The Pursuit Part 49

CHAPTER XXIV

LUIGI'S HOSPITALITY

The smuggler's eyes expressed the limits of amazement. He stared at the newcomer. He turned his glance to Aylmer, as if he sought information there. He brought it back and focussed it upon the dripping _soutane_.

He made inarticulate noises of incredulity; he flung up his hands with gestures of bewilderment.

"You arrive--how, reverend father?" he cried. "What have you used? The wings of a bird, the fins of a fish?"

"The eyes of a G.o.d-fearing priest," retorted Padre Sigismondi. "I saw signals being flashed from your island. With Emmanuele here," he pointed to the dripping figure which still lay upon the stones, "I was pa.s.sing your abode of sin on my way to Stromboli. I had, in fact, no choice--I was being blown there. I saw the signals, I say, but read no meaning in them. Some unconfessed wretch needs extreme unction, say I to myself, and steered among the teeth of your reefs. One of our sweeps broke at a critical moment. This cavalier here leaped in to our rescue. I have not properly thanked him yet because I am awaiting explanation of the words I heard as you thrust yourself upon us. Prisoners, did you say? It must be a cataclysm of morality which has made you a gaoler or a judge, my wonderful Luigi."

The smuggler s.h.i.+vered and blenched.

"This man and this woman are in a sense prisoners," he allowed. "They are not on good terms with our other--guests. We have had to restrain their liberties."

Padre Sigismondi regarded him fixedly. The unfortunate Luigi's tongue protruded with nervousness; his cheek muscles twitched. The priest shrugged his shoulders as he turned to Aylmer.

"I arrive unceremoniously," he smiled, "but not inopportunely, it seems.

May I have your version of the extraordinary circ.u.mstances in which I find the Signora and yourself, Signor?"

Aylmer smiled back at him.

"They are simple enough, father," he answered. "We are prisoners; there is no need for our friend here to beat about the bush. At the instigation of--of a certain enemy of ours, in whose pay the good Luigi finds himself, we were kidnapped from the port of Melilla and brought here. It was our signals you saw. May I add my profound regrets at the misfortune you experienced in answering them?"

"The Church is a boat to the bad, but possibly a gainer in righteousness," said the other. "I may be the means of preventing some irretrievable sin on the part of these islanders. You were being held to ransom, do I understand?"

The dripping figure at his feet stirred and rose weakly to a standing posture. A cackle of laughter came from between the chattering teeth.

"The gaol-bird as gaoler--eh, but that is a rib-rending jest, Luigi. You have imagination, _amico_, imagination and, it seems, opportunity. You will go far!"

The sailor turned his wrinkled face on the abashed smuggler; his white teeth flashed a prodigious smile. He seemed to find nothing disconcerting in the situation, but desired to show quickness in seizing its points of humor.

"He will certainly go far, my good Emmanuele," agreed Padre Sigismondi, drily. "As far as the penal station on Procida if I am not hugely mistaken, or unless he shows a most improbable repentance. What have we here? Other warders in this private penitentiary?"

Footsteps clattered along the tiny causeway. With a rush, half a dozen figures swept up to them through the moonlight, Landon at their head.

This was the answer to Signor Luigi's frantic shouts.

The rush wavered, hesitated, came to a halt. The islanders recognized the grim, aggressive form in the _soutane_ with sharp exclamations of amazement and alarm. Landon, without their experience, felt the impalpable infection of their fear. He, too, halted, staring mistrustfully at the priest and his companions.

He shook Luigi by the elbow.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

The smuggler made a deferential outward movement of his palms.

"It is a visit, an unexpected visit, from our--our vicar," he explained.

"It is the Padre Sigi--Sigismondi, I should say."

The padre stepped forward and spoke in crisp, imperturbable tones.

"I am peripatetic confessor to these islands, Signor," he said. "There is a bitter need of six priests to each island, rather than six islands to a priest. It is an abode of wickedness, this. That, perhaps, has not been hidden from you?"

Landon kept a moment's silence. Then he smiled.

"I confess that I have not augmented its morality, in bulk, Signor," he said. "In fact, by adding the two who stand behind you to its population, I have done far otherwise. Instead of being where you find them, they should be under lock and key."

"Why?" demanded the priest, laconically.

"Because they robbed me," answered Landon. "Because, for wicked purposes of their own, they took from me--not gold, but what is beyond the price of gold or buying--my only son."

"You accuse them of--kidnapping?" The good man's voice was coldly incredulous.

Landon made a gesture of a.s.sent.

"Of that and of attempted murder. They hired Moorish desperadoes to attack me, to ride me down."

"And you have made of yourself not only prosecutor, but judge, jury, and keeper of their prison?"

"These things happened in Africa, outside civilized jurisdiction. Was I to lack justice when it lay in the hollow of my hand?"

"Are there no consular courts? If not, you cannot bring your private cause to private verdict in the dominions of the King of Italy, however bad his t.i.tle to the throne."

"Your reverence is a Legitimist?" grinned Landon.

"In every sense of the word, Signor. My sense of legitimacy finds your arguments unsound."

He looked at Claire with an apologetic bow.

"And as a matter of fact, Signora, I have not heard your statement. How does it vary from this gentleman's? Or does it, perhaps, corroborate it?"

She looked at him very steadily.

"The man to whom you have been talking," she said slowly, "is, I think, Signor, the worst man whom G.o.d permits to live."

He made a little gesture of protest.

"You have suffered at his hands--is that it? But your sentence is too sweeping a one, is it not? Surely, Signora, surely?"

She shook her head.

"No!" she said determinedly. "Traitor, forger, thief--we know him to be all these. And last, but not least, murderer. A murderer of souls. I do not know if he has taken a fellow creature's life, but for five years he racked into the numbness of despair the soul of my sister, who was his wife."

He made a tiny exclamation of sympathy; he held up his hand as if he put away from him a spectre of evil.

He looked back to Landon.

"You have heard, Signor?" he said.

"I have heard," said Landon, easily. "As a tale it has no originality and therefore little interest for me. I have heard it a hundred times.