TRAGEDIES OF THE NIGHT

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXX, Issue XV, 11 April 1903, Page 987

TRAGEDIES OF THE NIGHT

’By

Edgar Pickering.

11. CONDEMNED TO DEATH. Six men sat at a small table, which was bare of anything except a ehipped inkstand of cheap crockery and a sheet of discoloured paper, waiting. He at the head of the table was a benevolentlooking, white-haired man, who glanced now and again over his gold-rimmed glasses at his companions; at a vacant ehair, and at the half-closed door, without impatience. “He will come.” The remark was addressed generally, to be answered by a blaek-bearded man. “Without doubt. Still, it is already half an hour beyond the time,” was the surly reply. They were professed anarchists, these six men, but their meeting gave no sign of secrecy, nor precaution against interruption. Through the half-closed door eould be heard the rattle of dominoes on the marble tables in the dingy little restaurant beyond, and the hum of movement. , Only a short, narrow passage separated the two rooms on the ground floor of the Soho eating-house, and mid-way between these a raven-hair-ed, olive-skinned girl leant negligently against the wall, in the light of a gas flame that showed the clear, statuesque be.auty of her face and form to their fullest advantage. Her age was about 18, although .the contour of her figure, displayed by a pose of unconscious gracefulness, in which, for some moments, she had been standing, was that of an older woman; her lustrous eyes kept their gaze on the half-windowed inner door of the restaurant. Then it was opened hastily, and a tall, lithe-figured man came from it. An Englishman, young and handsome, with a reckless air in his carriage and manner. “Teresaino, mio,” he exclaimed, holding out his hands. The girl placed a slim forefinger on her lips, as she glanced up at him. “Go back!” she exclaimed in a hard whisper. “For the love of God keep from joining those in there to-night,” and she pointed to the half-opened door. “But I am one with them in everything, Teresaino,” he answered. “I have sworn to help in the cause.” “I know —I know,” she replied, holding him back by a gesture. “But there is danger to y;ou in that room. I overheard. The lots are to be drawn tonight.” “I’ve passed my word, and mean to keep it,” he answered. “You wouldn’t have me turn eoward. Teresaino? 1 know the business that we’ve been called together for.” “Yet, perhaps, not all. The name of the man condemned,” she pleaded. He gave a shrug of indifference. “I shall hear it in time,” he said. “Don’t hinder me, Teresaino. We’ll have a chat when the business yonder is over. I’m late already, and they will begin to think I’m selling them.” lie put his hands on her shoulders, stooping to kiss her, and then, with his swift, resolute step, had entered the room. There was a murmur of salutation as he seated himself at the table, and one of the men got up, closing the door softly. The business for which they had aseembled was known to each one present. There were no preliminary words, and

the white-haired man proceeded to divide the sheet of paper into seven parts, doing so with a earfulness that denoted importance. The others watched him silently—there was a grim significance in the act W’hich impressed them. They were governed by a terror, always. Tonight it was a little more tyrannous than usual, for it demanded a human life at the hands of these seven silent men, and, as was but natural, the occasion interested them. Upon one of the slips a name had been written, the others were blank; and having folded each, with the precision that had marked his movements before, the old man dropped the seven tiny pieces into a wine measure, shaking it gently. “He that shall draw the name,” he said in a soft, musical voice, glancing again over his glasses, “will utter it not. It is better that none other but he and I should know it. You agree to this, my comrades!” “It was always thus,” replied one of the men. gravely. “It is better than for the name, and the drawer of it, to be known,” and he moved apart from his neighbour for the space of a yard, remembering the last drawing of lots when Guiseppe Villa had been condemned to death upon even a suspicion of treachery. For Guiseppe and he had been bosom friends; still —and the recollection caused him to raise his black eyebrows for an instant. Then the wine measure was passed from hand to hand; four of the fatal slips had been withdrawn, to be opened and scanned, and there was no sound but the hiss of the gaslight streaming over the set faces beneath. The man who had moved his chair thrust his hand into the measure almost defiantly. If he drew the order to slay it was but bis fate, and as he looked at the paper his brows went up for the second time. Two papers remained now. One for the Englishman, the other for the kind-ly-eyed man who had prepared them, and the former held his hand hidden in the wine measure for an instant. Blank! A word of inexpressible relief was restrained as it sprang to his lips, and there came the sudden consciousness as of a crime escaped from. That he, an Englishman, should be joined to a gioup of heartless assassins would have been incomprehensible to anyone who did not know Neville Holland’s lifestory and nature. A richer man than he had robbed him of the only woman he ever had or would love. His brother, Sir Lucius, had stepped between them, and the younger man disappeared from society, nursing the wrong done him, joining himself to others, also with wrongs to be righted. Most easily by quick, certain death to their oppressors, and all traitors.

The wine measure was empty now, and the old man, holding the paper hs had drawn, lighted it at the flaring gas. What the result of the drawing had been only one of the seven men knew, but he made no sign, and Teresaino had entered the room, bringing wine and glasses. As she passed the blackbearded man. a little slip of paper fluttered from his pocket, and she thrust out her neatly shod foot, moving the

white paper adroitly to the door. Then, as she quitted the room, Teresaino stooped, and the next instant the paper had been thrust into her bodice. A quarter of an hour later and Neville Holland, on his way home, was stayed by a hand grasping his. It was Teresaino, whom he had wondered at not seeing again in the restaurant, for in his brusque fashion he had often kissed her, and professed a thousand times to admire her. They were friends only, however, or at least so Neville thought, although the girl loved him with all the fervour of her passionate heart. "Read,” she said, holding up the morsel of paper, which had been concealed in her hand. “It is the name of the man, that Tito —he with the black beard —that Tito will murder.” Neville held the paper in the light of the street lamp, reading the name of Sir Lucius Neville scrawled there. His brother—his rival—-the man who had supplanted him a year ago was in danger, and all his long cherished anger seemed suddenly to vanish. Lucius and he had loved each other once, and the old affection came surging over him again in some strange, confusing way. “Tito has drawn the lot to kiS my brother, Teresaino,” he said. "I don't understand why Lucius has made himself obnoxious to one of the bloodthirsty villains—to one of the men with whom I’ve been mad enough to associate.” Then he thought for an instant. “And Tito will perform the task given him. Do I not know him? he talks to me of love —he. That I should marry him! Acs, he will kill your brother.” As she said this, a man slouched heavily by them, and Neville caught sight of a dark face and black beard as the fellow hesitated for a moment. “We’ll get out of the light, Teresaino. It’s a little more dangerous than the dark sometimes. That was Tito himself who passed just now,” and a quick throb of dread came to the girl’s lieart as he spoke. “Listen,” she said, rapidly. “I overheard the plan for this crime —it was Signor Varliano who spoke then. It is to be to-night that this murder will be done. The one to die lives in Cleveland Place, I heard.” “Yes, my brother’s house is in Cleveland Place, and he’ll be going home about midnight,'’ replied Neville. “We haven’t spoken to each other for a year, but we must to-night. I will warn him of the plot, flood Heavens, there’s protection enough to be had in London, one would think, for a man whose life’s threatened!” “Beware of Tito,” answered Teresaino. “He fears nothing—not even though his own life may be in danger.” “By Jove,” exclaimed Neville, “his life will be in danger if I meet him to-night. And now good-bye, Teresaino, mio. You shall be rewarded for the service you’ve done me. I will come to the restaurant to-morrow.” “Where are you going?” “To watch for my brother, and to protect him if needed.” “Neville!” and her little hands were clasped on his arm. “If harm conies to you I—” and he saw the lustrous eyes dimmed with tears as the girl looked up in his face. “Would it grieve you?” he asked gravely, as she suddenly paused. Her look was a revelation. “Would you care if my heart were breaking?” she answered. “I shall think of you to-night—only of you. Swear that you will come back to me. You speak of my reward —I only ask to see you again. He bent down kissing the lips that had quivered with emotion as she spoke, and he felt pity for her such as he had never felt for a human soul before, but he had all an Englishman’s dislike of a scene. “You will see me again, Teresaino,” he said curtly, “but don’t hinder me now. I am quite able to take care of myself. Good-night,” and he walked swiftly away, followed by her yearning gaze. Cleveland Place at the best of times is dull and quiet. At the worst of times, such as when Neville Holland entered it, Cleveland Place was a howling wilderness, despite its aristocratic mansions and wealth. The night was black, and an icy blast drove the sleety rain in his face as he walked along slowly, keeping a keen look out for his brother, and thinking of the meeting between them. He knew Lucius’ habits, and

that he would almost certainly be eon* ing home at midnight. There was hall an hour to wait, and Neville stopped, drawing himself into the protection from the weather offered by the massive pillar of a portico. From there ho could see along the street through which he had just passed, and for soma moments he was alone. Then he saw a figure coining stealthily towards him, its face hidden by a slouched hat and upturned collar, ana he drew hack a pace, watching the figure keenly. The next moment it had disappeared in the deep shadows of a house not a dozen yards from whero Neville was standing, and Cleveland Place slept on, undisturbed by the howling wind and driving rain blasts. And thus the two men waited. There was a thought in Neville’s fast-coming calculations, to step out and end the suspense—to know what manner of man this was skulking in the shadows, and then he stayed his foot, for the certainty flashed into his mind that Tito Farini stood there, and the deadly purpose of the man sent a thrill through everjj nerve in his body. Someone was coming along the deserfr ed street, walking briskly, and he recognised his brother in the light of one of the lamps. Another moment and Lucius would be at the spot where, hidden by the shadow, lurked his murderer, and. Neville ran forward. As he did so, Tito emerged from his hiding-place, and there was the flash of something hid in his upraised hand as he crept softly on his victim. Another moment and the glittering blade would have been buried deep down between Lucius Holland’s shoulders, and Neville struck out with all the weight of his body straight for the murderer’s eyes, and missed. Tito had moved his head aside, and the next instant the two men were locked in a conflict for life or death. For a moment Neville had the mastery, and then his foot caught against a stone and he fell. Tito’s knee was on his antagonist’s breast —the flashing dagger was uplifted, but as it fell, a woman thrust herself between the deadly blade and the prostrate man —there was the dull sound of a blow, a gasping little moan, and Neville had sprung to his feet, to see Tito Farini speeding from the spot, and Lucius kneeling beside the body of the woman. “My G —d—Teresaino! ” and Neville gave a grief-stricken cry of horror. “The villain has stabbed her. Get help. Lucins—why are you staring at me —Get help, for G —d’s sake.” He and Teresaino were alone, and Neville was staunching the quickly flowing blood that came from her breast. “Let me lean my head against your knee.” The words came very faintly, and through his blurred eyes ho looked down into her upturned face. “I am dying, Neville,” came the voice, so pitifully' weak that he had to stoop to her lips. “I was afraid—l loved you so much—it cannot be wrong for me to tell you that now—l only thought of you —that we might never meet again, and I loved you so.” He choked back a sob, but there was no word on his lips, though a thousand were in his agonised heart; and her voice came whisperingly. “Think of me sometimes, dear, dear Neville. Kiss me once again—it is for the last time. Good-bye—good —” but the farew'ell remained unended, for ever.