Francis Marion Crawford - "The Heart of Rome"

Dante Alighieri - "Divina Commedia di Dante"

Unkown - "The Popular Science Monthly Volume LXXXVI July to September, 1915"

William J. Clinton - "State of the Union Addresses of William J. Clinton"

The Net

R >> Rex Beach >> The Net




"Where is he, Vittoria? Tell me that he's--safe!"

Some one answered, "He's safe and resting quietly."

"T-take me to him."

A spasm stirred Vittoria's tired features; she petted the girl with a
comforting hand, while Mayor Wright said, gently:

"It must have been a great shock to you, Myra Nell, as it was to all
of us, but you may thank God he has been spared to you."

The reporter made a note upon his pad, and began framing the heart
interest of his story. Here was a new and interesting aspect of an
event worth many columns.

Vittoria led the girl toward her room, but outside the door Myra Nell
paused, shaking in every limb.

"You--you love him?" asked the other woman.

The look which Miss Warren gave her stabbed like a knife, and when the
girl had sunk to her knees beside the bed, with Blake's name upon her
lips, Vittoria stood for a long moment gazing down upon her dazedly,

Later, when she had sent Myra Nell home and silence lay over the city,
Norvin's nurse stole into the great front room where she had
experienced so much of gladness and horror that night, and made her
way wearily to the little image of the Virgin. She noted with a start
that the candle was gone, so she lit a new one and, kneeling for many
minutes, prayed earnestly for strength to do the right and to quench
the leaping, dazzling flame which had been kindled in her heart.




XXII

A MISUNDERSTANDING



Several days later Vittoria Fabrizi led Bernie Dreux into the room
where Norvin lay. The little man walked on tiptoe and wore an
expression of such gloomy sympathy that Blake said:

"Please don't look so blamed pious; it makes me hurt all over."

Bernie's features lightened faintly; he smiled in a manner bordering
upon the natural.

"They wouldn't let me see you before. Lord! How you have frightened
us!"

"My nurse won't let me talk."

Blake's eyes rested with puzzled interrogation upon the girl, who
maintained her most professional air as she smoothed his pillow and
admonished him not to overtax himself. When she had disappeared
noiselessly, he said:

"Well, you needn't put a rose in my hand yet awhile. Tell me what has
happened? How is Myra Nell?"

"She's heartbroken, of course. She came here that first night; but the
smell of drugs makes her sick."

"I suppose Maruffi got away?"

Dreux straightened in his chair; his face flushed proudly; he put on
at least an inch of stature. "Haven't you heard?" he inquired,
incredulously.

"How could I hear anything when I'm doctored by a deaf-mute and nursed
by a divinity without a tongue?"

"Maruffi was captured that very night. Sure! Why, the whole country
knows about it." Again a look of mellow satisfaction glowed on the
little man's face. "My dear boy, you're a hero, of course, but--there--
are--others."

"Who caught him?"

"I did."

"_You!_" Norvin stared in open-mouthed amazement.

"That's what I said. I--me--Mr. Bernard Effingwell Dreux, the
prominent cotillion leader, the second-hand dealer, the art critic and
amateur detective. I unearthed the notorious and dreaded Sicilian
desperado in his lair, and now he's cooling his heels in the parish
prison along with his little friends."

"Why--I'm astonished."

"Naturally! I found him in Joe Poggi's house. Mr. Poggi also
languishes in the bastille."

"How in the world--"

"Well, it's quite a story, and it all happened through the woman--"
Bernie flushed a bit as he met his companion's eye. "When I told you
about Mrs. Poggi I didn't exactly go into all the intimate--er--
details. The truth is she became deeply interested in me. I told you
how I met her--Well, she wasn't averse to receiving my attentions--
Heavens, no! She ate 'em up! Before I knew it I found myself entangled
in an intrigue--I had hold of an electric current and couldn't let go.
When I didn't follow her around, she followed me. When I didn't make
love, she did. She learned about Felicite, and there was--Excuse me!"
Bernie rose, put his head cautiously outside the door to find the
coast clear, then said: "Hell to pay! I tried to back out; but you
can't back away from some women any more than you can back away from a
prairie fire." He shook his head gloomily." It seems she wasn't
satisfied with Poggi; she had ambitions. She'd caught a glimpse of the
life that went on around her and wanted to take part in it. She
thought I was rich, too--my name had something to do with it, I
presume--at any rate, she began to talk of divorce, elopement, and
other schemes that terrorized me. She was quite willing that I murder
her husband, poison her relatives, or adopt any little expedient of
that kind which would clear the path for our true love. I was in over
my depth, but when I backed water she swam out and grabbed me. When I
stayed away from her she looked me up. I tried once to tell her that I
didn't really care for her--only once." The memory brought beads of
sweat to the detective's brow. "Between her and Felicite I led a dog's
life. If I'd had the money I'd have left town.

"I'd been meeting her on street corners up to that point; but she
finally told me to come to the house while Poggi was away--it was the
day you were hurt. I rebelled, but she made such a scene I had to
agree or be arrested for blocking traffic. She carries a dagger,
Norvin, in her stocking, or somewhere; it's no longer than your
finger, but it's the meanest-looking weapon I ever saw. Well, I went,
along about dark, determined to have it out with her once for all; but
those aristocrats during the French Revolution had nothing on me. I
know how it feels to mount the steps of the guillotine.

"The Poggi's parlor furniture is upholstered in red and smells musty.
I sat on the edge of a chair, one eye on her and the other taking in
my surroundings. There's a fine crayon enlargement of Joe with his
uniform, in a gold frame with blue mosquito-netting over it to
disappoint the flies--four ninety-eight, and we supply the frame--done
by an old master of the County Fair school. There's an organ in the
parlor, too, with a stuffed fish-hawk on it.

"She seemed quite subdued and coy at first, so I took heart, never
dreaming she'd wear her dirk in the house. But say! That woman was
raised on raw beef. Before I could wink she had it out; it has an
ivory hilt, and you could split a silk thread with it. I suppose she
didn't want to spoil the parlor furniture with me, although I'd never
have showed against that upholstery, or else she's in the habit of
preparing herself for manslaughter by a system of vocal calisthenics.
At any rate, we were having it hot and heavy, and I was trying to
think of some good and unselfish actions I had done, when we heard the
back door of the cottage open and close, then somebody moving in the
hall.

"Mrs. Poggi turned green--not white--green! And I began to picture the
head-lines in the morning papers! 'The Bachelor and the Policeman's
Wife,' they seemed to say. It wasn't Poggi, however, as I discovered
when the fellow called to her. He was breathing heavily, as if he had
been running. She signaled me to keep quiet, then went out; and I
heard them talking, but couldn't understand what was said. When she
came back she was greener than ever, and told me to go, which I did,
realizing that the day of miracles is not done. I fell down three
times, and ran over a child getting out of that neighborhood." Blake,
who had listened eagerly, inquired:

"The man was Maruffi?"

"Exactly! I got back to the club in time to hear about his arrest and
escape and your fight here. The town was ringing with it; everybody
was horrified and amazed. What particularly stunned me was the news
that Maruffi, not Poggi, was the head of the Mafia; but my experience
in criminal work has taught me to be guided by circumstances, and not
theory, so when I learned more about Caesar's escape I fell to
wondering where he could hide. Then I recalled his secret meetings
with Joe Poggi and that scalding volcano of emotion from whom I had
just been delivered. Her fright, when she let me out, something
familiar in the voice which called to her, came back, and--well, I
couldn't help guessing the truth. Maruffi was in the house of one of
the officers who was supposed to be hunting him."

"But his capture?"

"Simple enough. I went to O'Neil and told him. We got a posse together
and went after him. We descended in such force and so suddenly that he
didn't have a chance to resist. If I'd known who he was at first I'd
have tried to take him single-handed."

"Then it's well you didn't know." Blake smiled.

"What bothers me," Dreux confessed, "is how Mrs. Poggi regards my
action. I--I hate to appear a cad. I'd apologize if I dared."

Vittoria appeared to warn Dreux that his visit must end. When the
little man had gone Norvin inquired:

"You knew of Maruffi's arrest?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were in no condition to hear news of importance."

"Is that why you have been so silent?"

"Hush! You have talked quite enough for the present."

"You act strangely--differently," he insisted.

"I am your nurse. I am responsible for your recovery, so I do as I am
ordered."

"And you haven't changed?" he inquired, wistfully.

"Not at all, I am quite the same--quite the same girl you knew in
Sicily!" He did not relish her undertone, and wondered if illness had
quickened his imagination, if he was forever seeing more in her
manner, hearing more in her words than she meant. There was something
intangibly cold and distant about her, or seemed to be. During the
first feverish hours after his return to consciousness he had seen her
hanging over him with a wonderful loving tenderness--it was that which
had closed his wounds and brought him back toward health so swiftly;
but as his brain had cleared and he had grown more rational this
vision had disappeared along with his other fancies.

He wondered whether knowledge of his pseudo-engagement to Myra Nell
had anything to do with her manner. He knew that she was in the girl's
confidence. Naturally, he himself was not quite at his ease in regard
to Miss Warren. The rumor about his advancing the money for her
Carnival expenses had been quieted through Bernie's efforts, and the
knowledge of it restricted to a necessary few. Although Myra Nell had
refused his offers of marriage and treated the matter lightly, he
could not help feeling that this attitude was assumed or exaggerated
to cover her humiliation--or was it something deeper? It would be
terrible if she really cared for him in earnest. Her own character
protected her from scandal. The breaking-off of his supposed
engagement with her could not hurt her--unless she really loved him.
He closed his eyes, cursing Bernie inwardly. After a time he again
addressed Vittoria.

"Tell me," he said, "how Maruffi came to spare you. My last vision was
of him aiming--"

"He had but four shots."

"Four?"

"Yes, he had used two in his escape from the officers--before he came
here."

"I see! It was horrible. I felt as if I had failed you at the critical
moment, just as I failed--"

"As you failed whom?"

"Martel!" The word sounded in his ears with a terrible significance;
he could hardly realize that he had spoken it. He had always meant to
tell her, of course, but the moment had taken him unawares. His
conscience, his inmost feeling, had found a voice apart from his
volition. There was a little silence. At length she said in a low,
constrained tone.

"Did you fail--him?"

"I--I did," he said, chokingly; and, the way once opened, he made a
full and free confession of his craven fear that night on the road to
Terranova, told her of the inherent cowardice which had ever since
tortured and shamed him, and of his efforts to reconstruct his whole
being. "I wanted to expiate my sin," he finished, "and, above all, I
have longed to prove myself a man in your sight."

She listened with white, set face, slightly averted. When she turned
to him at last, he saw that her eyes were wet with tears.

"I cannot judge of these matters," she said. "You--you were no coward
the other night, amico mio. You were the bravest of the brave. You
saved my life. As for that other time, do not ask me to turn back and
judge. You perhaps blame yourself too much. It was not as if you could
have saved Martel. It is rather that you should have at least tried--
that is how you feel, is it not? You had to reckon with your own sense
of honor. Well, you have won your fight; you have become a new person,
and you are not to be held responsible for any action of that Norvin
Blake I knew in Sicily, who, indeed, did not know his own weakness and
could not guard against it. Ever since I met you here in New Orleans I
have known you for a brave, strong man. It is splendid--the way in
which you have conquered yourself--splendid! Few men could have done
it. Be comforted," she added, with a note of tenderness that answered
the pleading in his eyes--"there is no bitterness in my heart."

"Margherita," he cried, desperately, "can't you--won't you--"

"Oh," she interposed, peremptorily, "do not say it. I forbid you to
speak." Then, as he fell silent, she continued in a manner she strove
to make natural: "That dear girl, Myra Nell Warren, has inquired about
you daily. She has been distracted, heartbroken. Believe me, caro
Norvin, there is a true and loving woman whom you cannot cast aside.
She seems frivolous on the surface, I grant you. Even I have been
deceived. But at the time of Mr. Dreux's dreadful faux pas she was so
hurt, she grieved so that I couldn't but believe she felt deeply."

Norvin flushed dully and said nothing.

Vittoria smiled down upon him with a look that was half maternal in
its sweetness.

"All this has been painful for you," she said, "and you have become
over-excited. You must not talk any more now. You are to be moved
soon."

"Aren't you going to be my nurse any more?"

"You are to be taken home."

His hand encountered hers, and he tried to thank her for what she had
done, but she rose and, admonishing him to sleep, left the room
somewhat hurriedly.

In the short time which intervened before Norvin was taken to his own
quarters Vittoria maintained her air of cool detachment. Myra Nell
came once, bringing Bernie with her, much to the sick man's relief;
his other friends began to visit him in rapidly increasing numbers; he
gradually took up the threads of his every-day life which had been so
rudely severed. Meanwhile, he had ample time to think over his
situation. He could not persuade himself that Vittoria had been right
in her reading of Myra Nell. Perhaps she had only put this view
forward to shield herself from the expression of a love she was not
ready to receive. He could not believe that he had been deluded, that
there was in reality no hope for him.

Mardi Gras week found him still in bed and unable to witness Myra
Nell's triumph. During the days of furious social activity she had
little time to give him, for the series of luncheons, of pageants, of
gorgeous tableaux and brilliant masked balls kept her in a whirl of
rapturous confusion, and left her scant leisure in which to snatch
even her beauty sleep.

Since she was to be the flower of the festival, and since her beauty
was being saved for the grand climax of the whole affair, she had no
idea of sacrificing it. Proteus, Momus, the Mistick Krewe of Comus,
and the other lesser societies celebrated their distinctive nights
with torch and float and tableau; the city was transformed by day with
bunting and flags, by night it was garlanded with fire; merrymakers
thronged the streets, their carnival spirit entered into every breast.
It was a glad, mad week of gaiety, of dancing, of laughter, of
flirting and love-making under the glamour of balmy skies and velvet
torch-lit nights; and to the pleasure of the women was added the
delicious torture of curiosity regarding those mysterious men in masks
who came through a blaze of fire and departed, no one knew whither.

As the spirit of the celebration mounted, Myra Nell abandoned herself
to it; she lived amid a bewilderment of social obligations, through
which she strove incessantly to discover the identity of her King.
Finding herself unsuccessful in this, her excitement redoubled. At
last came his entrance to the city; the booming cannon, the applauding
thousands, his royal progress through the streets toward the
flower-festooned stand where she looked down upon the multitude. Miss
Warren's maids of honor were the fairest of all this fair city, and
yet she stood out of that galaxy as by far the most entrancing.

Her royal consort came at length, a majestic figure upon a float of
ivory and gold; he took the goblet from her hand; he pledged her with
silent grace while the assembled hordes shouted their allegiance to
the pair. She knew he must be very handsome underneath his mask; and
he was bold also, in a quite unkingly way, for there was more in his
glance than the greeting of a monarch; there was ardent love, a
burning adoration which thrilled her breast and fanned her curiosity
to a leaping flame. This was, indeed, life, romance, the purple
splendor for which she had been born. She could scarcely contain
herself until the hour of the Rex ball, when she knew her chance would
come to match her charm and beauty against his voiceless secrecy. She
was no longer a make-believe queen, but a royal ruler, beloved by her
subjects, adored by her throne-mate. Then the glittering ball that
followed!--the blazing lights, the splendid pantomime, the great
shifting kaleidoscope of beauteous ladies and knightly men in gold and
satin and coats of mail! And, above all, the maddening mystery of that
king at her side whose glances were now melting with melancholy, now
ablaze with eagerness, and whose whispered words, muffled behind his
mask, were not those of a monarch, but rather those of a bold and
audacious lover! He poured his vows into her blushing ear; he set her
wits to scampering madly; his sincere passion, together with the
dream-like unreality of the scene, intoxicated her. Who could he be?
How dared he say these things? What faint familiar echo did his voice
possess? Which one of her many admirers had the delightful effrontery
to court her thus ardently beneath a thousand eyes? He was drunk with
the glory of this hour, it seemed, for he whispered words she dared
not listen to. What preposterous proposals he voiced; what insane
audacity he showed! And yet he was in deadly earnest, too. She
canvassed her many suitors in her mind, she tried artfully to trap him
into some betrayal; the game thrilled her with a keen delight. At last
she realized there was but one who possessed such brazen impudence,
and told him she had known him from the first, whereat he laughed with
the abandon of a pagan and renewed the fervor of his suit.

Blake learned from many sources that Myra Nell had made a gorgeous
Queen. The papers lauded her grace, her beauty, the magnificence of
her costumes. Bernie was full of it and could talk of nothing else
when he dropped in as usual.

"She's all tired out, and I reckon she'll sleep for a week. I hope so,
anyhow."

"I'm sorry I couldn't see her, but I'm glad I escaped the Carnival.
The Mardi Gras is hard enough on the women; but it kills us men."

"I should say so. Look at me--a wreck." After a moment he added: "You
think Myra Nell is all frivolity and glitter, but she isn't; she's as
deep as the sea, Norvin. I can't tell you how glad I am that you two--
"Blake stirred uneasily. "I--I admire you tremendously, for you're
just what I wanted to be and couldn't. I'm talking foolishly, I know,
but this Carnival has made me see Myra Nell in a new light; I see now
that she was born for joy and luxury and splendor and--and those
things which you can give her. She's been a care to me. I've been her
mother; I've actually made her dresses--but I'm glad now for all my
little sacrifices." Two tears gathered and trickled down Mr. Dreux's
cheeks, while Blake marveled at the strange mixture of qualities in
this withered little beau. Bernie's words left him very uncomfortable,
however, and the hours that followed did not lessen the feeling.

Although Myra Nell sent him daily messages and gifts--now books, now
flowers, now a plate of fudge which she had made with her own hands
and which he was hard put to dispose of--she nevertheless maintained a
shy embarrassment and came to see him but seldom. When she did call,
her attitude was most unusual: she overflowed with gossip, yet she
talked with a nervous hesitation; when she found his eyes upon her she
stammered, flushed, and paled; and he caught her stealing glances of
miserable appeal at him. She was very different from the girl he had
known and had learned to love in a big, impersonal way. He
attributed the change to his own failure in responding to her timid
advances, and this made him quite unhappy.

Nor did he see much of Vittoria, although Oliveta came daily to
inquire about his progress.

He was up and about in time for the Mafia trial; but his duties in
connection with it left him little leisure for society, which he was
indeed glad to escape. New Orleans, he found, was on tiptoe for the
climax of the tragedy which had so long been its source of ferment;
the public was roused to a new and even keener suspense than at any
time--not so much, perhaps, by the reopening of the case as by the
rumors of bribery and corruption which were gaining ground. A
startling array of legal talent had appeared for the defense; the
trial was expected to prove the greatest legal battle in the history
of the commonwealth.

Maruffi, with his genius for control, had assumed an iron-bound
leadership and laughed openly at the possibility of a conviction. He
had struck the note of persecution, making a patriotic appeal to the
Italian populace; and the foreign section of the city seethed in
consequence.

On the opening day the court-room was packed, the halls and corridors
of the Criminal Court building were filled to suffocation, the
neighboring streets were jammed with people clamoring for admittance
and hungry for news from within. Then began the long, tedious task of
selecting a jury. Public opinion had run so high that this was no easy
undertaking. As day after day went by in the monotonous examination
and challenge of talesmen, as panel after panel was exhausted with no
result, not only did the ridiculous shortcomings of our jury system
become apparent, but also the fact that the Mafia had, as usual, made
full use of its sinister powers of intimidation. In view of the
atrocious character of the crime and the immense publicity given it,
those citizens who were qualified by intelligence to act as jurors had
of necessity read and heard sufficient to form an opinion, and were
therefore automatically debarred from service. It became necessary to
place the final adjudication of the matter in the hands of men who
were either utterly indifferent to the public weal or lacked the
intelligence to read and weigh and think.

A remarkable wave of humanity seemed to have overwhelmed the city.
Four out of every five men examined professed a disbelief in capital
punishment, which, although it merely covered a fear of the Mafia's
antagonism, nevertheless excused them for cause. Day after day this
mockery went on.

As the list of talesmen grew into the hundreds and the same
extraordinary antipathy to hanging continued to manifest itself, it
occasioned remark, then ridicule. It would have been laughable had it
not been so significant. The papers took it up, urging, exhorting,
demanding that there be a stiffening of backbone; but to no effect.
More than this, the Mafia had reigned so long and so autocratically,
it had so shamefully abused the courts in the past, that a large
proportion of honest men declared themselves unwilling to believe
Sicilian testimony unless corroborated, and this prevented them from
serving.

A week went by, and then another, and still twelve men who could try
the issue fairly had not been found. Some few had been accepted, to be
sure, but they were not representative of the city, and the list of
talesmen who had been examined and excused on one pretext or another
numbered fully a thousand.

Meanwhile, Maruffi smiled and shrugged and maintained his innocence.




XXIII

THE TRIAL AND THE VERDICT



Blake did not attend these tiresome preliminaries, although he
followed them with intense interest, the while a sardonic irritation
arose in him. Chancing to meet Mayor Wright one day, he said:

"I'm beginning to think my original plan was the best after all."

"You mean we should have lynched those fellows as they were taken?"
queried the Mayor, with a smile.

"Something like that."

"It won't take long to fix their guilt or innocence, once we get a
jury."

"Perhaps--if we ever get one. But the men of New Orleans seem filled
with a quality of mercy which isn't tempered with justice. Those who
haven't already formed an opinion of the case are incompetent to act
as intelligent jurors. Those who could render a fair judgment are
afraid."

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