Title:      Farewell, Nikola!
Author:     Guy Boothby
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Language:   English
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Date first posted:          June 2006
Date most recently updated: June 2006

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Farewell, Nikola
Guy Boothby



CHAPTER I.

WE were in Venice; Venice the silent and mysterious; the one
European city of which I never tire. My wife had not enjoyed good
health for some months past, and for this reason we had been
wintering in Southern Italy. After that we had come slowly north,
spending a month in Florence, and a fortnight in Rome en
route, until we found ourselves in Venice, occupying a suite of
apartments at Galaghetti's famous hotel overlooking the Grand Canal.
Our party was a small one; it consisted of my wife, her friend
Gertrude Trevor, and myself, Richard Hatteras, once of the South Sea
Islands, but now of the New Forest, Hampshire, England. It may
account for our fondness of Venice when I say that four years
previous we had spent the greater part of our honeymoon there.
Whatever the cause may have been, however, there could be no sort of
doubt that the grand old city, with its palaces and churches, its
associations stretching back to long-forgotten centuries, and its
silent waterways, possessed a great fascination for us. We were never
tired of exploring it, finding something to interest us in even the
most out-of-the-way corners. In Miss Trevor we possessed a charming
companion, a vital necessity, as you will admit, when people travel
together. She was an uncommon girl in more ways than one; a girl, so
it seems to me, England alone is able to produce. She could not be
described as a pretty girl, but then the word "pretty" is one that
sometimes comes perilously near carrying contempt with it; one does
not speak of Venus de Medici as pretty, nor would one describe the
Apollo Belvedere as very nice-looking. That Miss Trevor was
exceedingly handsome would, I fancy, be generally admitted. At any
rate she would command attention wherever she might go, and that is
an advantage which few of us possess. Should a more detailed
description of her be necessary, I might add that she was tall and
dark, with black hair and large luminous eyes that haunted one, and
were suggestive of a southern ancestor. She was the daughter, and
indeed the only child, of the well-known Dean of Bedminster, and this
was the first time she had visited Italy, or that she had been
abroad. The wonders of the Art Country were all new to her, and in
consequence our wanderings were one long succession of delight. Every
day added some new pleasure to her experiences, while each night saw
a life-desire gratified.

In my humble opinion, to understand Italy properly one should not
presume to visit her until after the first blush of youth has
departed, and then only when one has prepared oneself to properly
appreciate her many beauties. Venice, above all others, is a city
that must be taken seriously. To come at a proper spirit of the place
one must be in a reverent mood. Cheap jokes and Cockney laughter are
as unsuited to the place, where Falieri yielded his life, as a
downcast face would be in Nice at carnival time. On the afternoon of
the particular day from which I date my story, we had been to the
Island of Murano to pay a visit to the famous glass factories of
which it is the home. By the time we reached Venice once more it was
nearly sunset. Having something like an hour to spare we made our
way, at my wife's suggestion, to the Florian cafe on the piazza of
Saint Mark in order to watch the people. As usual the place was
crowded, and at first glance it looked as if we should be unable to
find sufficient vacant chairs. Fortune favoured us, however, and when
we had seated ourselves and I had ordered coffee, we gave ourselves
up to the enjoyment of what is perhaps one of the most amusing scenes
in Venice. To a thoughtful mind the Great Square must at all times be
an object of absorbing interest. I have seen it at every hour, and
under almost every aspect: at break of day, when one has it to
oneself and is able to enjoy its beauty undisturbed; at midday, when
the importunate shopkeepers endeavour to seduce one into entering
their doors (by tales of the marvels therein); at sunset, when the
cafes are crowded, the band plays, and all is merriment; and last,
but not least, at midnight, when the moon is sailing above Saint
Mark's, the square is full of strange shadows, and the only sound to
be heard is the cry of a gull on the lagoon, or the "Sa Premi"
of some belated gondolier.

"This is the moment to which I have looked forward all my life,"
said Miss Trevor, as she sat back in her chair and watched the
animated crowd before her. "Look at that pretty little boy with the
pigeons knocking around him. What a picture he would make if one only
had a camera."

"If you care to have a photo of him one can easily be obtained," I
remarked. "Any one of these enterprising photographers would be only
to pleased to take one for you for a few centissimi. I regret to say
that many of our countrymen have a weakness for being taken in that
way."

"Fancy Septimus Brown, of Tooting," my wife remarked, "a typical
English paterfamilias, with a green veil, blue spectacles, and white
umbrella, daring to ask the sun to record his image with the pigeons
of St. Mark's clustering above his venerable head. Can't you picture
the pride of that worthy gentleman's family when they produce the
album on Sunday afternoons and show it to their friends? 'This is
pa,' the eldest girl will probably remark, 'when he was travelling
in Venice' (as if Venice were a country in which one must be
perpetually moving on), 'and that's how the pigeons came down to be
fed. Isn't it splendid of him?' Papa, who has never ventured beyond
Brighton beach before, will be a person of importance from that
moment."

"You forget one circumstance, however," Miss Trevor replied, who
enjoyed an argument, and for this reason contradicted my wife on
principle, "that in allowing himself to be taken at all, Brown of
Tooting has advanced a step."

For the moment he dared to throw off his insularity, as the
picture at which you are laughing is indisputable testimony. Do you
think he would dare to be photographed in a similar fashion in his
own market-place, standing outside his shop-door with his assistants
watching him from behind the counter? I am quite sure he would
not!"

"A very excellent argument," I answered. "Unfortunately, however,
it carries its own refutation. The mere fact that Brown takes the
photograph home to show to his friends goes a long way towards
proving that he is still as insular as when he set out. If he did not
consider himself of sufficient importance to shut out a portion of
Saint Mark's with his voluminous personality, he would not have
employed the photographer at all, in which case we are no further
advanced than before."

These little sparring-matches were a source of great amusement to
us. The Cockney tourist was Miss Trevor's bete noir. And upon
this failing my wife and I loved to twit her. On the whole I rather
fancy she liked being teased by us.

We had finished our coffee and were still idly watching the people
about us when I noticed that my wife had turned a little pale. I was
about to remark upon it, when she uttered an exclamation as if
something had startled her.

"Good gracious! Dick," she cried, "surely it is not possible. It
must be a mistake."

"What is it cannot be possible?" I inquired, "What do you think
you see?"

I glanced in the direction she indicated, but could recognise no
one with whom I was acquainted. An English clergyman and his
daughter were sitting near the entrance to the cafe, and some
officers in uniform were on the other side of them again, but still
my wife was looking in the same direction and with an equally
startled face. I placed my hand upon her arm. It was a long time
since I had seen her so agitated. "Come, darling," I said, "tell me
what it is that troubles you."

"Look," she answered, "can you see the table to the right of that
at which those officers are seated?" I was about to reply in the
affirmative, but the shock I received deprived me of speech. The
person to whom my wife had referred had risen from his chair, and was
in the act of walking towards us. I looked at him, looked away, and
then looked again. No! there was no room for doubt; the likeness was
unmistakable. I should have known him anywhere. He was Doctor Nikola;
the man who had played such an important part in our life's drama.
Five years had elapsed since I had last seen him, but in that time he
was scarcely changed at all. It was the same tall, thin figure; the
same sallow, clean-shaven face; the same piercing black eyes. As he
drew nearer I noticed that his hair was a little more grey, that he
looked slightly older; otherwise he was unchanged. But why was he
coming to us? Surely he did not mean to speak to us? After the manner
in which he had treated us in bygone days I scarcely knew how to
receive him. He, on his side, however, was quite self-possessed.
Raising his hat with that easy grace that always distinguished him,
he advanced and held out his hand to my wife.

"My dear Lady Hatteras," he began in his most conciliatory tone,
"I felt sure you would recognise me. Observing that you had not
forgotten me, I took the liberty of coming to pay my respects to
you."

Then before my wife could reply he had turned to me and was
holding out his hand. For a moment I had half determined not to take
it, but when his glittering eyes looked into mine I changed my mind
and shook hands with him more cordially than I should ever have
thought it possible for me to do. Having thus broken the ice, and as
we had to all intents and purposes permitted him to derive the
impression that we were prepared to forgive the past, nothing
remained for us but to introduce him to Miss Trevor. From the moment
that he had approached us she had been watching him covertly, and
that he had produced a decided impression upon her was easily seen.
For the first time since we had known her she, usually so staid and
unimpressionable, was nervous and ill at ease. The introduction
effected she drew back a little, and pretended to be absorbed in
watching a party of our fellow-countrymen who had taken their places
at a table a short distance from us. For my part I do not mind
confessing that I was by no means comfortable. I remembered my bitter
hatred of Nikola in days gone by. I recalled that terrible house in
Port Said, and thought of the night on the island when I had rescued
my wife from his clutches. In my estimation then he had been a
villain of the deepest dye, and yet here he was sitting beside me as
calm and collected, and apparently as interested in the resume
of our travels in Italy that my wife was giving him, as if we had
been bosom friends throughout our lives. In any one else it would
have been a piece of marvellous effrontery; in Nikola's case,
however, it did not strike one in the same light. As I have so often
remarked, he seemed incapable of acting like any other human being.
His extraordinary personality lent a glamour to his simplest actions,
and demanded for them an attention they would scarcely have received
had he been less endowed.

"Have you been long in Venice?" my wife inquired when she had
completed the record of our doings, feeling that she must say
something.

"I seldom remain anywhere for very long," he answered, with one of
his curious smiles. "I come and go like a will-o'-the-wisp; I am here
to-day and gone to-morrow."

It may have been an unfortunate remark, but I could not help
uttering it.

"For instance, you are in London to-day," I said, "in Port Said
next week, and in the South Sea Islands a couple of months
later."

He was not in the least disconcerted.

"Ah! I see you have not forgotten our South Sea adventure," he
replied cheerfully. "How long ago it seems, does it not? To me it is
like a chapter out of another life." Then, turning to Miss Trevor,
who of course had heard the story of our dealings with him
sufficiently often to be weary of it, he added, "I hope you are not
altogether disposed to think ill of me. Perhaps some day you will be
able to persuade Lady Hatteras to forgive me, that is to say if she
has not already done so. Yet I do not know why I should plead for
pardon, seeing that I am far from being in a repentant mood. As a
matter of fact I am very much afraid that should the necessity arise,
I should be compelled to act as I did then."

"Then let us pray most fervently that the necessity may never
arise," I answered. "I for one do not entertain a very pleasant
recollection of that time."

I spoke so seriously that my wife looked sharply up at me.
Fearing, I suppose, that I might commit myself, she added
quickly:

"I trust it may not. For I can assure you, Doctor Nikola, that my
inclinations lie much nearer Bond Street than the South Sea
Islands."

All this time Miss Trevor said nothing, but I could tell from the
expression upon her face that Nikola interested her more than she
would have been willing to admit.

"Is it permissible to ask where you are staying?" he inquired,
breaking the silence and speaking as if it were a point upon which he
was most anxious to be assured.

"At Galaghetti's," I answered. "While in Venice we always make it
our home."

"Ah! the good Galaghetti," said Nikola softly. "It is a long time
since I last had the pleasure of seeing him. I fancy, however, he
would remember me. I was able to do him a slight service some time
ago, and I have always understood that he possesses a retentive
memory."

Then, doubtless feeling that he had stayed long enough, he rose
and prepared to take leave of us.

"Perhaps, Lady Hatteras, you will permit me to do myself the
honour of calling upon you?" he said.

"We shall be very pleased to see you," my wife replied, though
with no real cordiality.

He then bowed to Miss Trevor, and shook hands with myself.

"Good-bye, Hatteras," he continued. "I shall hope soon to see you
again. I expect we have lots of news for each other, and doubtless
you will be interested to learn the history and subsequent adventures
of that peculiar little stick which caused you so much anxiety, and
myself so much trouble, five years ago. My address is the Palace
Revecce, in the Rio del Consiglio, where, needless to say, I shall be
delighted to see you if you care to pay me a visit."

I thanked him for his invitation, and promised that I would call
upon him.

Then with a bow he took his departure, leaving behind him a
sensation of something missing, something that could not be replaced.
To sit down and continue the conversation where he had broken into it
was out of the question. We accordingly rose, and after I had
discharged the bill, strolled across the piazza towards the lagoon.
Observing that Miss Trevor was still very silent, I inquired the
cause.

"If you really want me to tell you, I can only account for it by
saying that your friend, Dr. Nikola, has occasioned it," she
answered, "I don't know why it should be so, but that man has made a
curious impression upon me."

"He seems to affect every one in a different manner," I said, and
for some reason made no further comment upon her speech.

When we had called a gondola, and were on our way back to our
hotel, she referred to the subject again.

"I think I ought to tell you that it is not the first time I have
seen Doctor Nikola," she said. "You may remember that yesterday,
while Phyllis was lying down, I went out to do some shopping. I
cannot describe exactly which direction I took, save that I went
towards the Rialto. It is sufficient that in the end I reached a
chemist's shop. It was only a small place, and very dark, so dark
indeed that I did not see that it contained another customer until I
was really inside. Then I noticed a tall man busily engaged in
conversation with the shopkeeper. He was declaiming against some
drugs he had purchased there on the previous day, and demanding that
for the future they should be of better quality, otherwise he would
be compelled to take his patronage elsewhere. In the middle of this
harangue he turned round, and I was permitted an opportunity of
seeing his face. He was none other than your friend, Doctor
Nikola."

"But, my dear Gertrude," said Phyllis, "with all due respect to
your narrative, I do not see that the mere fact of your having met
Doctor Nikola in a chemist's shop yesterday, and your having been
introduced to him to-day, should have caused you so much
concern."

"I do not know why it should," she answered, "but it is a fact,
nevertheless. Ever since I saw him yesterday, his face, with its
terrible eyes, has haunted me. I dreamt of it last night. All day
long I have had it before me, and now, as if to add to the
strangeness of the coincidence, he proves to be the man of whom you
have so often told me--your demoniacal, fascinating Nikola. You must
admit that it is very strange."

"A coincidence, a mere coincidence, that is all," I replied.
"Nikola possesses an extraordinary face, and it must have impressed
itself more deeply upon you than the average countenance is happy
enough to do."

Whether my explanation satisfied her or not she said no more upon
the subject. But that our strange meeting with Nikola had had an
extraordinary effect upon her was plainly observable. As a rule she
was as bright and merry a companion as one could wish to have; on
this particular evening, however, she was not herself at all. It was
the more annoying for the reason that I was anxious that she should
shine on this occasion, as I was expecting an old friend, who was
going to spend a few days with us in Venice. That friend was none
other than the Duke of Glenbarth, who previous to his succession to
the Dukedom had been known as the Marquis of Beckenham, and who, as
the readers of the history of my adventures with Doctor Nikola may
remember, figured as a very important factor in that strange affair.
Ever since the day when I had the good fortune to render him a signal
service in the bay of a certain south-coast watering-place, and from
the time that he had accepted my invitation to join him in Venice, I
had looked forward to his coming with the greatest possible
eagerness. As it happened it was wellnigh seven o'clock by the time
we reached our hotel. Without pausing in the hall further than to
examine the letter-rack, we ascended to our rooms on the floor above.
My wife and Miss Trevor had gone to their apartments, and I was about
to follow their example as soon as I had obtained something from the
sitting-room.

"A nice sort of host, a very nice host," said a laughing
voice as I entered. "He invites me to stay with him, and is not at
home to bid me welcome. My dear old Dick, how are you?"

"My dear fellow," I cried, hastening forward to greet him, "I must
beg your pardon ten thousand times. I had not the least idea that you
would be here so early. We have been sitting on the piazza, and did
not hurry home."

"You needn't apologise," he answered. "For once an Italian train
was before its time. And now tell me about yourself. How is your
wife, how are you, and what sort of holiday are you having?"

I answered his questions to the best of my ability, keeping back
my most important item as a surprise for him.

"And now," I said, "it is time to dress for dinner. But before you
do so, I have some important news for you. Who do you think is in
Venice?"

Needless to say he mentioned every one but the right person.

"You had better give it up, you will never guess," I said. "Who is
the most unlikely person you would expect to see in Venice at the
present moment?"

"Old Macpherson, my solicitor," he replied promptly. "The rascal
would no more think of crossing the Channel than he would contemplate
standing on his head in the middle of the Strand. It must be
Macpherson."

"Nonsense," I cried. "I don't know Macpherson in the first place,
and I doubt if he would interest me in the second. No! no! this man
is neither a Scotchman nor a lawyer. He is an individual bearing the
name of Nikola."

I had quite expected to surprise him, but I scarcely looked for
such an outbreak of astonishment.

"What?" he cried, in amazement. "You must be joking. You don't
mean to say you have seen Nikola again?"

"I not only mean that I have seen him," I replied, "but I will go
further than that, and say that he was sitting on the piazza,
with us not more than half an hour ago. What do you think his
appearance in Venice means?"

"I don't know what to think," he replied, with an expression of
almost comic bewilderment upon his face. "It seems impossible, and
yet you don't look as if you were joking."

"I tell you the news in all sober earnestness," I answered,
dropping my bantering tone. "It is a fact that Nikola is in Venice,
and, what is more, that he has given me his address. He has invited
me to call upon him, and if you like we will go together. What do you
say?"

"I shall have to take time to think about it," Glenbarth replied
seriously. "I don't suppose for a moment he has any intention of
abducting me again; nevertheless, I am not going to give him the
opportunity. By Jove, how that fellow's face comes back to me. It
haunts me!"

"Miss Trevor has been complaining of the same thing," I said.

"Miss Trevor?" the Duke repeated. "And pray who may Miss Trevor
be?"

"A friend of my wife's," I answered. "She has been travelling with
us for the last few months. I think you will like her. And now come
along with me and I'll show you your room. I suppose your man has
discovered it by this time?"

"Stevens would find it if this hotel were constructed on the same
principle as the maze at Hampton Court," he answered. "He has the
virtue of persistence, and when he wants to find a thing he secures
the person who would be the most likely to tell him, and sticks to
him until his desire has been gratified."

It turned out as he had predicted, and three-quarters of an hour
later our quartet sat down to dinner. My wife and Glenbarth, by
virtue of an old friendship, agreed remarkably well, while Miss
Trevor, now somewhat recovered from her Nikola indisposition, was
more like her old self. It was a beautiful night, and after dinner it
was proposed, seconded, and carried unanimously, that we should
charter a gondola and go for a row upon the canal. On our homeward
voyage the gondolier, by some strange chance, turned into the Rio del
Consiglio.

"Perhaps you can tell me which is the Palace Revecce?" I said to
the man.

He pointed to a building we were in the act of approaching.

"There it is, signor," he said. "At one time it was a very great
palace, but now--" here he shrugged his shoulders to enable us to
understand that its glory had departed from it. Not another word was
said upon the subject, but I noticed that all our faces turned in the
direction of the building. With the exception of one solitary window
it was in total darkness. As I looked at the latter I wondered
whether Nikola were in the room, and if so, what he was doing? Was he
poring over some of his curious books, trying some new experiment in
chemistry, or putting to the test some theory such as I had found him
at work upon in that curious house in Port Said? A few minutes later
we had left the Rio del Consiglio behind us, had turned to the right,
and were making our way back by another watery thoroughfare towards
the Grand Canal.

"Thanks to your proposition we have had a delightful evening,"
Miss Trevor said, as we paused to say good night at the foot of the
staircase a quarter of an hour or so later. "I have enjoyed myself
immensely."

"You should not tell him that, dear," said my wife. "You know how
conceited he is already. He will take all the credit, and be
unbearable for days afterwards." Then turning to me she added, "You
are going to smoke, I suppose?"

"I had thought of doing so," I replied; and then added with mock
humility, "if you do not wish it of course I will not do so. I was
only going to keep Glenbarth company."

They laughed and bade us good night, and when we had seen them
depart in the direction of their rooms we lit our cigars and passed
into the balcony outside.

At this hour of the night the Grand Canal looked very still and
beautiful, and we both felt in the humour for confidences.

"Do you know, Hatteras," said Glenbarth, after a few moments'
pause that followed our arrival in the open air, "that Nikola's
turning up in Venice at this particular juncture savours to me a
little of the uncanny. What his mission may be, of course I cannot
tell, but that it is some diabolical thing or another I haven't a
doubt."

"One thing is quite certain," I answered, "he would hardly be here
without an object, and, after our dealings with him in the past, I am
prepared to admit that I don't trust him any more than you do."

"And now that he has asked you to call upon him, what are you
going to do?"

I paused before I replied. The question involved greater
responsibilities than were at first glance apparent. Knowing Nikola
so well, I had not the least desire or intention to be drawn into any
of the plots or machinations he was so fond of working against other
people. I must confess, nevertheless, that I could not help feeling a
large amount of curiosity as to the subsequent history of that little
stick, to obtain which he had spent so much money, and had risked so
many lives.

"Yes, I think I shall call upon him," I said reflectively, as if I
had not quite made up my mind. "Surely to see him once more could do
no harm? Good heavens! what an extraordinary fellow he is! Fancy you
or I being afraid of any other man as we are afraid of him, for mind
you, I know that you stand quite as much in awe of him as I do. Why,
do you know when my eyes fell upon him this afternoon, I felt a
return of the old dread his presence used to cause in me five years
ago! The effect he had upon Miss Trevor was also very singular, when
you come to, think of it."

"By the way, Hatteras, talking of Miss Trevor, what an awfully
nice girl she is. I don't know when I have ever met a nicer. Who is
she?"

"She is the daughter of the Dean of Bedminster," I answered; "a
splendid old fellow."

"I like his daughter," the Duke remarked. "Yes, I must say that I
like her very much."

I was glad to hear this, for I had my own little dreams, and my
wife, who, by the way, is a born matchmaker, had long ago come to a
similar conclusion.

"She is a very nice girl," I replied, "and what is more, she is as
good as she is nice." Then I continued: "He will be indeed a lucky
man who wins Gertrude Trevor for his wife. And now, since our cigars
are finished, what do you say to bed? It is growing late, and I
expect you are tired after your journey."

"I am quite ready," he answered. "I shall sleep like a top. I only
hope and pray that I shall not dream of Nikola."



CHAPTER II.

WHETHER it was our excursion upon the canal that was responsible
for it, I cannot say; the fact, however, remains, that next morning
every member of our party was late for breakfast. My wife and I were
the first to put in an appearance, Glenbarth followed shortly after,
and Miss Trevor was last of all. It struck me that the girl looked a
little pale as she approached the window to bid me good morning, and
as she prided herself upon her punctuality, I jestingly reproved her
for her late rising.

"I am afraid your gondola excursion proved too much for you," I
said, in a bantering tone, "or perhaps you dreamt of Doctor
Nikola."

I expected her to declare in her usual vehement fashion that she
would not waste her time dreaming of any man, but to my combined
astonishment and horror her eyes filled with tears, until she was
compelled to turn her head away in order to hide them from me. It was
all so unexpected that I did not know what to think. As may be
supposed, I had not the slightest intention of giving her pain, nor
could I quite see how I managed to do so. It was plain, however, that
my thoughtless speech had been the means of upsetting her, and I was
heartily sorry for my indiscretion. Fortunately my wife had not
overheard what had passed between us "Is he teasing you again,
Gertrude?" she said, as she slipped her arm through her friend's.
"Take my advice and have nothing to do with him. Treat him with
contempt. Besides, the coffee is getting cold, and that is a very
much more important matter. Let us sit down to breakfast."

Nothing could have been more opportune. We took our places at the
table, and by the time the servant had handed the first dishes Miss
Trevor had recovered herself sufficiently to be able to look me in
the face, and to join in the conversation without the likelihood of a
catastrophe. Still there could be no doubt that she was far from
being in a happy frame of mind. I said as much to my wife afterwards,
when we were alone together.

"She told me she had had a very bad night," the little woman
replied. "Our meeting with Doctor Nikola yesterday on the piazza
upset her for some reason or another. She said that she had dreamt of
nothing else. As you know, she is very highly strung, and when you
think of the descriptions we have given her of him, it is scarcely to
be wondered at that she should attach an exaggerated importance to
our unexpected meeting with him. That is the real explanation of the
mystery. One thing, however, is quite certain; in her present state
of mind she must see no more of him than can be helped. It might
upset her altogether. Oh, why did he come here to spoil our
holiday?"

"I cannot see that he has spoilt it, my dear," I returned, putting
my arm round her waist and leading her to the window. "The girl will
very soon recover from her fit of depression, and afterwards will be
as merry as a marriage-bell. By the way, I don't know why I should
think of it just now, but talking of marriage-bells reminds me that
Glenbarth told me last night that he thought Gertrude one of the
nicest girls he had ever met."

"I am delighted to hear it," my wife answered. "And still more
delighted to think that he has such good sense. Do you know, I have
set my heart upon that coming to something. No! you needn't shake
your head. For very many reasons it would be a most desirable
match."

"For my own part I believe it was for no other reason that you
bothered me into inviting him to join our party here. You are a
matchmaker. I challenge you to refute the accusation."

"I shall not attempt to do so," she retorted with considerable
hauteur. "It is always a waste of time to argue with you. At any rate
you must agree with me that Gertrude would make an ideal
duchess."

"So you have travelled as far as that, have you?" I inquired. "I
must say that you jump to conclusions very quickly. Because Glenbarth
happens to have said in confidence to me (a confidence I am willing
to admit I have shamefully abused) that he considers Gertrude Trevor
a very charming girl, it does not follow that he has the very
slightest intention of asking her to be his wife. Why should he?"

"Lords," she answered, as if that ought to clinch the argument.
"Fancy a man posing as one of our hereditary legislators who doesn't
know how to seize such a golden opportunity. As a good churchwoman I
pray for the nobility every Sunday morning; and if not knowing where
to look for the best wife in the world may be taken as a weakness and
it undoubtedly is, then all I can say is, that they require all the
praying for they can get!"

"But I should like to know, how is he going to marry the best wife
in the world?" I asked.

"By asking her," she retorted. "He doesn't surely suppose she is
going to ask him?"

"If he values his life he'd better not do that!" I said savagely.
"He will have to answer for it to me if he does!"

"Ah," she answered, her lips curling. "I thought as much. You are
jealous of him. You don't want him to ask her because you fancy that
if he does your reign will be over. A nice admission for a married
man, I must say!"

"I presume you mean because I refuse to allow him to flirt with my
wife?"

"I mean nothing of the kind, and you know it. How dare you say,
Dick, that I flirt with the Duke?"

"Because you have confessed it," I answered with a grin of
triumph, for I had got her cornered at last. "Did you not say, only a
moment ago, that if he did not know where to find the best wife in
the world he was unfit to sit in the House of Lords? Did you not say
that he ought to be ashamed of himself if he did not ask her to be
his wife? Answer that, my lady."

"I admit that I did say it; but you know very well that I referred
to Gertrude Trevor!"

"Gertrude Trevor is not yet a wife. The best wife in the world is
beside me now; and since you are already proved to be in the wrong
you must perforce pay the penalty."

She was in the act of doing so when Gertrude entered the room.

"Oh, dear," she began, hesitating in pretended consternation, "is
there never to be an end of it?"

"An end of what?" demanded my wife with some little asperity, for
she does not like her little endearments to be witnessed by other
people.

"Of this billing and cooing," the other replied. "You two insane
creatures have been married more than four years, and yet a third
person can never enter the room without finding you love-making. I
declare it upsets all one's theories of marriage. One of my most
cherished ideas was that this sort of thing ceased with the
honeymoon, and that the couple invariably lead a cat-and-dog life for
the remainder of their existence."

"So they do," my wife answered unblushingly "And what can you
expect when one is a great silly creature who will not learn to jump
away and be looking innocently out of the window when he hears the
handle turned? Never marry, Gertrude. Mark my words: you will repent
it if you do!"

"Well, for ingratitude and cool impudence, that surpasses
everything!" I said in astonishment. "Why, you audacious creature,
not more than five minutes ago you were inviting me to co-operate in
the noble task of finding a husband for Miss Trevor!"

"Richard, how can you stand there and say such things?" she
ejaculated. "Gertrude, my dear, I insist that you come away at once.
I don't know what he will say next."

Miss Trevor laughed.

"I like to hear you two squabbling," she said. "Please go on, it
amuses me!"

"Yes, I will certainly go on," I returned. "Perhaps you heard her
declare that she fears what I may say next. Of course she does. Allow
me to tell you, Lady Hatteras, that you are a coward. If the truth
were known, it would be found that you are trembling in your shoes at
this moment. For two centimes, paid down, I would turn King's
evidence, and reveal the whole plot."

"You had better not, sir," she replied, shaking a warning finger
at me. "In that case the letters from home shall be withheld from
you, and you will not know how your son and heir is progressing."

"I capitulate," I answered. "Threatened by such awful punishment I
dare say no more. Miss Gertrude, will you not intercede for me?"

"I think that you scarcely deserve it," she retorted. "Even now
you are keeping something back from me."

"Never mind, my dear, we'll let him off this time with a caution,"
said my wife, "provided he promises not to offend again. And now, let
us settle what we are going to do to-day."

When this important matter had been arranged it was reported to us
that the ladies were to spend the morning shopping, leaving the Duke
and myself free to follow our own inclinations. Accordingly, when we
had seen them safely on their way to the Merceria, we held a smoking
council to arrange how we should pass the hours until lunch-time. As
we discovered afterwards, we both had a certain thought in our minds,
which for some reason we scarcely liked to broach to each other. It
was settled, however, just as we desired, but in a fashion we least
expected.

We were seated in the balcony outside our room, watching the
animated traffic on the Grand Canal below, when a servant came in
search of us and handed me a note. One glance at the characteristic
writing was sufficient to show me that it was from Doctor Nikola. I
opened it with an eagerness that I did not attempt to conceal, and
read as follows:

"DEAR HATTERAS,

"If you have nothing more important on hand this morning, can you
spare the time to come and see me? As I understand the Duke of
Glenbarth is with you, will you not bring him also? It will be very
pleasant to have a chat upon bygone days, and, what is more, I fancy
this old house will interest you."

"Yours very truly,

"NIKOLA."

"What do you say?" I inquired, when I had finished reading, "shall
we go?"

"Let us do so by all means," the Duke replied. "It will be very
interesting to meet Nikola once more. There is one thing, however,
that puzzles me: how did he become aware of my arrival in Venice? You
say he was with you on the piazza, last night, so that he
could not have been at the railway station, as I haven't been outside
since I came, except for the row after dinner, I confess it puzzles
me."

"You should know by this time that it is useless to wonder how
Nikola acquires his knowledge," I replied. "For my own part I should
like to discover his reason for being in Venice. I am very curious on
that point."

Glenbarth shook his head solemnly.

"IF Nikola does not want us to know," he argued, "we shall leave
his house as wise as we entered it. If he does let us know, I shall
begin to grow suspicious, for in that case it is a thousand pounds to
this half-smoked cigar that we shall be called upon to render him
assistance. However, if you are prepared to run the risk I will do so
also."

"In that case," I said, rising from my chair and tossing what
remained of my cigar into the water below, "let us get ready and be
off. We may change our minds."

Ten minutes later we had chartered a gondola and were on our way
to the Palace Revecce.

As a general rule when one sets out to pay a morning call one is
not the victim of any particular nervousness; on this occasion;
however, both Glenbarth and I, as we confessed to each other
afterwards, were distinctly conscious of being in a condition which
would be described by persons of mature years as an unpleasant state
of expectancy, but which by school boys is denominated "funk." The
Duke, I noticed, fidgeted with his cigar, allowed it to go out, and
then sat with it in his mouth unlighted. There was a far-away look on
his handsome face that told me that he was recalling some of the
events connected with the time when he had been in Nikola's company.
This proved to be the case, for as we turned from the Grand Canal
into the street in which the palace is situated, he said:

"By the way, Hatteras, I wonder what became of Baxter, Prendergast,
and those other fellows?"

"Nikola may be able to tell us," I answered. Then I added after a
short pause, "By Jove, what strange times those were."

"Not half so strange to my thinking as our finding Nikola in
Venice," Glenbarth replied. "That is the coincidence that astonishes
me. But see, here we are."

As he spoke the gondola drew up at the steps of the Palace
Revecce, and we prepared to step ashore. As we did so I noticed that
the armorial bearings of the family still decorated the posts on
either side of the door, but by the light of day the palace did not
look nearly so imposing as it had done by moonlight the night before.
One thing about it was certainly peculiar. When we ordered the
gondolier to wait for us he shook his head. Not for anything would he
remain there longer than was necessary to set us down. I accordingly
paid him off, and when we had ascended the steps we entered the
building. On pushing open the door we found ourselves standing in a
handsome courtyard, in the centre of which was a well, its coping
elegantly carved with a design of fruit and flowers. A broad stone
staircase at the further end led up to the floor above, but this, as
was the case with everything else, showed unmistakable signs of
having been allowed to fall to decay. As no concierge was to be seen,
and there was no one in sight of whom we might make inquiries, we
scarcely knew how to proceed. Indeed, we were just wondering whether
we should take our chance and explore the lower regions in search of
Nikola, when he appeared at the head of the staircase and greeted
us.

"Good morning," he said, "pray come up. I must apologise for not
having been downstairs to receive you."

By the time he had finished speaking he had reached us, and was
shaking hands with Glenbarth with the heartiness of an old
friend.

"Let me offer you a hearty welcome to Venice," he said to
Glenbarth after he had shaken hands with myself. Then looking at him
once more, he added, "If you will permit me to say so, you have
changed a great deal since we last saw each other."

"And you, scarcely at all," Glenbarth replied.

"It is strange that I should not have done so," Nikola
answered, I thought a little sadly, "for I think I may say without
any fear of boasting that, since we parted at Pipa Lannu, I have
passed through sufficient to change a dozen men. But we will not talk
of that here. Let us come up to my room, which is the only place in
this great house that is in the least degree comfortable."

So saying he led the way up the stairs, and then along a corridor,
which had once been beautifully frescoed, but which was now sadly
given over to damp and decay. At last, reaching a room in the front
of the building, he threw open the door and invited us to enter. And
here I might digress for a moment to remark, that of all the men I
have ever met, Nikola possessed the faculty of being able to make
himself comfortable wherever he might be, in the greatest degree. He
would have been at home anywhere. As a matter of fact, this
particular apartment was furnished in a style that caused me
considerable surprise. The room itself was large and lofty, while
the walls were beautifully frescoed the work of one Andrea Bunopelli,
of whom I shall have more to say anon. The furniture was simple, but
extremely good; a massive oak writing-table stood beside one wall,
another covered with books and papers was opposite it, several
easy-chairs were placed here and there, another table in the centre
of the room supported various chemical paraphernalia, while books of
all sorts and descriptions, in all languages and bindings, were to be
discovered in every direction.

"After what you have seen of the rest of the house, this strikes
you as being more homelike, does it not?" Nikola inquired, as he
noticed the look of astonishment upon our faces. "It is a queer old
place, and the more I see of it the stranger it becomes. Some time
ago, and quite by chance, I became acquainted with its history; I do
not mean the political history of the respective families that have
occupied it; you can find that in any guide-book. I mean the real,
inner history of the house itself, embracing not a few of the deeds
which have taken place inside its walls. I wonder if you would be
interested if I were to tell you that in this very room, in the year
fifteen hundred and eleven, one of the most repellent and
cold-blooded murders of the Middle Ages took place. Perhaps now that
you have the scene before you you would like to hear the story. You
would? In that case pray sit down. Let me offer you this chair,
Duke," he continued, and as he spoke he wheeled forward a handsomely
carved chair from beside his writing-table. "Here, Hatteras, is one
for you. I myself will take up my position here, so that I may be
better able to retain your attention for my narrative."

So saying he stood between us on the strip of polished floor which
showed between two heavy oriental rugs.

"For some reasons," he began, "I regret that the story I have to
tell should run upon such familiar lines. I fancy, however, that the
denouement will prove sufficiently original to merit your
attention. The year fifteen hundred and nine, the same which found
the French victorious at Agnadello, and the Venetian Republic at the
commencement of that decline from which it has never recovered, saw
this house in its glory. The owner, the illustrious Francesco del
Revecce, was a sailor, and had the honour of commanding one of the
many fleets of the Republic. He was an ambitious man, a good fighter,
and as such twice defeated the fleet of the League of Camberi."

"It was after the last of these victories that he married the
beautiful daughter of the Duke of Levano, one of the most bitter
enemies of the Council of Ten. The husband being rich, famous, and
still young enough to be admired for his personal attractions; the
bride one of the wealthiest, as well as one of the most beautiful
women in the Republic, it appeared as if all must be well with them
for the remainder of their lives. A series of dazzling fetes, to
which all the noblest and most distinguished of the city were
invited, celebrated their nuptials and their possession of this
house. Yet with it all the woman was perhaps the most unhappy
individual in the universe. Unknown to her husband and her father she
had long since given her love elsewhere; she was passionately
attached to young Andrea Bunopelli, the man by whom the frescoes of
this room were painted. Finding that Fate demanded her renunciation
of Bunopelli, and her marriage to Revecce, she resolved to see no
more of the man to whom she had given her heart. Love, however,
proved stronger than her sense of duty, and while her husband, by
order of the Senate, had put to sea once more in order to drive back
the French, who were threatening the Adriatic, Bunopelli put into
operation the scheme that was ultimately to prove their mutual
undoing. Unfortunately for Revecce he was not successful in his
venture, and by and by news reached Venice that his fleet had been
destroyed, and that he himself had been taken prisoner. 'Now,' said
the astute Bunopelli, 'is the time to act.' He accordingly took
pens, paper, and his ink-horn, and in this very room concocted a
letter which purported to bear the signature of the commander of the
French forces, into whose hands the Venetian admiral had fallen and
then was. Its meaning was plain enough. It proved that for a large
sum of money Revecce had agreed to surrender the Venetian fleet, and,
in order to secure his own safety, in case the Republic should lay
hands on him afterwards, it was to be supposed that he himself had
only been taken prisoner after a desperate resistance, as had really
been the case. The letter was written, and that night the painter
himself dropped it into the lion's mouth. Revecce might return now as
soon as he pleased. His fate was prepared for him. Meanwhile the
guilty pair spent the time as happily as was possible under the
circumstances, knowing full well, that should the man against whom
they had plotted return to Venice, it would only be to find himself
arrested, and with the certainty, on the evidence of the
incriminating letter, of being immediately condemned to death. Weeks
and months went by. At last Revecce, worn almost to a skeleton by
reason of his long imprisonment, did manage to escape. In the guise
of a common fisherman he returned to Venice; reached his own house,
where a faithful servant recognised him and admitted him to the
palace. From the latter's lips he learnt all that had transpired
during his absence, and was informed of the villainous plot that had
been prepared against him. His wrath knew no bounds; but with it all
he was prudent. He was aware that if his presence in the city were
discovered, nothing could save him from arrest. He accordingly hid
himself in his own house and watched the course of events. What he
saw was sufficient to confirm his worst suspicion. His wife was
unfaithful to him, and her paramour was the man to whom he had been
so kind a friend, and so generous a benefactor. Then when the time
was ripe, assisted only by his servant, the same who had admitted him
to his house, he descended upon the unhappy couple. Under threats of
instant death he extorted from them a written confession of their
treachery. After having made them secure, he departed for the
council-chamber and demanded to be heard. He was the victim of a
conspiracy, he declared, and to prove that what he said was true he
produced the confession he had that day obtained. He had many
powerful friends, and by their influence an immediate pardon was
granted him, while permission was also given him to deal with his
enemies as he might consider most desirable. He accordingly returned
to this house with a scheme he was prepared to put into instant
execution. It is not a pretty story, but it certainly lends an
interest to this room. The painter he imprisoned here."

So saying Nikola stooped and drew back one of the rugs to which I
have already referred. The square outline of a trap-door showed
itself in the floor. He pressed a spring in the wall behind him, and
the lid shot back, swung round, and disappeared, showing the black
abyss below. A smell of damp vaults came up to us. Then, when he had
closed the trap-door again, Nikola drew the carpet back to its old
position.

"The wretched man died slowly of starvation in that hole, and the
woman, living in this room above, was compelled to listen to his
agony without being permitted the means of saving him. Can you
imagine the scene? The dying wretch below, doing his best to die like
a man in order not to distress the woman he loved, and the outraged
husband calmly pursuing his studies, regardless of both."

He looked from one to the other of us and his eyes burnt like
living coals.

"It was brutish, it was hellish," cried Glenbarth, upon whom
either the story, or Nikola's manner of narrating it, had produced an
extraordinary effect. "Why did the woman allow it to continue? Was
she mad that she did not summon assistance? Surely the authorities of
a State which prided itself upon its enlightenment, even in those
dark ages, would not have tolerated such a thing?"

"You must bear in mind the fact that the Republic had given the
husband permission to avenge his wrongs," said Nikola very quietly.
"Besides, the woman could not cry out for the reason that her tongue
had been torn out at the roots. When both were dead their bodies were
tied together and thrown into the canal, and the same day Revecce set
sail again, to ultimately perish in a storm off the coast of Sicily.
Now you know one of the many stories connected with this old room.
There are others in which that trap-door has played an equally
important part. I fear, however, none of them can boast so dramatic a
setting as that I have just narrated to you."

"How, knowing all this, you can live in the house passes my
comprehension," gasped Glenbarth, "I don't think I am a coward, but I
tell you candidly that I would not spend a night here, after what you
have told me, for anything the world could give me."

"But surely you don't suppose that what happened in this room
upwards of several hundred years ago could have any effect upon a
living being to-day?" said Nikola, with what I could not help
thinking was a double meaning. "Let me tell you, that far from being
unpleasant it has decided advantages. As a matter of fact, it gives
me the opportunity of being free to do what I like. That is my
greatest safeguard. I can go away for five years, if I please, and
leave the most valuable of my things lying about, and come back to
the discovery that nothing is missing. I am not pestered by tourists
who ask to see the frescoes, for the simple reason that the guides
take very good care not to tell them the legend of the house, lest
they may be called upon to take them over it. Many of the gondoliers
will not stop here after nightfall, and the few who are brave enough
to do so, invariably cross themselves before reaching, and after
leaving it."

"I do not wonder at it," I said. "Taken altogether it is the most
dismal dwelling I have ever set foot in. Do you mean to tell me that
you live alone in it?"

"Not entirely," he replied. "I have companions: an old man who
comes in once a day to attend to my simple wants, and my
ever-faithful friend--"

"Apollyon," I cried, forestalling what he was about to say.

"Exactly, Apollyon. I am glad to see that you remember him."

He uttered a low whistle, and a moment later the great beast that
I remembered so well stalked solemnly into the room, and began to rub
himself against the leg of his master's chair.

"Poor old fellow," continued Nikola, picking him up and gently
stroking him, "he is growing very feeble. Perhaps it is not to be
wondered at, for he is already far past the average age of the feline
race. He has been in many strange places, and has seen many queer
things since last we met, but never anything much stranger than he
has witnessed in this room."

"What do you mean?" I inquired. "What has the cat seen in this
room that is so strange?"

"Objects that we are not yet permitted to see," Nikola answered
gravely. "When all is quiet at night, and I am working at that table,
he lies curled up in yonder chair. For a time he will sleep
contentedly, then I see him lift his head and watch something, or
somebody, I cannot say which, moving about in the room. At first I
came to the conclusion that it must be a bat, or some night bird,
but that theory exploded. Bats do not remain at the same exact
distance from the floor, nor do they stand stationary behind a man's
chair for any length of time. The hour will come, however, when it
will be possible for us to see these things; I am on the track even
now."

Had I not known Nikola, and if I had not remembered some very
curious experiments he had performed for my special benefit two years
before, I should have inclined to the belief that he was boasting. I
knew him too well, however, to deem it possible that he would waste
his time in such an idle fashion.

"Do you mean to say," I asked, "that you really think that in time
it will be possible for us to see things which at present we have no
notion of? That we shall be able to look into the world we have
always been taught to consider Unknowable?"

"I do mean it," he replied. "And though you may scarcely believe
it, it was for the sake of the information necessary to that end that
I pestered Mr. Wetherall, in Sydney, imprisoned you in Port Said, and
carried the lady, who is now your wife, away to the island in the
South Seas."

"This is most interesting," I said, while Glenbarth drew his chair
a little closer.

"Pray tell us some of your adventures since we last saw you," he
put in. "You may imagine how eager we are to hear."

Thereupon Nikola furnished us with a detailed description of all
that he had been through since that momentous day when he had
obtained possession of the stick that had been bequeathed to Mr.
Wetherall, by China Pete. He told us how, armed with this talisman,
he had set out for China, where he engaged a man named Bruce, who
must have been as plucky as Nikola himself, and together they started
off in search of an almost unknown monastery in Thibet. He described
with a wealth of exciting detail the perilous adventures they had
passed through, and how near they had been to losing their lives in
attempting to obtain possession of a certain curious book in which
were set forth the most wonderful secrets relating to the laws of
Life and Death. He told us of their hairbreadth escapes on the
journey back to civilisation, and showed how they were followed to
England by a mysterious Chinaman, whose undoubted mission was to
avenge the robbery, and to obtain possession of the book. At this
moment he paused, and I found the opportunity of asking him whether
he had the book in his possession now.

"Would you care to see it?" he inquired. "If so, I will show it to
you."

On our answering in the affirmative he crossed to his
writing-table, unlocked a drawer, and took from it a small,
curiously-bound book, the pages of which were yellow with age, and
the writing so faded that it was almost impossible to decipher
it.

"And now that you have plotted and planned, and suffered so much
to obtain possession of this book, what use has it been to you?" I
inquired, with almost a feeling of awe, for it seemed impossible that
a man could have endured so much for so trifling a return.

"In dabbling with such matters," Nikola returned, "one of the
first lessons one learns is not to expect immediate results. There is
the collected wisdom of untold ages in that little volume, and when I
have mastered the secret it contains, I shall, like the eaters of
forbidden fruit, possess a knowledge of all things, Good and
Evil."

Replacing the book in the drawer he continued his narrative, told
us of his great attempt to probe the secret of existence, and
explained to us his endeavour to put new life into a body already
worn out by age.

"I was unsuccessful in what I set out to accomplish," he said;
"but I advanced so far that I was able to restore the man his youth
again. What I failed to do was to give him the power of thought or
will. It was the brain that was too much for me--that vital part of
man without which he is nothing. When I have mastered that secret I
shall try again, and then, perhaps, I shall succeed. But there is
much to be accomplished first. Only I know how much!"

I looked at him in amazement. Was he jesting, or did he really
suppose that it was possible for him, or any other son of man, to
restore youth, and by so doing to prolong life perpetually? Yet he
spoke with all his usual earnestness, and seemed as convinced of the
truth of what he said as if he were narrating some well-known fact. I
did not know what to think. At last, seeing the bewilderment on our
faces, I suppose, he smiled, and rising from his chair reminded us
that if we had been bored we had only ourselves to thank for it. He
accordingly changed the conversation by inquiring whether we had made
any arrangements for that evening. I replied that so far as I knew we
had not, whereupon he came forward with a proposition.

"In that case," said he, "if you will allow me to act as your
guide to Venice, I think I could show you a side of the city you have
never seen before. I know her as thoroughly as any man living, and I
think I may safely promise that your party will spend an interesting
couple of hours. What have you to say to my proposal?"

"I am quite sure we shall be delighted," I replied, though not
without certain misgivings. "But I think I had better not decide
until I have seen my wife. If she has made no other arrangements, at
what hour shall we start?"

"At what time do you dine?" he inquired.

"At seven o'clock," I replied. "Perhaps we might be able to
persuade you to give us the pleasure of your company?"

"I thank you," he answered. "I fear I must decline, however. I am
hermit-like in my habits so far as meals are concerned. If you will
allow me I will call for you, shall we say at half-past eight? The
moon will have risen by that time, and we should spend a most
enjoyable evening."

"At half-past eight," I said, "unless you hear to the contrary,"
and then rose from my chair. Glenbarth followed my example, and we
accordingly bade Nikola good-bye. Despite our protest, he insisted on
accompanying us down the great staircase to the courtyard below, his
terrible cat following close upon his heels. Hailing a gondola, we
bade the man take us back to our hotel. For some minutes after we had
said goodbye to Nikola we sat in silence as the boat skimmed over the
placid water.

"Well, what is your opinion of Nikola now?" I said, as we turned
from the Rio del Consiglio into the Grand Canal once more. "Has he
grown any more commonplace, think you, since you last saw him?"

"On the contrary, he is stranger than ever," Glenbarth replied. "I
have never met any other man who resembled him in the slightest
degree. What a ghastly story that was! His dramatic telling of it
made it appear so real that towards the end of it I was almost
convinced that I could hear the groans of the poor wretch in the pit
below, and see the woman wringing her hands and moaning in the room
in which we were sitting. Why he should have told it to us is what I
cannot understand, neither can I make out what his reasons can be for
living in that house."

"Nikola's actions are like himself, entirely inexplicable," he
answered. "But that he has some motive beyond the desire he expressed
for peace and quiet, I have not the shadow of a doubt."

"And now with regard to to-night," said the Duke, I am afraid a
little pettishly. "I was surprised when you accepted his offer. Do
you think Lady Hatteras and Miss Trevor will care about such an
excursion?"

"That is a question I cannot answer at present," I replied. "We
must leave it to them to decide. For my own part, I can scarcely
imagine anything more interesting."

When I reached Galaghetti's we informed my wife and Miss Trevor of
Nikola's offer, half expecting that the latter, from the manner in
which she had behaved at the mere mention of his name that morning,
would decline to accompany us, and, therefore, that the excursion
would fall through. To my surprise, however, she did nothing of the
kind. She fell in with the idea at once, and, so far as we could see,
without reluctance of any kind.

There was nothing for it, therefore, under these circumstances,
but for me to fall back upon the old commonplace, and declare that
women are difficult creatures to understand.



CHAPTER III.

IN the previous chapter I recorded the surprise I felt at Miss
Trevor's acceptance of Doctor Nikola's invitation to a gondola
excursion. Almost as suddenly as she had shown her fear of him, she
had recovered her tranquility, and the result, as I have stated, was
complete perplexity on my part. With a united desire to reserve our
energies for the evening, we did not arrange a long excursion for
that afternoon, but contented ourselves with a visit to the church of
SS. Giovanni e Paolo. Miss Trevor was quite recovered by this time,
and in very good spirits. She and Glenbarth were on the most friendly
terms, consequently my wife was a most happy woman.

"Isn't it nice to see them together?" she whispered, as we crossed
the hall and went down the steps to our gondola. "They are suited to
each other almost as--well, if I really wanted to pay you a
compliment, which you don't deserve, I should say as we are! Do you
notice how prettily she gives him her hand so that he can help her
into the boat?"

"I do," I answered grimly. "And it only shows the wickedness of
the girl. She is as capable of getting into the boat without
assistance as he is."

"And yet you yourself help her every time you get the chance," my
wife retorted. "I have observed you take the greatest care that she
should not fall, even when the step has been one of only a few
inches, and I have been left to get down by myself. Perhaps you
cannot recall that day at Capri?"

"I have the happiest recollections of it," I replied. "I helped
her quite half a dozen times."

"And yet you grudge that poor boy the opportunities that you
yourself were once eager to enjoy. You cannot deny it."

"I am not going to attempt to deny it," I returned. "I do grudge
him his chances. And why shouldn't I? Has she not the second
prettiest hands, and the second neatest ankle, in all Europe?"

My wife looked up at me with a suspicion of a smile hovering
around her mouth. When she does that her dimples are charming.

"And the neatest?" she inquired, as if she had not guessed. Women
can do that sort of thing with excellent effect.

"Lady Hatteras, may I help you into the gondola?" I said politely,
and for some reason, best known to herself, the reply appeared to
satisfy her.

Of one thing there could be no sort of doubt. Miss Trevor had
taken a decided liking to Glenbarth, and the young fellow's delight
in her company was more than equal to it. By my wife's orders I left
them together as much as possible during the afternoon, that is to
say as far as was consistent with the duties of an observant
chaperon. For instance, while we were in the right aisle of the
church, examining the mausoleum of the Doge, Pietro Mocenningo, and
the statues of Lombardi, they were in the choir proper, before the
famous tomb of Andrea Vendramin, considered by many to be the finest
of its kind in Venice. As we entered the choir, they departed into
the left transept. I fancy, however, Glenbarth must have been a
little chagrined when she, playing her hand according to the
recognised rules, suggested that they should turn back in search of
us. Back they came accordingly, to be received by my wife with a
speech that still further revealed to me the duplicity of women.

"You are two naughty children," she said, with fairly simulated
wrath. "Where on earth have you been? We have been looking for you
everywhere!"

"You are so slow," put in Miss Trevor, and then she added, without
a quaver in her voice or a blush upon her cheek, "We dawdled about in
order to let you catch us up."

I thought it was time for me to interfere.

"Perhaps I should remind you young people that at the present
moment you are in a church," I said. "Would it not be as well, do you
think, for you to preserve those pretty little prevarications until
you are in the gondola? You will be able to quarrel in greater
comfort there. It will also give Phyllis time to collect her
thoughts, and to prepare a new indictment."

My wife treated me to a look that would have annihilated another
man. After that I washed my hands of them and turned to the copy of
Titian's Martyrdom of Saint Peter, which Victor Emmanuel had
presented to the church in place of the original, which had been
destroyed. Later on we made our way, by a long series of tortuous
thoroughfares, to the piazza of Saint Mark, where we intended to sit
in front of Florian's cafe and watch the people until it was time for
us to return and dress for dinner.

As I have already said, Miss Trevor had all the afternoon been in
the best of spirits. Nothing could have been happier than her
demeanour when we left the church, yet when we reached the piazza
everything was changed. Apparently she was not really unhappy, nor
did she look about her in the frightened way that had struck me so
unpleasantly on the previous evening. It was only her manner that was
strange. At first she was silent, then, as if she were afraid we
might notice it, she set herself to talk as if she were doing it for
mere talking's sake. Then, without any apparent reason, she became as
silent as a mouse once more. Remembering what had happened that
morning before breakfast, I did not question her, nor did I attempt
to rally her upon the subject. To have done either would have been to
have risked a recurrence of the catastrophe we had so narrowly
escaped earlier in the day. I accordingly left her alone, and my
wife, in the hope of distracting her attention, entered upon an
amusing argument with Glenbarth upon the evils attendant upon
excessive smoking, which was the young man's one, and, so far as I
knew, only failing. Unable to combat her assertions he appealed to me
for protection.

"Take my part, there's a good fellow," he said pathetically. "I am
not strong enough to stand against Lady Hatteras alone."

"No," I returned; "you must fight your own battles. When I see a
chance of having a little peace I like to grasp it. I am going to
take Miss Trevor to Maya's shop on the other side of the
piazza, in search of new photographs. We will leave you to
quarrel in comfort here."

So saying Miss Trevor and I left them and made our way to the
famous shop, where I purchased for her a number of photographs, of
which she had expressed her admiration a few days before. After that
we rejoined my wife and Glenbarth and returned to our hotel for
dinner.

Nikola, as you may remember, had arranged to call for us
with his gondola at half-past eight, and ten minutes before that time
I suggested that the ladies should prepare themselves for the
excursion. I bade them wrap up well for I knew by experience that it
is seldom warm upon the water at night. When they had left us the
Duke and I strolled into the balcony.

"I hope to goodness Nikola won't frighten Miss Trevor this
evening," said my companion, after we had been there a few moments.
(I noticed that he spoke with an anxiety that was by no means usual
with him.) "She is awfully sensitive, you know, and when he
likes he can curdle the very marrow in your bones. I shouldn't have
liked her to have heard that story he told us this morning. I suppose
there is no fear of his repeating it to-night?"

"I should not think so," I returned. "Nikola has more tact in his
little finger than you or I have in our whole bodies. He would be
scarcely likely to make such a mistake. No, I rather fancy that
to-night we shall see a new side of his character. For my own part I
am prepared to confess that I am looking forward to the excursion
with a good deal of pleasure."

"I am glad to hear it," Glenbarth replied, as I thought with a
savour of sarcasm in his voice. "I only hope you won't have reason to
regret it."

This little speech set me thinking. Was it possible that Glenbarth
was jealous of Nikola? Surely he could not be foolish enough for
that. That Miss Trevor had made an impression upon him was apparent,
but it was full early for him to grow jealous, and particularly of
such a man.

While I was thinking of this the ladies entered the room, and at
the same moment we heard Nikola's gondola draw up at the steps. I
thought Miss Trevor looked a little pale, but though still very quiet
she was more cheerful than she had been before dinner.

"Our guide has arrived," I remarked, as I closed the windows
behind us. "We had better go down to the hall. Miss Trevor, if you
will accompany me, the Duke will bring Phyllis. We must not keep
Nikola waiting."

We accordingly left our apartments and proceeded downstairs.

"I trust you are looking forward to your excursion, Miss Trevor?"
I said as we descended the stairs. "If I am not mistaken you will see
Venice to-night under circumstances such as you could never have
dreamed of before."

"I do not doubt it," she answered simply. "It will be a night to
remember."

Little did she guess how true her prophecy was destined to be. It
was indeed a night that every member of the party would remember all
his, or her, life long. When we had reached the hall, Nikola had just
entered it, and was in the act of sending up a servant to announce
his arrival. He shook hands with my wife, with Miss Trevor,
afterwards with Glenbarth and myself. His hand was, as usual, as cold
as ice and his face was deathly pale. His tall, lithe figure was
concealed by his voluminous coat, but what was lost in one direction
was compensated for by the mystery that it imparted to his
personality. For same reason I thought of Mephistopheles as I looked
at him, and in many ways the illustration does not seem an altogether
inapt one.

"Permit me to express the gratification I feel that you have
consented to allow me to be your guide this evening, Lady Hatteras,"
he said as he conducted my wife towards the boat. "While it is an
impertinence on my part to imagine that I can add to your enjoyment
of Venice, I fancy it is, nevertheless, in my power to show you a
side of the city with which you are not as yet acquainted. The night
being so beautiful, and believing that you would wish to see all you
can, I have brought a gondola without a cabin. I trust I did not do
wrong."

"I am sure it will be delightful," my wife answered. "It would
have been unendurable on such a beautiful evening to be cooped up in
a close cabin. Besides, we should have seen nothing."

By this time we were on the steps, at the foot of which the
gondola in question, a large one of its class, was lying. As soon as
we had boarded her the gondolier bent to his oar the boat shot out
into the stream, and the excursion, which, as I have said, we were
each of us to remember all our lives, had commenced. If I shut my
eyes now I can recall the whole scene: the still moonlit waters of
the canal, the houses on one side of which were brilliantly
illuminated by the moon, the other being entirely in the shadow.
Where we were in mid stream a boat decorated with lanterns passed us.
It contained a merry party, whose progress was enlivened by the
strains of the invariable Finiculi Finicula. The words and the
tune ring in my memory even now. Years before we had grown heartily
sick of the song; now, however, it possessed a charm that was quite
its own.

"How pretty it is," remarked my wife and Miss Trevor almost
simultaneously. And the former added, "I could never have believed
that it possessed such a wealth of tenderness."

"Might it not be the association that is responsible?" put in
Nikola gravely. "You have probably heard that song at some time when
you have been so happy that all the world has seemed the same.
Hearing it to-night has unconsciously recalled that association, and
Finiculi Finicula, once so despised, immediately becomes a
melody that touches your heart strings and so wins for itself a place
in your regard that it can never altogether lose."

We had crossed the canal by this time; the gondola with the
singers proceeding towards the Rialto bridge. The echo of the music
still lingered in our ears, and seemed the sweeter by reason of the
distance that separated us from it. Turning to the gondolier, who in
the moonlight presented a picturesque figure in the stern of the
boat, Nikola said something in Italian. The boat's head was
immediately turned in the direction of a side-street, and a moment
later we entered it. It is not my intention, nor would it be possible
for me, to attempt to furnish you with a definite description of the
route we followed. In the daytime I flatter myself that I have a
knowledge of the Venice of a tourist; if you were to give me a pencil
and paper I believe I would be able to draw a rough outline of the
city, and to place St. Mark's Cathedral, Galaghetti's Hotel, the
Rialto bridge, the Arsenal, and certainly the railway station, in
something like their proper positions. But at night, when I have left
the Grand Canal, the city becomes a sealed book to me. On this
particular evening, every street when once we had left the
fashionable quarter behind us, seemed alike. There was the same
darkness, the same silence, and the same reflection of the lights in
the water. Occasionally we happened upon places where business was
still being transacted, and where the noise of voices smote the air
with a vehemence that was like sacrilege. A few moments would then
elapse, and then we were plunged into a silence that was almost
unearthly. All this time Nikola kept us continually interested. Here
was a house with a history as old as Venice itself; there the home of
a famous painter; yonder the birthplace of a poet or a soldier, who
had fought his way to fame by pen or by sword. On one side of the
street was the first dwelling of one who had been a plebeian and had
died a Doge; while on the other side was that of a man who had given
his life to save his friend. Nor were Nikola's illustrations confined
to the past alone. Men whose names were household words to us had
preceded us, and had seen Venice as we were seeing it now. Of each he
could tell us something we had never heard before. It was the perfect
mastery of his subject, like that of a man who plays upon an
instrument of which he has made a lifelong study, that astonished us.
He could rouse in our hearts such emotions as he pleased; could
induce us to pity at one moment, and to loathing at the next; could
make us see the city with his eyes, and in a measure to love it with
his own love. That Nikola did entertain a deep affection for it was
as certain as his knowledge of its history.

"I think I may say now," he said, when we had been absent from the
hotel for upwards of an hour, "that I have furnished you with a
superficial idea of the city. Let me attempt after this to show you
something of its inner life. That it will repay you I think you will
admit when you have seen it."

Once more he gave the gondolier an order. Without a word the man
entered a narrow street on the right, then turned to the left, after
which to the right again. What were we going to see next? That it
would be something interesting I had not the least doubt. Presently,
the gondolier made an indescribable movement with his oar, the first
signal that he was about to stop. With two strokes he brought the
boat alongside the steps, and Nikola, who was the first to spring
out, assisted the ladies to alight. We were now in a portion of
Venice with which I was entirely unacquainted. The houses were old
and lofty though sadly fallen to decay. Where shops existed business
was still being carried on, but the majority of the owners of the
houses in the neighbourhood appeared to be early birds, for no lights
were visible in their dwellings. Once or twice men approached us and
stared insolently at the ladies of our party. One of these, more
impertinent than his companions, placed his hand upon Miss Trevor's
arm. In a second, without any apparent effort, Nikola had laid him
upon his back.

"Do not be afraid, Miss Trevor," he said; "the fellow has only
forgotten himself for a moment."

So saying he approached the man, who scrambled to his feet, and
addressed him in a low voice.

"No, no, your excellency," the rascal whined; "for the pity of the
blessed saints. Had I known it was you I would not have dared."

Nikola said something in a whisper to him; what it was I have not
the least idea, but its effect was certainly excellent, for the man
slunk away without another word.

After this little incident we continued our walk without further
opposition, took several turnings, and at last found ourselves
standing before a low doorway. That it was closely barred on the
inside was evident from the sounds that followed when, in response to
Nikola's knocks, some one commenced to open it. Presently an old man
looked out. At first he seemed surprised to see us, but when his eyes
fell upon Nikola all was changed. With a low bow he invited him, in
Russian, to enter.

Crossing the threshold we found ourselves in a church of the
smallest possible description. By the dim light a priest could be
seen officiating at the high altar, and there were possibly a dozen
worshippers present. There was an air of secrecy about it all, the
light, the voices, and the precautions taken to prevent a stranger
entering, that appealed to my curiosity. As we turned to leave the
building the little man who had admitted us crept up to Nikola's side
and said something in a low voice to him. Nikola replied, and at the
same time patted the man affectionately upon the shoulder. Then with
the same obsequious respect the latter opened the door once more, and
permitted us to pass out, quickly barring it behind us afterwards
however.

"You have seen many churches during your stay in Venice, Lady
Hatteras," Nikola remarked, as we made our way back towards the
gondola, "I doubt very much, however, whether you have ever entered a
stranger place of worship than that."

"I know that I have not," my wife replied. "Pray who were the
people we saw there? And why was so much secrecy observed?"

"Because nearly all the poor souls you saw there are either
suspected or wanted by the Russian Government. They are fugitives
from injustice, if I may so express it, and it is for that reason
that they are compelled to worship, as well as live, in hiding."

"But who are they?"

"Nihilists," Nikola answered. "A poor, hot-headed lot of people,
who, seeing their country drifting in a wrong direction, have taken
it into their heads to try and remedy matters by drastic measures.
Finding their efforts hopeless, their properties confiscated, and
they themselves in danger of death, or exile, which is worse, they
have fled from Russia. Some of them, the richest, manage to get to
England, some come to Venice, but knowing that the Italian police
will turn them out sans ceremonie if they discover them, they
are compelled to remain in hiding until they are in a position to
proceed elsewhere."

"And you help them?" asked Miss Trevor in a strange voice, as if
his answer were a foregone conclusion.

"What makes you think that?" Nikola inquired.

"Because the doorkeeper knew you, and you spoke so kindly to
him."

"The poor fellow has a son," Nikola replied; "a hot-headed young
rascal who has got into trouble in Moscow. If he is caught he will
without doubt go to Siberia for the rest of his life. But he will not
be caught."

Once more Miss Trevor spoke as if with authority and in the same
hushed voice.

"You have saved him?"

"He has been saved," Nikola replied. "He left for America this
morning. The old fellow was merely expressing to me the gratification
he felt at having got him out of such a difficulty. Now, here is our
gondola. Let us get into it. We still have much to see, and time is
not standing still with us."

Once more we took our places, and once more the gondola proceeded
on its way. To furnish you with a complete resume of all we
saw would take too long, and would occupy too great a space. Let it
suffice that we visited places, the mere existence of which I had
never heard of before.

One thing impressed me throughout. Wherever we went Nikola was
known, and not only known, but feared and respected. His face was a
key that opened every lock, and in his company the ladies were as
safe, in the roughest parts of Venice, as if they had been surrounded
by a troop of soldiery. When we had seen all that he was able to show
us it was nearly midnight, and time for us to be getting back to our
hotel.

"I trust I have not tired you?" he said, as the ladies took their
places in the gondola for the last time.

"Not in the least," both answered at once, and I fancy my wife
spoke not only for herself but also for Miss Trevor when she
continued, "we have spent a most delightful evening."

"You must not praise the performance until the epilogue is
spoken," Nikola answered. "I have still one more item on my
programme."

As he said this the gondola drew up at some steps, where a
solitary figure was standing, apparently waiting for us. He wore a
cloak and carried a somewhat bulky object in his hand. As soon as the
boat came alongside Nikola sprang out and approached him. To our
surprise he helped him into the gondola and placed him in the
stern.

"To-night, Luigi," he said, "you must sing your best for the
honour of the city."

The young man replied in an undertone, and then the gondola passed down
a by-street and a moment later we were back in the Grand Canal. There
was not a breath of air, and the moon shone full and clear upon the
placid water. Never had Venice appeared more beautiful. Away to the
right was the piazza, with the Cathedral of Saint Mark; on our left were
the shadows of the islands. The silence of Venice, and there is no
silence in the world like it, lay upon everything. The only sound to be
heard was the dripping of the water from the gondolier's oar as it rose
and fell in rhythmic motion. Then the musician drew his fingers across
the strings of his guitar, and after a little prelude commenced to sing.
The song he had chosen was the Salve d'amora from Faust, surely one of
the most delightful melodies that has ever occurred to the brain of a
musician. Before he had sung a dozen bars we were entranced. Though not
a strong tenor, his voice was one of the most perfect I have ever heard.
It was of the purest quality, so rich and sweet that the greatest
connoisseur could not tire of it. The beauty of the evening, the silence
of the lagoon, and the perfectness of the surroundings, helped it to
appeal to us as no music had ever done before. It was significant proof
of the effect produced upon us, that when he ceased not one of us spoke
for some moments. Our hearts were too full for words. By the time we had
recovered ourselves the gondola had drawn up at the steps of the hotel,
and we had disembarked. The Duke and I desired to reward the musician;
Nikola, however, begged us to do nothing of the kind.

"He sings to-night to please me," he said. "It would hurt him
beyond words were you to offer him any other reward." After that
there was nothing more to be said, except to thank him in the best
Italian we could muster for the treat he had given us.

"Why on earth does he not try his fortune upon the stage?" asked
my wife, when we had disembarked from the gondola and had assembled
on the steps. "With such a voice he might achieve a European
reputation."

"Alas," answered Nikola, "he will never do that. Did you notice
his infirmity?"

Phyllis replied that she had not observed anything extraordinary
about him.

"The poor fellow is blind," Nikola answered very quietly. "He is a
singing-bird shut up always in the dark. And now, good night. I have
trespassed too long upon your time already."

He bowed low to the ladies, shook hands with the Duke and myself,
and then, before we had time to thank him for the delightful evening
he had given us, was in his gondola once more and out in midstream.
We watched him until he had disappeared in the direction of the Rio
del Consiglio, after we entered the hotel and made our way to our own
sitting-room.

"I cannot say when I have enjoyed myself so much," said my wife,
as we stood talking together before bidding each other good
night.

"It has been delightful," said Glenbarth, whose little attack of
jealousy seemed to have quite left him. "Have you enjoyed it,
Hatteras?"

I said something in reply, I cannot remember what, but I recollect
that, as I did so, I glanced at Miss Trevor's face. It was still very
pale, but her eyes shone with extraordinary brilliance.

"I hope you have had a pleasant evening," I said to her a few
moments later, when we were alone together.

"Yes, I think I can say that I have," she answered, with a
far-away look upon her face. "The music was exquisite. The thought of
it haunts me still."

Then, having bade me good night, she went off with my wife,
leaving me to attempt to understand why she had replied as she had
done.

"And what do you think of it, my friend?" I inquired of Glenbarth,
when we had taken our cigars out into the balcony.

"I am extremely glad we went," he returned quickly. "There can be
no doubt that you were right when you said that it would show us
Nikola's character in a new light. Did you notice with what respect
he was treated by everybody we met, and how anxious they were not to
run the risk of offending him?"

"Of course I noticed it, and you may be sure I drew my own
conclusions from it," I replied.

"And those conclusions were?"

"That Nikola's character is even more inexplicable than
before."

After that we smoked in silence for some time. At last I rose and
tossed what remained of my cigar over the rails into the dark waters
below.

"It is getting late," I said. "Don't you think we had better bid
each other good night?"

"Perhaps we had, and yet I don't feel a bit tired."

"Are you quite sure that you have had a pleasant day?"

"Quite sure," he said, with a laugh. "The only thing I regret is
having heard that wretched story this morning. Do you recall the
gusto with which Nikola related it?" I replied in the affirmative,
and asked him his reason for referring to it now.

"Because I could not help thinking of it this evening, when his
voice was so pleasant and his manner so kind. When I picture him
going back to that house to-night, to that dreadful room, to sleep
alone in that great building, it fairly makes me shudder. Good night,
old fellow, you have treated me royally to-day; I could scarcely have
had more sensations compressed into my waking hours if I'd been a
king."



CHAPTER IV.

AFTER our excursion through Venice with Nikola by night, an
interval of a week elapsed before we saw anything of him. During that
time matters, so far as our party was concerned, progressed with the
smoothness of a well-regulated clock. In my own mind I had not the
shadow of a doubt that Glenbarth was head over ears in love with
Gertrude Trevor. He followed her about wherever she went; seemed
never to tire of paying her attention, and whenever we were alone
together, endeavoured to inveigle me into a discussion of her merits.
That she had faults nothing would convince him.

Whether she reciprocated his good-feeling was a matter on which,
to my mind, there existed a considerable amount of doubt. Women are
proverbially more secretive in these affairs than men, and if Miss
Trevor entertained a warmer feeling than friendship for the young
Duke, she certainly managed to conceal it admirably. More than once,
I believe, my wife endeavoured to sound her upon the subject. She had
to confess herself beaten, however. Miss Trevor liked the Duke of
Glenbarth very much; she was quite agreed that he had not an atom of
conceit in his constitution; he gave himself no airs: moreover, she
was prepared to meet my wife halfway, and to say that she thought it
a pity he did not marry.

No, she had never heard that there was an American millionaire
girl, extremely beautiful, and accomplished beyond the average, who
was pining to throw her millions and herself at his feet!

"And then," added my wife, in a tone that seemed to suggest that
she considered it my fault that the matter had not been brought to a
successful conclusion long since, "what do you think she said? 'Why
on earth doesn't he marry this American? So many men of title do
nowadays.' What do you think of that? I can tell you, Dick, I could
have shaken her!"

"My dear little woman," I said in reply, "will nothing convince
you that you are playing with fire? If you are not very careful you
will burn your fingers. Gertrude is almost as clever as you are. She
sees that you are trying to pump her, and very naturally declines to
be pumped. You would feel as she does were you in her position."

"I do not know why you should say I am trying to pump her," she
answered with considerable dignity. "I consider it a very
uncalled-for expression."

"Well, my dear," I answered, "if you are going to attempt to
improve your position by splitting straws, then I must stop."

The episode I have just described had taken place after we had
retired for the night, and at a time when I am far from being at my
best. My wife, on the other hand, as I have repeatedly noticed, is
invariably wide awake at that hour. Moreover she has an established
belief that it would be an impossibility for her to obtain any rest
until she has cleared up all matters of mystery that may have
attracted her attention during the day. I generally fall asleep
before she is halfway through, and for this reason I am told that I
lack interest in what most nearly concerns our welfare.

"One would at least imagine that you could remain awake to discuss
events of so much importance to us and to those about us," I have
known her say. "I have observed that you can talk about horses,
hunting, and shooting, with your bachelor friends until two or three
o'clock in the morning without falling asleep, but when your wife is
anxious to ask your opinion about something that does not concern
your amusements, then you must needs go to sleep."

"My dear," I replied, "when all is said and done we are but human.
You know as well as I do, that if a man were to come to me when I had
settled down for the night, and were to tell me that he knew where to
lay his hand upon the finest horse in England, and where he could put
me on to ten coveys of partridges within a couple of hundred yards of
my own front door, that he could even tell me the winner of the
Derby, I should answer him as I am now answering you."

"And your reply would be?"

I am afraid the pains I had been at to illustrate my own argument
must have proved too much for me, for I was informed in the morning
that I had talked a vast amount of nonsense about seeing Nikola
concerning a new pigeon-trap, and had then resigned myself to the
arms of Morpheus. If there should be any husbands whose experience
have ran on similar lines, I should be glad to hear from them. But to
return to my story.

One evening, exactly a week after Glenbarth's arrival in Venice, I
was dressing for dinner when a letter was brought to me. Much to my
surprise I found it was from Nikola, and in it he inquired whether it
would be possible for me to spare the time to come and see him that
evening. It appeared that he was anxious to discuss a certain
important matter with me. I noticed, however, that he did not mention
what that matter was. In a postscript he asked me, as a favour to
himself, to come alone.

Having read the letter I stood for a few moments with it in my
hand, wondering what I should do. I was not altogether anxious to go
out that evening; on the other hand I had a strange craving to see
Nikola once more. The suggestion that he desired to consult me upon,
a matter of importance flattered my vanity, particularly as it was of
such a nature that he did not desire the presence of a third person.
"Yes," I thought, "after all, I will go." Accordingly I wrote a note
to him saying that, if the hour would suit him, I hoped to be with
him at half-past nine o'clock. Then I continued my dressing and
presently went down to dinner.

During the progress of the meal I mentioned the fact that I had
received the letter in question, and asked my friends if they would
excuse me if I went round in the course of the evening to find out
what it was that Nikola had to say to me. Perhaps by virtue of my
early training, perhaps by natural instinct, I am a keen observer of
trifles. On this occasion I noticed that from the moment I mentioned
the fact of my having received a letter from Nikola, Miss Trevor ate
scarcely any more dinner. Upon my mentioning his name she had looked
at me with a startled expression upon her face. She said nothing,
however, but I observed that her left hand, which she had a trick of
keeping below the table as much as possible, was for some moments
busily engaged in picking pieces from the roll beside her plate. For
some reason she had suddenly grown nervous again, but why she should
have done so passes my comprehension. When the ladies had retired,
and we were sitting together over our wine, Glenbarth returned to the
subject of my visit that evening.

"By Jove, my dear fellow," he said, "I don't envy you your
excursion to that house. Don't you feel a bit nervous about it
yourself?" I shook my head.

"Why should I?" I asked. "If the truth must be told I am a good
deal more afraid of Nikola than I am of his house. I don't fancy on
the present occasion, however, I have any reason to dread
either."

"Well," said the Duke with a laugh, "if you are not home by
breakfast-time to-morrow morning I shall bring the police round, and
look down that trap-door. You'll take a revolver with you of
course?"

"I shall do nothing of the kind," I replied. '"I am quite able to
take care of myself without having recourse to fire-arms."

Nevertheless, when I went up to my room to change my coat, prior
to leaving the house, I took a small revolver from my dressing-case
and weighed it in my hand. "Shall I take it or shall I not?" was the
question I asked myself. Eventually I shook my head and replaced it
in its hiding-place. Then, switching off the electric light, I made
for the door, only to return, re-open the dressing-case, and take out
the revolver. Without further argument I slipped it into the pocket
of my coat and then left the room.

A quarter of an hour later my gondolier had turned into the Rio
del Consiglio, and was approaching the Palace Revecce. The house was
in deep shadow, and looked very dark and lonesome. The gondolier
seemed to be of the same opinion, for he was anxious to set me down,
to collect his fare, and to get away again as soon as possible.
Standing in the porch I rang the great bell which Nikola had pointed
out to me, and which we had not observed on the morning of our first
visit. It clanged and echoed somewhere in the rearmost portion of the
house, intensifying the loneliness of the situation, and adding a new
element of mystery to that abominable dwelling. In spite of my boast
to Glenbarth I was not altogether at my ease It was one thing to
pretend that I had no objection to the place when I was seated in a
well-lighted room, with a glass of port at my hand, and a stalwart
friend opposite; it was quite another, however, to be standing in the
dark at that ancient portal, with the black water of the canal at my
feet and the anticipation of that sombre room ahead. Then I heard the
sound of footsteps crossing the courtyard, and a moment later Nikola
himself stood before me and invited me to enter. A solitary lamp had
been placed upon the coping of the wall, and its fitful light
illuminated the courtyard, throwing long shadows across the pavement
and making it look even drearier and more unwholesome than when I had
last seen it. After we had shaken hands we made our way in silence up
the great staircase, our steps echoing along the stone corridors with
startling reverberations. How thankful I was at last to reach the
warm, well-lit room, despite the story Nikola had told us about it, I
must leave you to imagine.

"Please sit down," said Nikola, pushing a chair forward for my
occupation. "It is exceedingly kind of you to have complied with my
request. I trust Lady Hatteras and Miss Trevor are well?"

"Thank you, they are both well," I replied. "They both begged to
be remembered to you."

Nikola bowed his thanks, and then, when he had placed a box of
excellent cigars at my elbow, prepared and lighted a cigarette for
himself. All this time I was occupying myself wondering why he had
asked me to come to him that evening, and what the upshot of the
interview was to be. Knowing him as I did, I was aware that his
actions were never motiveless. Everything he did was to be accounted
for by some very good reason. After he had tendered his thanks to me
for coming to see him, he was silent for some minutes, for so long
indeed that I began to wonder whether he had forgotten my presence.
In order to attract his attention I commented upon the fact that we
had not seen him for more than a week.

"I have been away," he answered, with what was plainly an attempt
to pull himself together. "Business of a most important nature called
me to the South of Italy, to Naples in fact, and I only returned this
morning." Once more he was silent. Then leaning towards me and
speaking with even greater impressiveness than he had yet done, he
continued:

"Hatteras, I am going to ask you a question, and then, with your
permission, I should like to tell you a story."

Not knowing what else to do I simply bowed I was more than ever
convinced that Nikola was going to make use of me.

"Have you ever wondered," he began, still looking me straight in
the face, and speaking with great earnestness, "what it was first
made me the man I am?"

I replied to the effect that I had often wondered, but naturally
had never been able to come to a satisfactory conclusion.

"Some day you shall know the history of my life," he answered,
"but not just yet. There is much to be done before then. And now I am
going to give you the story I promised you. You will see why I have
told it to you when I have finished."

He rose from his chair and began to pace the room. I had never
seen Nikola so agitated before. When he turned and faced me again his
eyes shone like diamonds, while his body quivered with suppressed
excitement.

"Hatteras," he went on, when he had somewhat, mastered his
emotion, "I doubt very much if ever in this world's history there has
been a man who has suffered more than I have done. As I said just
now, the whole story I cannot tell you at present. Some day it will
come in its proper place and you will know everything. In the
meantime--"

He paused for a few moments and then continued abruptly:

"The story concerns a woman, a native of this city; the last of an
impoverished but ancient family. She married a man many years her
senior, whom she did not love. When they had been married just over
four years her husband died, leaving her with one child to fight the
battles of the world alone. The boy was nearly three years old, a
sturdy, clever little urchin, who, up to that time, had never known
the meaning of the word trouble. Then there came to Venice a man, a
Spaniard, as handsome as a serpent, and as cruel. After a while he
made the woman believe that he loved her. She returned his affection,
and in due time they were married. A month later he was appointed
Governor of one of the Spanish Islands off the American coast--a
post he had long been eager to obtain. When he departed to take up
his position it was arranged that, as soon as all was prepared, the
woman and her child should follow him. They did so, and at length
reached the island and took up their abode, not at the palace, as the
woman had expected, but in the native city. For the Governor feared,
or pretended to fear, that, as his marriage had not been made public
at first, it might compromise his position. The woman, however, who
loved him, was content, for her one thought was to promote his
happiness. At first the man made believe to be overjoyed at having
her with him once again, then, little by little, he showed that he
was tired of her. Another woman had attracted his fancy, and he had
transferred his affections to her. The other heard of it. Her
southern blood was roused; for though she had been poor, she was, as
I have said, the descendant of one of the oldest Venetian families.
As his wife she endeavoured to defend herself, then came the crushing
blow, delivered with all the brutality of a savage nature.

"'You are not my wife,' he said. 'I had already a wife living when
I married you.'

"She left him without another word and went away to hide her
shame. Six months later the fever took her and she died. Thus the boy
was left, at five years old, without a friend or protector in the
world. Happily, however, a humble couple took compassion on him, and,
after a time, determined to bring him up as their own. The old man
was a great scholar, and had devoted all his life to the exhaustive
study of the occult sciences. To educate the boy, when he grew old
enough to understand, was his one delight. He was never weary of
teaching him, nor did the boy ever tire of learning. It was a mutual
labour of love. Seven years later saw both the lad's benefactors at
rest in the little churchyard beneath the palms, and the boy himself
homeless once more. But he was not destined to remain so for very
long; the priest, who had buried his adopted parents, spoke to the
Governor, little dreaming what he was doing, of the boy's pitiable
condition. It was as if the devil had prompted him, for the Spaniard
was anxious to find a playfellow for his son, a lad two years the
other's junior. It struck him that the waif would fill the position
admirably. He was accordingly deported to the palace to enter upon
the most miserable period of his life. His likeness to his mother was
unmistakable, and when he noticed it, the Governor, who had learned
the secret, hated him for it, as only those hate who are conscious of
their wrongdoing. From that moment his cruelty knew no bounds. The
boy was powerless to defend himself. All that he could do was to
loathe his oppressor with all the intensity of his fiery nature, and
to pray that the day might come when he should be able to repay. To
his own son the Governor was passionately attached. In his eyes the
latter could do no wrong. For any of his misdeeds it was the stranger
who bore the punishment. On the least excuse he was stripped and
beaten like a slave. The Governor's son, knowing his power, and the
other's inordinate sensitiveness, derived his chief pleasure in
inventing new cruelties for him. To describe all that followed would
be impossible. When nothing else would rouse him, it was easy to
bring him to an ungovernable pitch of fury by insulting his mother's
name, with whose history the servants had, by this time, made their
master's son acquainted. Once, driven into a paroxysm of fury by the
other's insults, the lad picked up a knife and rushed at his
tormentor with the intention of stabbing him. His attempt, however,
failed, and the boy, foaming at the mouth, was carried before the
Governor. I will spare you a description of the punishment that was
meted out for his offence. Let it suffice that there are times even
now, when the mere thought of it is sufficient to bring--but
there--why should I continue in this strain? All that I am telling
you happened many years ago, but the memory remains clear and
distinct, while the desire for vengeance is as keen as if it had
happened but yesterday. What is more, the end is coming, as surely as
the lad once hoped and prophesied it would."

Nikola paused for a moment and sank into his chair. I had never
seen him so affected. His face was deathly pale, while his eyes
blazed like living coals.

"What became of the boy at last?" I inquired, knowing all the
while that he had been speaking of himself.

"He escaped from the island, and went out into the world. The
Governor is dead; he has gone to meet the woman, or women, he has so
cruelly wronged. His son has climbed the ladder of Fame, but he has
never lost, as his record shows, the cruel heart he possessed as a
boy. Do you remember the story of the Revolution in the Republic of
Equinata?"

I shook my head.

"The Republics of South America indulge so constantly in their
little amusements that it is difficult for an outsider to remember
every particular one," I answered.

"Well, let me tell you about it. When the Republic of Equinata
suffered from its first Revolution, this man was its President. But
for his tyranny and injustice it would not have taken place. He it
was who, finding that the rebellion was spreading, captured a certain
town, and bade the eldest son of each of the influential families
wait upon him at his headquarters on the morning following its
capitulation. His excuse was that he desired them as hostages for
their parents' good behaviour. As it was, however, to wreak his
vengeance on the city, which had opposed him, instead of siding with
him, he placed them against a wall and shot them down by the
half-dozen. But he was not destined to succeed. Gradually he was
driven back upon his Capital, his troops deserting day by day. Then,
one night he boarded a ship that was waiting for him in the harbour,
and from that moment Equinata saw him no more. It was not until some
days afterwards that it was discovered that he had dispatched vast
sums of money, which he had misappropriated, out of the country,
ahead of him. Where he is now hiding I am the only man who knows. I
have tracked him to his lair, and I am waiting--waiting--
waiting--for the moment to arrive when the innocent blood that has so
long cried to Heaven will be avenged. Let him look to himself when
that day arrives. For as there is a God above us, he will be punished
as man was never punished before."

The expression upon his face as he said this was little short of
devilish; the ghastly pallor of his skin, the dark, glittering eyes,
and his jet-black hair made up a picture that will never fade from my
memory.

"God help his enemy if they should meet," I said to myself. Then
his mood suddenly changed, and he was once more the quiet, suave
Nikola to whom I had become accustomed. Every sign of passion had
vanished from his face. A transformation more complete could scarcely
have been imagined.

"My dear fellow," he said, without a trade of emotion in his
voice, "you must really forgive me for having bored you with my long
story. I cannot think what made me do so, unless it is that I have
been brooding over it all day, and felt the need of a confidant. You
will make an allowance for me, will you not?"

"Most willingly," I answered. "If the story you have told me
concerns yourself, you have my most heartfelt sympathy. You have
suffered indeed."

He stopped for a moment in his restless walk up and down the room,
and eyed me carefully as if he were trying to read my thoughts.

"Suffered?" he said at last, and then paused. "Yes, I have
suffered--but others have suffered more. But do not let us talk of
it. I was foolish to have touched upon it, for I know by experience
the effect it produces upon me."

As he spoke he crossed to the window, which he threw open. It was
a glorious night, and the sound of women's voices singing reached us
from the Grand Canal. On the other side of the watery highway the
houses looked strangely mysterious in the weird light. At that moment
I felt more drawn towards Nikola than I had ever done before. The
man's loneliness, his sufferings, had a note of singular pathos for
me. I forgot the injuries he had done me, and before I knew what I
was doing, I had placed my hand upon his shoulder.

"Nikola," I said, "if I were to try I could not make you
understand how truly sorry I am for you. The life you lead is so
unlike that of any other man. You see only the worst side of human
nature. Why not leave this terrible gloom? Give up these experiments
upon which you are always engaged, and live only in the pure air of
the commonplace everyday world. Your very surroundings--this house,
for instance--are not like those of other men. Believe me, there are
other things worth living for besides the science which binds you in
its chains. If you could learn to love a good woman--"

"My dear Hatteras," he put in, more softly than I had ever heard
him speak, "woman's love is not for me. As you say, I am lonely in
the world, God knows how lonely, yet lonely I must be content to
remain." Then leaning his hands upon the window-sill, he looked out
upon the silent night, and I heard him mutter to himself, "Yes,
lonely to the end." After that he closed the window abruptly, and
turning to me asked how long we contemplated remaining in Venice.

"I cannot say yet," I answered, "the change is doing my wife
so much good that I am anxious to prolong our stay. At first
we thought of going to the South of France, but that idea has been
abandoned, and we may be here another month."

"A month," he said to himself, as if he were reflecting upon
something; then he added somewhat inconsequently, "You should be able
to see a great deal of Venice in a month."

"And how long will you be here?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"It is impossible to say," he answered. "I never know my own mind
for two days together. I may be here another week, or I may be here a
year. Somehow, I have a conviction, I cannot say why, that this will
prove to be my last visit to Venice. I should be sorry never to see
it again, yet what must be, must. Destiny will have its way, whatever
we may say or do to the contrary."

At that moment there was the sound of a bell clanging in the
courtyard below. At such an hour it had an awe-inspiring sound, and I
know that I shuddered as I heard it.

"Who can it be?" said Nikola, turning towards the door. "This is
somewhat late for calling hours. Will you excuse me if I go down and
find out the meaning of it?"

"Do so, by all means," I answered. "I think I must be going also.
It is getting late."

"No, no," he said, "stay a little longer. If it is as I suspect, I
fancy I shall be able to show you something that may interest you.
Endeavour to make yourself comfortable until I return. I shall not be
away many minutes."

So saying, he left me, closing the door behind him. When I was
alone, I lit a cigar and strolled to the window, which I opened. My
worst enemy could not call me a coward, but I must confess that I
derived no pleasure from being in that room alone. The memory of what
lay under that oriental rug was vividly impressed upon my memory. In
my mind I could smell the vaults below, and it would have required
only a very small stretch of the imagination to have fancied I could
hear the groans of the dying man proceeding from it. Then a feeling
of curiosity came over me to see who Nikola's visitor was. By leaning
well out of the window, I could look down on the great door below. At
the foot of the steps a gondola was drawn up, but I was unable to see
whether there was any one in it or not. Who was Nikola's mysterious
caller, and what made him come at such an hour? Knowing the
superstitious horror in which the house was held by the populace of
Venice, I felt that whoever he was, he must have an imperative reason
for his visit. I was still turning the subject over in my mind, when
the door opened and Nikola entered, followed by two men. One was tall
and swarthy, wore a short black beard, and had a crafty expression
upon his face. The other was about middle height, very broad, and was
the possessor of a bullet-head covered with close-cropped hair. Both
were of the lower class, and their nationality was unmistakable.
Turning to me Nikola said in English:

"It is as I expected. Now, if you care to study character, here is
your opportunity. The taller man is a Police Agent, the other the
chief of a notorious Secret Society. I should first explain that
within the last two or three days I have been helping a young Italian
of rather advanced views, not to put too fine a point upon it, to
leave the country for America. This dog has dared to try to upset my
plans. Immediately I heard of it I sent word to him, by means of our
friend, here, that he was to present himself here before twelve
o'clock to-night without fail. From his action it would appear that
he is more frightened of me than he is of the Secret Society. That is
as it should be; for I intend to teach him a little lesson which will
prevent him from interfering with my plans in the future. You were
talking of my science just now, and advising me to abandon it. Could
the life you offer me give me the power I possess now? Could the
respectability of Clapham recompense me for the knowledge with which
the East can furnish me?"

Then turning to the Police Agent he addressed him in Italian,
speaking so fast that it was impossible for me to follow him. From
what little I could make out, however, I gathered that he was rating
him for daring to interfere with his concerns. When, at the end of
three or four minutes, he paused and spoke more slowly, this was the
gist of his speech:

"You know me and the power I control. You are aware that those who
thwart me, or who interfere with me and my concerns, do so at their
own risk. Since no harm has come of it, thanks to certain good
friends, I will forgive on this occasion, but let it happen again and
this is what your end will be."

As he spoke he took from his pocket a small glass bottle with a
gold top, not unlike a vinaigrette, and emptied some of the white
powder it contained into the palm of his hand. Turning down the lamp
he dropped this into the chimney. A green flame shot up for a moment,
which was succeeded by a cloud of perfumed smoke that filled the room
so completely that for a moment it was impossible for us to see each
other. Presently a picture shaped itself in the cloud and held my
attention spellbound. Little by little it developed until I was able
to make out a room, or rather I should say a vault, in which upwards
of a dozen men were seated at a long table. They were all masked, and
without exception were clad in long monkish robes with cowls of black
cloth. Presently a sign was made by the man at the head of the table,
an individual with a venerable grey beard, and two more black figures
entered, who led a man between them. Their prisoner was none other
than the Police Agent whom Nikola had warned. He looked thinner,
however, and was evidently much frightened by his position. Once more
the man at the head of the table raised his hand, and there entered
at the other side an old man with white hair and a long beard of the
same colour. Unlike the others he wore no cowl, nor was he masked.
From his gestures I could see that he was addressing those seated at
the table, and, as he pointed to the prisoner, a look of undying
hatred spread over his face. Then the man at the head of the table
rose, and though I could hear nothing of what he said, I gathered
that he was addressing his brethren concerning the case. When he had
finished, and each of the assembly had voted by holding up his hand,
he turned to the prisoner. As he did so the scene vanished instantly
and another took its place.

It was a small room that I looked upon now, furnished only with a
bed, a table, and a chair. At the door was a man who had figured as a
prisoner in the previous picture, but now sadly changed. He seemed to
have shrunk to half his former size, his face was pinched by
starvation, his eyes were sunken, but there was an even greater look
of terror in them than had been there before. Opening the door of the
room he listened, and then shut and locked it again. It was as if he
were afraid to go out, and yet knew that if he remained where he was,
he must perish of starvation. Gradually the room began to grow dark,
and the terrified wretch paced restlessly up and down, listening at
the door every now and then. Once more the picture vanished as its
companion had done, and a third took its place. This proved to be a
narrow street scene by moonlight. On either side the houses towered
up towards the sky, and since there was no one about, it was plain
that the night was far advanced. Presently, creeping along in the
shadow, on the left-hand side, searching among the refuse and garbage
of the street for food, came the man I had seen afraid to leave his
attic. Times out of number he looked swiftly behind him, as if he
thought it possible that he might be followed. He was but little more
than halfway up the street, and was stooping to pick up something,
when two dark figures emerged from a passage on the left, and swiftly
approached him. Before he had time to defend himself, they were upon
him, and a moment later he was lying stretched out upon his back in
the middle of the street, a dead man. The moon shone down full and
clear upon his face, the memory of which makes me shudder even now.
Then the picture faded away and the loom was light once more.
Instinctively I looked at the Police Agent. His usually swarthy face
was deathly pale, and from the great beads of perspiration that stood
upon his forehead, I gathered that he had seen the picture too.

"Now," said Nikola, addressing him, "you have seen what is in store
for you if you persist in pitting yourself against me. You recognised
that grey-haired man, who had appealed to the Council against you.
Then, rest assured of this! So surely as you continue your present
conduct, so surely will the doom I have just revealed to you overtake
you. Now go, and remember what I have said."

Turning to the smaller man, Nikola placed his hand in a kindly
fashion upon his shoulder.

"You have done well, Tomasso," he said, "and I am pleased with
you. Drop our friend here at the usual place, and see that some one
keeps an eye on him. I don't think, however, he will dare to offend
again."

On hearing this, the two men left the room and descended to the
courtyard together, and I could easily imagine with what delight one
of them would leave the house. When they had gone, Nikola, who was
standing at the window, turned to me, saying:

"What do you think of my conjuring?"

I knew not what answer to make that would satisfy him. The whole
thing seemed so impossible that, had it not been for the pungent
odour that still lingered in the room, I could have believed I had
fallen asleep and dreamed it all.

"You can give me no explanation, then?" said Nikola, with one of
his inscrutable smiles. "And yet, having accumulated this power, this
knowledge, call it what you will, you would still bid me give up
Science. Come, my friend, you have seen something of what I can do;
would you be brave enough to try, with my help, to look into what is
called The Great Unknown, and see what the future has in store for
you? I fancy it could be done. Are you to be tempted to see your own
end?"

"No, no," I cried, "I will have nothing to do with such an unholy
thing. Good heavens, man! From that moment life would be unendurable!"

"You think so, do you?" he said slowly, still keeping his eyes
fixed on me. "And yet I have tried it myself."

"My God, Nikola!" I answered in amazement, for I knew him well
enough to feel sure that he was not talking idly. "You don't mean to
tell me that that you know what your own end is going to be?"

"Exactly," he answered. "I have seen it all. It is not pleasant;
but I think I may say without vanity that it will be an end worthy of
myself."

"But now that you know it, can you not avert it?"

"Nothing can be averted," he answered solemnly. "As I said before
these men entered, what must be, must. What does Schiller say? 'Noch
niemand entfloh dem verhangten Geschick.'"

"And you were brave enough to look?"

"Does it require so much bravery, do you think? Believe me, there
are things which require more."

"What do you mean?"

"Ah! I cannot tell you now," he answered, shaking his head. "Some
day you will know."

Then there was a silence for a few seconds, during which we both
stood looking down at the moonlit water below. At last, having
consulted my watch and seeing how late it was, I told him that it was
time for me to bid him good night.

"I am very grateful to you for coming Hatteras," he said. "It has
cheered me up. It does me good to see you. Through you I get a whiff
of that other life of which you spoke a while back. I want to make
you like me, and I fancy I am succeeding."

Then we left the room together, and went down the stairs to the
courtyard below. Side by side we stood upon the steps waiting for a
gondola to put in an appearance. It was some time before one came in
sight, but when it did so I hailed it, and then shook Nikola by the
hand and bade him good night.

"Good night," he answered. "Pray remember me kindly to Lady
Hatteras and to--Miss Trevor."

The little pause before Miss Trevor's name caused me to look at
him in some surprise. He noticed it and spoke at once.

"You may think it strange of me to say so," he said, "but I cannot
help feeling interested in that young lady. Impossible though it may
seem, I have a well-founded conviction that in some way her star is
destined to cross mine, and before very long. I have only seen her
twice in my life in the flesh; but many years ago her presence on the
earth was revealed to me, and I was warned that some day we should
meet. What that meeting will mean to me it is impossible to say, but
in its own good time Fate will doubtless tell me. And now, once more,
good night."

"Good night," I answered mechanically, for I was too much
surprised by his words to think what I was saying. Then I entered the
gondola and bade the man take me back to my hotel.

"Surely Nikola has taken leave of his senses," I said to myself as
I was rowed along. "Gertrude Trevor was the very last person in the
world that I should have expected Nikola to make such a statement
about."

At this point, however, I remembered how curiously she had been
affected by their first meeting, and my mind began to be troubled
concerning her.

"Let us hope and pray that Nikola doesn't take it into his head to
imagine himself in love with her," I continued to myself. "If he were
to do so I scarcely know what the consequences would be."

Then, with a touch of the absurd, I wondered what her father, the
eminently-respected dean, would say to having Nikola for a
son-in-law. By the time I had reached this point in my reverie the
gondola had drawn up at the steps of the hotel.

My wife and Miss Trevor had gone to bed, but Glenbarth was sitting
up for me.

"Well, you have paid him a long visit, in all conscience," he said
a little reproachfully. Then he added, with what was intended to be a
touch of sarcasm, "I hope you have spent a pleasant evening?"

"I am not quite so certain about that," I replied.

"Indeed. Then what have you discovered?"

"One thing of importance," I answered; "that Nikola grows more and
more inscrutable every day."



CHAPTER V.

THE more I thought upon my strange visit to the Palace Revecce
that evening, the more puzzled I was by it. It had so many sides, and
each so complex, that I scarcely knew which presented the most
curious feature. What Nikola's real reason had been for inviting me
to call upon him, and why he should have told me the story, which I
felt quite certain was that of his own life, was more than I could
understand. Moreover, why, having told it me, he should have so
suddenly requested me to think no more about it, only added to my
bewilderment. The incident of the two men, and the extraordinary
conjuring trick, for conjuring trick it certainly was in the real
meaning of the word, he had shown us, did not help to elucidate
matters. If the truth must be told it rather added to the mystery
than detracted from it. To sum it all up, I found, when I endeavoured
to fit the pieces of the puzzle together, remembering also his
strange remark concerning Miss Trevor, that I was as far from coming
to any conclusion as I had been at the beginning.

"You can have no idea how nervous I have been on your account
to-night," said my wife, when I reached her room. "After dinner the
Duke gave us a description of Doctor Nikola's room, and told us its
history. When I thought of your being there alone with him, I must
confess I felt almost inclined to send a message to you imploring you
to come home."

"That would have been a great mistake, my dear," I answered. "You
would have offended Nikola, and we don't want to do that. I am sorry
the Duke told you that terrible story. He should not have frightened
you with it. What did Gertrude Trevor think of it?"

"She did not say anything about it," my wife replied. "But I could
see that she was as frightened as I was. I am quite sure you would
not get either of us to go there, however pressing Doctor Nikola's
invitation might be. Now tell me what he wanted to see you
about."

"He felt lonely and wanted some society," I answered, having
resolved that on no account would I tell her all the truth concerning
my visit to the Palace Revecce. "He also wanted me to witness
something connected with a scheme he has originated for enabling
people to get out of the country unobserved by the police. Before I
left he gave me a good example of the power he possessed."

I then described