On several occasions remarks, meant to be courteous, were addressed to him in English by my companions, but it was plain that he did not understand our tongue. Or if he did, he gave no sign.
Therefore, from the very first moment of his entry into our boarding-house circle we put him down as a complete mystery.
Sammy Sampson, my irresponsible friend, sat opposite me and, as usual, kept the table laughing at his clever witticisms. Once I saw the Italian scowl in displeasure, and wondered whether he had conceived the idea that my friend was joking at his expense.
The stranger was not aware that I had detected the fierce look of hatred that, for a single instant, showed in his dark shining eyes. It was an expression that I did not like an expression of fierce, relentless, even murderous resentment.
I was about to assure him of Sammys utter disinclination to poke fun at any foreigner, when I saw that if I did so I should only aggravate the situation. Therefore I let it pass.
The Italian was a man of refinement, exquisite of manner towards the ladies as was all his race, and though I cannot explain it he struck me as being well-born, and superior to those sitting at table with him. Yet he vouchsafed but little as regards himself. Italy was his home that was all. And Italy is a great place; a country of a hundred nations. The Venetian is of a different race from the Sicilian, the Tuscan from the Calabrian. I still suspected he was a Tuscan, yet he spoke the Italian tongue so well that at one moment I put him down as a born Florentine, while at the next as a Livornese or a Roman.
He saw that I knew Italy and the Italians, and was purposely endeavouring to mislead me.
That same night, just after midnight, Jane, one of the maids-of-all-work, rapped at my door, saying:
Please, sir, the Italian gentlemans been taken awful ill. We cant make out what e wants. Would you kindly go to im?
I dressed hurriedly, and, ascending to the strangers room, asked, in Italian, permission to enter.
A faint voice responded, and a moment later I was at the strangers bedside. The feeble light of the single candle showed a great change in his countenance, and I saw that he was suffering severely and seemed to be choking.
I I thank you very much, signore, for coming to me, he said, with considerable difficulty. I am having one of my bad attacks I I
Had you not better see a doctor? Ill call a friend of mine, if youll allow me.
Yes. Perhaps it would really be best, was his reply, and I saw that his hands were clenched in sudden pain.
Therefore, after telling Sammy of the foreigners illness, I put on my hat and went round into the Holland Road for my friend Tulloch.
The latter came with me at once, and as soon as I had interpreted the strangers symptoms, and he had made a careful examination, he turned to me and said in English:
The mans very bad cancer in the stomach. Hes evidently been near death half a dozen times, and this will probably prove fatal. Dont frighten him, Godfrey, but just put it to him as quietly as you can. Tell him that hes really very much worse than he thinks.
Is it worth while to tell the poor fellow the truth? I argued. It may only have a bad effect upon him.
His other doctors have, no doubt, already warned him. Besides its only fair that he should know his danger. I never keep the truth from a patient when things are desperate, like this.
Then you hold out but little hope of him?
Bob Tulloch, who had been with me at Charterhouse, stroked his dark beard and replied in the negative, while the stranger, who had been watching us very closely, said in Italian in a low faint voice:
I know! I know! Im dying dying! and he laughed curiously, almost triumphantly. Im dying and I shall escape them. Ah! signore, he added, with his bright black eyes fixed upon mine, if you only knew the truth the terrible, awful truth you would pity me you would, I am convinced, stand my friend. You would not believe the evil that men say of me.
Then tell me the truth, I urged quickly, bending down to him in eagerness.
But he only shook his head and clenched his even white teeth.
No, he said, with a fierce imprecation in Italian. Mine is a secret her secret a secret that I have kept until now a secret that none shall know!
Chapter Two
Touches a Womans Honour
Tulloch left half an hour later, and Sammy, whose curiosity had been aroused concerning the foreigner, entered the room and inquired after the patient.
But hoping to learn more from the stricken man, I sent my friend back to bed and remained there through the night, administering to the patient what my friend Tulloch had ordered.
The long hours dragged on in silence. Only the ticking of the cheap American clock broke the quiet. Lying upon his back the stranger fixed his dark eyes upon me, until his hard gaze caused me quite an uncomfortable feeling. It is unpleasant to have a dying mans eyes fixed so attentively upon one. Therefore I shifted my chair, but even then I could not escape that intent penetrating gaze. He seemed as if he were reading my very soul.
If I spoke he answered only in low monosyllables. Whenever I attempted to put a question he made a quick gesticulation, indicating his impossibility to reply. And so passed the whole long vigil until day broke in brightening grey, and the sun shone forth again.
Yet the mans hard stony stare was horrifying. Somehow it utterly unnerved me.
Had Tulloch not declared that the fellow was dying, I should certainly have left him; yet I felt it was my duty as a man to remain there, for was I not the only person in that household acquainted with the Italian tongue?
Ever and anon he clenched his teeth tightly and drew a long hard breath, as though bitterly vengeful at thought of some incident of the past.
Accidenti! was an ejaculation that escaped his lips now and then, and by it I knew that he was praying that an accident might befall his enemies whoever they were. He uttered the most bitter curse that an Italian could utter.
Presently, about five oclock, just as the suns rays entering through the opening between the dingy old rep curtains fell across the threadbare carpet in a golden bar, he became quiet again.
Ah, signore, he said gratefully, it is really extremely good of you to put yourself out on my account a perfect stranger.
Nothing, nothing, I assured him. It is only what you would do for me if I were ill in a foreign country where I could not speak the language.
Ay, that I would, he declared. And after a pause he added: Nearness to death causes us to make strange friendships doesnt it?
Why? I asked, somewhat puzzled.
Well in me, for instance, you are making a strange friend, he said, with a queer, harsh laugh.
Why strange?
Because you are utterly unaware of who or what I am.
I know your name that is all, I responded quietly. You know the name by which I choose to be known here. It is not likely that I should disclose my real identity.
Why not?
Because well, there are strong reasons, was his vague answer, and his mouth shut with a snap, as though he discerned that he had already said too much. Then a moment later he added: As Ive already told you, you have made a strange acquaintance in me. You will probably be surprised if ever you really do ascertain the truth, which is, however, not very likely, I think. At least I hope not.