Behind the Throne Part 37

The vulgarian little suspected, when he so innocently lent his watch to his niece, that the handsome governess had taken an impression in wax of the small master-key upon the other end of his chain, or that she had that very same evening posted the wax impression in the tin matchbox to the clever secret agent of the Italian War Office--the man who with two colleagues had come over from Paris specially, who had met Mademoiselle in Kensington Gardens, and who was known at the newsagent's in the Westminster Bridge Road as Giuseppe Gallo, a civil engineer, seeking employment.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

IN CONFIDENCE.

General Arturo Valentini, commanding the Italian forces on the Alpine frontier of France, sprang nimbly from an open cab, and helped out his companion--a young lady in deep mourning, with her long c.r.a.pe veil down, as is the custom in Italy.

The sentries at the big arched gateway of the military prison of Turin, recognising the commanding officer, stood at the salute, and in response, the short, dapper little man in his uniform and row of ribbons on his breast raised his hand to his peaked cap quickly in acknowledgment, and pa.s.sed at once into the great bare courtyard surrounded by the high, white, inartistic outer offices of the prison.

The soldiers off duty, who were lounging and gossiping, quickly drew themselves up to attention as he crossed the courtyard to the office of the governor, walking with his firm military gait and spurs clinking, and his sword trailing over the stones. He was one of the smartest and best soldiers Italy possessed, a man who had shown an iron nerve in those turbulent days of the struggle for unity, a man of rigid discipline and yet of kindly heart. The loss of his only son in the reverses in Abyssinia two years before had left him without kith or kin, and although he commanded a military district as large as England, and was also in possession of a private income, he led a simple life at his headquarters there in Turin, going into society as little as possible, and ever working to improve the condition of his command. His district was the most important of any in Italy, for in case of hostilities it would be the first point attacked; and as triumph usually lies with those who strike the first blow, it was his object to enter France effectively and on the instant, if the dogs of war were ever let loose.

With this end in view, he was untiring in his efforts to perfect the defences of those many valleys and Alpine pa.s.ses by which the enemy might gain admittance if not perfectly secure. In both summer and winter his troops were ever manoeuvring in those high misty mountains, skirmis.h.i.+ng, throwing bridges over the deep gorges, and executing evolutions always in secret, always fearing that the French might learn their intentions in case of war.

That enormous army on the Italian frontier which one never sees, those regiments upon regiments which dwell far up in the remote heights of the Alps, away from the civilisation of the towns, are kept a mystery by the Ministry of War. They are there, ever ready, one knows, but where all the hidden fortresses are situated, or where the death-dealing mines are laid, are secrets which only the War Office and the commander know.

And it is those secrets which French spies are ever endeavouring to discover. Indeed, one of General Valentini's chief anxieties was the ingenuity displayed by the emissaries of France, who crossed the frontier in all kinds of disguises in the endeavour to learn the military secrets. Not a year went past but two or three of these spies were arrested and condemned--and, be it said, the same state of things existed on French territory, where the secret service of Italy, the men from the bureau at headquarters there in Turin, boldly took their liberty in their hands and went forth to gain the secrets of their friends in the opposite valleys.

It required an officer of clear foresight, great tact, and wide experience to control such a command, and in Arturo Valentini, the short, stout, red-faced little man, Italy certainly had one in whom she could repose the most absolute confidence.

In the office of the prison governor the pair stood for a few minutes, until the dark-bearded, spectacled official entered, saluted the commander, invited both him and his companion to seats, and settled himself at his table.

"I wish to have an interview with Felice Solaro," the general explained.

"He is still here, I suppose?"

"Until Thursday next, when he is to be transferred to Gorgona."

"To Gorgona!" exclaimed the general in surprise; for the name of that lonely penal island in the Mediterranean opposite Leghorn was sufficient to cause him to shudder. "Then it is fortunate we came to-day," he added.

"But," hesitated the grave-faced man, looking inquiringly at his company, "but of course this lady cannot see him. It is against the regulations, you know, general. No prisoner can be seen by anyone except yourself, save by order of the Minister of War."

"I know," was the old officer's reply. "But this lady happens to be the daughter of the Minister Morini." Whereupon the governor bowed politely at the figure, whose face he could not well distinguish through her veil.

"You therefore need have no hesitation in allowing the interview," added the general. "If you wish, I'll sign an order for it now."

"No, certainly not. If the lady is the Minister's daughter, it is of course different."

"But this fact is confidential, recollect. It must not appear in any report that she has visited here."

The governor nodded. It was not the first time that ladies, high born and well-dressed some of them, had, on presenting orders from Camillo Morini, had interviews with officers and men undergoing imprisonment for various offences.

Solaro's crime was, however, the most serious of that of any prisoner who had been incarcerated there since he had held the post of governor-- the unpardonable crime of treason, of selling his country into the hands of its enemy! He only knew that the court-martial had found the charges proved, and therefore he was guilty. It surprised him that the daughter of the Minister should wish to see the man condemned of such an offence, but he made no comment. He only touched his bell and gave instructions for the prisoner Solaro to be brought from his cell to the _parlatorio_, or speaking-room.

"You of course wish, general, to see the prisoner in private," remarked the governor, when the chief warder had gone.

"If you please," responded the old officer, in his sharp habit of speech.

"Then I will not accompany you. But I may tell you that the prisoner has become much changed since his sentence. He declares his innocence, and sits pondering all day in idleness."

The general sighed, without replying. They discussed the matter until the chief warder returning they rose and followed him out across the courtyard, through a small iron-bound door before which a sentry stood at the salute, into the inner courtyard of the prison itself, the small, dismal, bare stone place which formed the exercise-yard, while all around were the small, barred, high-up windows of the cells.

They pa.s.sed through a door, and walking along a short corridor entered a small room divided in half by long iron bars from floor to ceiling, like the cage of some ferocious animal in captivity. Behind those bars stood the bent, pale-faced figure of Felice Solaro, different indeed from the straight, well-set-up man who had stood before the Minister of War and defiantly broken his sword across his knee. Dressed in an ill-made suit of coa.r.s.e canvas, the beard he had grown gave him an unkempt and neglected appearance, the aspect of one in whom all hope was dead.

On recognising his visitors, he sprang forward to the bars.

"Ah! my general?" he cried. "How good of you to come to me!" And he put out his thin white hand through the iron cage to greet the man who had stood his friend and endeavoured to get his verdict reversed. Then, as the gallant old officer took his hand, he turned inquiringly towards the figure in black.

She threw her long veil aside, and when he saw her face revealed he gasped--

"Signorina Mary! You--you have come here--_to see me_!"

Tears rose to her eyes and almost blinded her. Recollections of the past crowded upon her in that moment, and her heart was overburdened by pity for him.

"The signorina has done her best to induce her father to sign the order for your release, captain, but, alas!"--And the general sighed without concluding his sentence.

"The Minister refuses!" said the unfortunate man behind the bars. "And yet I tell you I am innocent--innocent."

"I believe you are, captain. If I did not, I should not interest myself on your behalf. But, unfortunately, the powers in Rome are greater than mine. They are sending you out to Gorgona, it seems."

"To Gorgona!" he gasped hoa.r.s.ely, all the light dying from his pale, emaciated face. "Ah! then they mean to drive me mad by solitary confinement. My enemies have, indeed, triumphed!"

"But have courage, Felice," exclaimed Mary, speaking to him for the first time and taking his thin hand. "Surely one day you will have justice done to you. I cannot understand why my father so steadily refuses to release you."

"Because he fears to do so," declared the condemned man. "I am victim of a foul intrigue in which that woman Filomena was one who conspired against me."

"And yet you loved her," remarked the girl reproachfully.

"Ah! I believe I did. I know that to you I ought not to mention her, signorina. But forgive me. Do you recollect that night in Rome--at the ball at the Colonna Palace--when I asked you a question?"

"I do," she responded, now very pale. "I was younger, and did not know my own mind then. I thought--I thought I loved you. It was our flirtation that has brought you to this. I am to blame for everything."

"No, no," he declared. "It is I who committed the indiscretion of falling in love with you when I knew that I, a poor captain, could never hope to marry the daughter of the Minister of War."

She sighed, and tears welled again in her dark brown eyes. The general at her side was no woman's man, but even he became affected at this meeting.

"They allege that you sold to France a copy of the mobilisation scheme,"

she went on. "They say that I purposely locked you in my father's library at Rome for three hours in order that you might have access to the secret doc.u.ments which were in a drawer in his writing-table."

The prisoner, smiling bitterly, answered--

"Let them allege whatever it pleases them; they cannot make my unjust punishment greater than it is. You yourself know that the charge is an unjust one--and my general knows that I would never betray Italy!"

"But to whom do you attribute this ingenious plot by which you have been made the scapegoat of someone else's offence?" asked Mary, looking straight into his deep-sunken eyes. "That the plans of the Tresenta as well as the copy of the mobilisation scheme have reached the French Intelligence Department is proved beyond doubt. Our secret service in Paris has ascertained that."

"I have enemies--bitter ones," he answered in a strange tone, his eyes fixed upon her. "They fear me, and have taken this course in order to close my mouth--in order to prevent me making certain revelations that would effect their ruin."

"But who are they?" she demanded. "The general has brought me here on purpose to put this question to you. If we are aware of all the facts, we may be able, after all, to rescue you from the horrors of Gorgona."

The pale-faced man shook his unkempt head sorrowfully, his lips pressed together, his eyes upon hers.