hand.
“It is nothing to you, signors,” he said. “Mind not anything you have seen or heard. But it is better that you should leave Venice, for I have spoken to you of the Ten.”
“But you have not explained—you have not told us what you mean,” said the professor.
“It is better that you should not know. Your knowledge would place you in peril. Talk no more of the Ten. Keep your lips tightly closed, if you value your lives—and leave Venice.”
“Well, I like that!” growled Brad, in a manner that plainly told he did not like it. “I opine we won’t be chased out of Venice in any such manner.”
“Not much!” declared Dick earnestly. “We’ll remain and solve the mystery of the Ten.”
In vain they tried to learn anything further from the gondolier. He became silent, and no amount of questioning elicited anything of a satisfactory sort.
“I must return to Teresa,” he finally said. “It is the last time I shall see her.”
He then insisted on taking them without delay to their lodgings. On the way, he swung the gondola into another dark and narrow canal. A peculiar whistle sounded from his lips, causing Professor Gunn, who was very nervous by this time, to give a jump of alarm.
“My! my!” muttered the old pedagogue. “I’m expecting anything to happen! I’m looking for assassins everywhere. Why did he whistle? What does it mean?”
The answer came in the form of a gleam of light from a window in the wall on their left.
Reggio uttered a soft exclamation of satisfaction.
“Teresa is waiting for me, signors,” he said. “I must hasten with you and then return.”
“So this is his ranch,” said Buckhart. “He camps here, I judge.”
But now a change came over the gondolier. The light above had been shut off suddenly. Darkness followed for a moment, after which the light gleamed again. Again it disappeared for a few seconds, and again it gleamed.
“Trouble!” hissed Reggio. “Teresa has made the danger signal!”
“Dear! dear! dear!” gasped Zenas Gunn. “This is terrible! It is so dark. In the light of day I am brave as a lion—I fear nothing. But this darkness is so treacherous that I—really I’m disturbed.”
“Signors,” entreated the gondolier, “I entreat you a moment to wait, till I see what danger it is that has alarmed my sister. When I have reassured her, I will hasten to take you on your way.”
“All right, Reggio,” said Dick promptly. “We can wait. In fact, we’re in no haste.”
“Hum! ha!” coughed Zenas. “I am in haste to get out of this dark spot—indeed I am!”
“But you would not leave a lady in trouble, professor?” remonstrated Dick. “I know you would not do that, for you are the soul of chivalry. Where the fair sex is concerned, you are ever ready to face peril or death.”
“That’s right,” agreed the old pedagogue, bracing up. “You understand me perfectly, Richard. You are a very astute lad. Reggio, we will wait.”
“And,” added Dick, “if you need our assistance, you may depend on us.”
The gondolier poured out his thanks, swung the craft alongside some dark steps, fastened it to a ring of iron set in the marble, and then stepped out, saying he would make great haste.
He had not ascended more than three of the steps when he paused. At the same moment, from some dark nook, a figure stepped out above him.
“Who is there?” challenged the gondolier.
“A friend, Reggio Tortora,” came the answer, in perfect Italian, the voice being soft and musical.
“A friend?” retorted the gondolier, suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for your return.”
“Who are you?”
“You know me well.”
“I know you not.”
A laugh sounded low and soft in the darkness.
“Your ears must be losing their cunning, Reggio. Why, I should recognize your voice anywhere in all the world that I heard it. Come nearer.”
But the gondolier had been warned of death that hovered over him, and he did not move.
“If you are my friend,” he said, “why do you lurk like an assassin at my door?”
Again that musical laugh echoed between those dark walls.
“You seem timid as a rabbit, Reggio. Is this the brave, careless Tortora I knew so well? It cannot be.”
The gondolier was angered by the mockery of the words and laughter, but he did not forget that the iron ring had fallen at his feet a short time before. Might this not be the man chosen by the Ten to strike the fatal blow?
“Reggio,” called Dick, standing up and preparing to step from the gondola to the steps, “if you need aid, you may rely on us.”
“You bet your boots!” exclaimed Buckhart, eager to do something. “Just say the word, Reg, and we’ll get right into the game. I’m beginning to spoil for a rumpus, and I’m the Unbranded Maverick of the Rio Pecos. When I get my war paint on and take to the trail, I’m a holy howler on ten wheels.”
“Boys, boys!” spluttered the agitated old professor, “do be careful! Don’t leave me here! I must protect you. I must take care of you. If any harm comes to you, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Don’t worry, professor,” said Dick.
“Just keep your clothes on, professor,” urged Brad.
“There is but one,” said Reggio, in answer to Dick. “I need no aid in facing one man.”
Again the stranger laughed.
“Even though you are changed,” he said, “you yet have a little pride, my Reggio. But why should you fear me! I am here to do you a great service.”
“To do me a service?”
“Even so, my Reggio.”
“What service?”
“I would save your life.”
“How is that—how can it be?”
“You are under the ban of the Terrible Ten,” whispered the stranger, leaning forward in the darkness, and sending the words down the steps at the gondolier.
“How know you that unless you are my enemy—unless you are the assassin sent to do the deed?” demanded Reggio.
“I know many things, but my means of knowledge I keep in my own breast. You doubt me? I swear to you that I can save you, and will—on a certain condition.”
“No one condemned by the Ten has ever escaped,” retorted Reggio.
“You shall be the first—if you agree to terms I will offer.”
“What are the terms?” doubtingly inquired the doomed man.
“Will you accept them?”
“I will not become a murderer and a thief!” was the fierce retort. “I will not plunder and slay, and give one-half my evil gain to those criminals who hide their faces and are growing wealthy through the black crimes other men commit out of fear of them. I am a man! My ancestors were of the Castellani—the aristocrats of the red hoods. Never one of them has descended to the ranks of crime. It is because of that thing that I am now condemned to the assassin. The Ten claim they are the descendants of the black-hooded Nicolletti, and that they are avenging the old wrongs of their class. It is a lie! They are thieves and murderers, banded together for plunder. They strike no blows with their own hands, but they frighten others into doing the dark work and giving them half the plunder. Not even their tools know who compose the Ten, whose faces are always hidden. No man dares betray them by confessing. If he is caught red-handed, he takes all the blame, and tells it not that those who drove him to his crimes, and have shared his plunder, are the Ten, for if he should speak, he knows the ban of death will fall on all his family and all his blood relations.”
Repeatedly the stranger had tried to check the torrent of words flowing from Reggie’s lips, but his efforts had been unavailing. The speaker was aroused to a pitch of desperation, and he would not be silenced until he had finished.
“I fear not to speak!” he exclaimed. “I know I must die, for I have received the iron ring.”
“You fool!” hissed the other. “Do you not think of Teresa? What will happen to her if you talk like this?”
Reggie’s aspect of defiant rage suddenly departed, his shoulders drooped and he lifted his shaking hand to his eyes.
“Teresa!” he whispered. “Teresa, my sister! What have I done?”
“You have spoken like a crazy fool in the presence of foreigners,” declared the other man. “Still, besides them, I am the only one who has heard your words, and I am your friend. Their lips must be silenced, for if they speak one word of this, Teresa is doomed!”
Once more Reggio straightened himself somewhat defiantly.
“What mean you?” he demanded. “Their lips must be silenced, you say. What mean you?”
“You know.”
“They shall not be harmed while with me!” exclaimed the gondolier. “No man I have ever served has come to harm through me.”
“Oh, Lord, boys! Oh, Lord!” palpitated Zenas Gunn, almost overcome by horror. “Do you hear? Do you understand? They are speaking of murder—of killing us!”
“But Reggio is on the level,” said Dick.
“Great howling coyotes!” exclaimed Buckhart. “It begins to look some as if we were going to get mixed up with this Ten, whoever they are.”
“Tortora,” said the stranger, “you are a great fool! You will be slain, the strangers will disappear, and Teresa—it will be left for me to save her.”
“For you?”
“Yes.”
“Why, you?”
“Because she is the fairest flower of Venice! Because my sleeping dreams of her and my waking thoughts of her have brought me back to Venice from America, far over the seas.”
“By the saints!” cried Reggio, “you are Nicola Mullura!”
“At last you have named me!” laughed the mysterious man.
“You wretch!” panted the gondolier. “How dare you again show your face in Venice?”
“I am not showing it very much,” was the cool retort. “Even here, as near as we are, you could not see it well enough to recognize me. By day you might rake the city with a fine comb, and still you would not find me.”
“You are a thief, a murderer, and death will be yours if you are discovered!”
“Never fear, my Reggio,” was the mocking assurance. “I have friends far more powerful than the authorities of this city. My friends are of the Ten.”
“For whom you committed a hundred crimes before you were compelled to flee the country in order to save yourself from the hand of justice. Well might they be your friends!”
“You are very careless in your speech, Tortora,” said the one accused, still with perfect self-possession. “I will take good care of Teresa when you are gone. Trust her to me, my Reggio. In my arms she will be safe.”
“Rather than think she might become yours would I slay her with my own hand!” panted the gondolier. “What have you been doing? You have frightened her!”
“I knocked at the door and asked admission. She should have welcomed me with open arms.”
“I knew you had frightened her. She loathes you, Nicola Mullura.”
“She shall adore me.”
“In her room she has been shuddering and praying since you knocked at the door and demanded admission.”
“You shall soothe her and tell her I have come to take her with me to America, where, in the city of New York, I am already a great man with my people.”
“Never! How have you the impudence to place your feet on these steps! How did you come here?”
“I was brought. When Teresa declined to admit me, I decided to wait until your return, for I knew you were out in the city. I am here. Now we will go in together. You shall leave me with Teresa while you take away the foreigners and return.”
The man spoke as if fully confident that Tortora would comply. The gondolier seemed hesitating, but suddenly he cried:
“As I must die, I’ll not leave you to torture my sister! The Ten will destroy me, but not until I have killed you, Mullura!”
“He has drawn a knife!” exclaimed Dick, noting as well as possible in the darkness the movements of Reggio.
“It sure is the real thing now!” said Buckhart.
“Terrible!” groaned Professor Gunn. “Where are the authorities? It should be stopped!”
Mullura had watched closely, and now he lost not a second in whipping out his own knife.
“Fool!” he sneered. “You are no match for me! I shall kill you, and save the Ten a task!”
Tortora held his knife at arm’s length toward the sky, as if invoking the assistance of a higher power. Then he started up the steps.
“Fair play!” cried Dick Merriwell, springing from the gondola. “If we can’t stop this business, Brad, we can see fair play!”
“You bet your boots!” roared the Texan, following promptly.
The professor called to them in the greatest consternation, but they did not heed his appeals.
Mullura waited for Tortora to come within reach. Being higher up, he had the advantage.
Suddenly the gondolier darted to one side and sprang up the steps until he was on a level with the other man. Mullura tried to prevent this, but he was not quick enough. He leaped forward, striking at the gondolier.
Reggio flung up his hand and warded the blow, the knives clinking as they met and rasping as they parted with a twist.
The gondolier gave the other a swing and then struck under like a flash, but Mullura leaped backward and escaped.
The struggle that followed was of a silent, deadly sort.
Dick and Brad pressed near to watch, but did not try to interfere between the men.
Suddenly a door was flung open and a fan of light flared out upon the steps. In the open doorway, holding a lighted candle above her head, was a girl.
Both Dick and Brad gasped as they saw her, for they were struck with the fact that she was wonderfully beautiful. She was not more than seventeen, with eyes and hair as dark as deepest midnight. Her features were finely molded.
The girl’s face was very pale and her lips were parted. She made a wonderful picture as she stood there peering out at the fighting men.
The light of the candle enabled the men to see how to get at each other. Mullura cried:
“He forced it on me, Teresa! I do not wish to kill him, but now it is his life or mine!”
Saying which he crouched at a little distance. He sprang forward on the steps, made a false thrust with his knife that bore a dark stain, then plunged beneath the arm Reggio flung up.
It seemed that the gondolier would be cut to death in a moment, but he made a lucky clutch with his empty hand, and caught the wrist of his enemy, partly checking and turning the blow. He was wounded slightly.
Baffled in that manner, Mullura had the misfortune to slip on the steps while within the reach of Tortora. Before he could recover and save himself, the latter plunged the knife into his shoulder.
The stricken man broke the hold of the other, but up went one of his arms, and he reeled down the steps, on which his knife clanged, having fallen from his hand.
Reggio followed. His back was toward the light, but his manner was that of one who means to finish a task not yet accomplished.
Mullura tried to rise to his feet. He scrambled up, saw Tortora right upon him, leaped back, again lost his footing, and, a moment later, plunged with a great splash into the water.
The gondolier followed to the edge of the water, where he crouched, bloody knife in hand, watching for the man he hated to rise to the surface.
The water was ruffled and broken, but the ripples were caused by the man who had vanished, and they grew less and less. The head of Mullura did not rise into view.
“I opine the gent is done for,” muttered Brad Buckhart, finding his voice at last.
“I believe he is,” said Dick, speaking with an effort. “If so, he met his just due.”
“Nary dispute to make on that, pard.”
There was something of disappointment in Reggio’s manner as he rose to his feet.
“I wished to see him dead,” he muttered. “Still, I know he is done, and he will never touch Teresa with his vile hands.”
“I reckon he’s gone, all right, Reg,” said Brad; “but so is your gondola. It’s disappeared, and Professor Gunn has disappeared with it. Pard, we’re kind of left here, I judge.”
Already Dick had discovered that the gondola was gone.
With it had vanished the possibility of their immediately leaving the place by water, as they had reached it.
“We’re stranded, Brad,” said Dick.
They called to Professor Gunn, but there was no answer.
“Courageous old boy!” muttered the Texan, with a show of anger.
“I don’t know that we can blame him much,” said Dick, seeking an excuse. “He’s very nervous, and the spectacle of Reggio and his antagonist fighting like tigers for their lives must have caused him to lose his head.”
“Oh, he’s all right,” said Brad hastily—“he’s all right when he doesn’t tell people how brave he is.”
In the meantime Reggio was reassuring his sister, who had seemed quite horrified by the spectacle of her brother engaged in the deadly struggle with Nicola Mullura. He placed his arm about her supportingly, speaking soft words into her ear. She was white, and the candle in her hand trembled violently.
“What can we do, Reggio?” questioned Dick, in very poor Italian. “The professor is gone, and the gondola with him.”
“Come in da house,” invited the gondolier, abandoning his own tongue for the time being. “Spik da English-a to me-a. I understand-a heem vera much-a well.”
“But he can’t understand your talk, pard,” chuckled Buckhart. “That’s a horse on you.”
“I suppose we had better accept his invitation. We can’t stay out here.”
“Sure—we’ll accept it,” nodded the Texan.
So they followed Reggio and his sister into the house, the door being closed behind them. They mounted some stairs, threaded a passage of several angles, and came to a lighted room.
“Teresa,” said Reggio, “I introduce-a you my ’Merican friends. They very fine-a gentleman.”
“Wow!” muttered Brad. “Our gondolier calls us his friends, pard!”
Reggio seemed to catch the meaning of Buckhart’s low-spoken words, which were not intended for his ears, for he straightened up with an air of pride, quickly saying:
“You hear me tell-a Nicola Mullura my ancestor they belong-a to da Castellani. Mebbe you no understand-a me? I spik to him in da Italian. I poor gondolier now. My family good one. Da blood-a of da gentleman run here in me-a. I no tell-a it ev’rybody. What da use? I tell-a you now. Da Mullura blood vera bad—vera bad. Da Mullura belong-a to da Nicolletti—common class-a. My sist’ she fine-a lady.”
This was said with considerable effort, and suddenly Dick began to understand that this Venetian gondolier really believed himself and his sister of greater distinction than most of the foreigners he rowed about the city in his boat. Indeed, there was something that carried the impression that Reggio really believed he was unbending and bestowing on them a favor by permitting them to meet his sister.
“No offense, Reg, old man,” said Brad, in his frank, Western way. “I can tell that your sister is an aristocrat by looking at her. You don’t have to explain that any to me. She is all right, and so are you. I certain admire the way you polished off old Mul, out on the front steps. All the same, I didn’t think you had cooked his hash when you sheathed your knife in his dirty hide, and it was a surprise for the Unbranded Maverick of the Rio Pecos when he failed to rise to the surface after going in for that little swim.”
“His shoulder,” said Reggio; “I strike-a him in da shoulder. He no swim-a.”
“Well, it was a right fine job, Reg.”
The gondolier now questioned his sister in Italian, and she told him how she had endured terror while Mullura was outside the door, on which he knocked and knocked, demanding admittance. At first, on hearing his rapping, she took a candle and crept down to the door, asking who was there. He answered, saying it was a friend from her brother; but she recognized his voice, and fled back to her room, where she remained, praying that the door would not yield until her brother returned. After a time he ceased to knock, and she hoped he had departed. Still, knowing how bitterly he hated Reggio, she feared he was waiting to attack him at the door, and therefore she had given the danger signal by flashing the light when she heard her brother’s whistle.
Reggio explained how Mullura had attempted to force his attentions upon Teresa. He was a reckless character in Venice at the time, with a very black reputation, and the girl had shrunk from him with the greatest aversion.
On discovering that Teresa feared him, the fellow became more and more persistent in his annoying attentions. At last he insulted her, and then, burning with fury, Reggio sought the scoundrel, intending to kill him. They fought, but were separated before either had been harmed.
Then and there Mullura swore to obtain possession of Teresa and to kill Reggio if he lifted a hand to prevent it.
But directly after that the authorities obtained conclusive evidence that Mullura had been concerned in a number of crimes, the most dastardly being a cold-blooded murder. The fellow was forced to flee from Venice, much to the relief of both Reggio and Teresa. He emigrated to America, but sent back word that some day he would return and secure Teresa, in spite of herself and her brother.
All this was explained in a broken manner to the boys, upon which Brad cried:
“Good riddance to old Nic! You won’t have to worry about him any more, Reg. Both you and your sister are safe.”
“No, no!” muttered the man, a dark shadow coming to his face. “Nicola Mullura gone-a, but I have-a da iron ring-a.”
At this Teresa, who understood a little English, gave a cry and caught her brother by the arm. In Italian she plied him with questions. At first he tried to put her off, but his manner added to her alarm, and she insisted that he should tell her the truth.
“I have-a to tell-a her!” he murmured sadly. “Mebbe bet’ tell-a her now. She find-a out prit soon, best I can-a do.”
Then he took her in his arms, looking sadly and lovingly down into her upturned face.
“Little sister,” he said in soft Italian, “my heart is sore, for it is true that the Ten have placed the death seal upon me.”
She cried out in horror, clutching him and clinging to him.
“No, no, no! Oh, Reggio, my brother, my dear, good brother, why should they do it? It cannot be true!”
“You know, little sister, that a Tortora never stained his hand with crime. The Ten live and grow fat on the proceeds of crime. Every man who fails to contribute his share of loot at their command is sure in the end to get the iron ring. When that happens, unless he is able to flee from Venice at once, he is doomed to die. I have no money. I cannot flee. The ring was tossed at my feet. Within twenty-four hours from the time it fell there I shall be dead. Poor, little Teresa! What will become of you?”
She put her slender arms round him and clung to him with fierce affection, as if she would in some manner protect him from the black peril that threatened. Again and again she cried that it could not be, this terrible thing. She drew him down, wound her arms about his neck and kissed him.
“Brad,” said Dick, in a husky voice, “we must save Tortora somehow.”
“Right you are, partner!” agreed the Texan heartily. “I was thinking of that some before getting a look at his sister; and I am thinking it a heap sight more since. However are we going to do it?”
“We must get him out of Venice before the blow is struck by the Terrible Ten.”
“Or take to the warpath and chaw up the Terrible Ten. That would suit me a heap better.”
“That’s out of the question. The only way is to smuggle Reggio out of Venice. I have a way. The fishing boats! They start out for the fishing grounds of the open sea before daybreak. We must find a man who, for a sufficient bribe, will hide Reggio aboard his boat, take him out of the city, and keep him until we can get along with a little steamer. It will cost a lot of money, but what is money when a human life is in the balance!”
Reggio had been listening to Dick’s words. He now put his sister gently aside, turning to the boy, placed his hands on Merriwell’s shoulders, and spoke with deep feeling:
“A thousand times I thank-a you, my frien’! You good-a, kind-a! No use to try. No do-a it.”
“Why not?”
The gondolier explained that in all Venice there was not one fisherman who would dare smuggle him away on learning that he had been condemned by the Ten, and had been given the iron ring. The man who did it would be assassinated in less than a day and a night after his return to the city.