A Tale of Corsica
by Astley H. Baldwin.
Originally published in Belgravia (John Maxwell) vol.4 #15 (Jan 1868).
IN TWO PARTS:—PART II.
CHAPTER IV.
ON THE SCENT.
After her guests had departed, Madame Dufour sat awhile in a sort of listless stupor, so apathetic as to be very much akin to absolute insensibility; but she was shortly aroused by the return of her daughter and M. Leroux. Celeste had dutifully taken upon herself the task of giving directions for the postponement of the preparations which were in progress for the wedding, in order to save her mother that trouble; and, having done so, she at once returned to her, well knowing that underneath her apparent composure Madame Dufour bore a heavy heart; for she was passionately attached to her children, whose welfare and prosperity were her one object in life.
"Mamma,"said Celeste tenderly, "after all, we may be frightening ourselves needlessly; for if Adolphe should have fallen into bad hands, he may be merely detained for the sake of a ransom, and we would cheerfully pay that for his restoration."
"But, my child, you forget that he had a large sum—your dowry—with him. If they could have had that, why should they not let him go?"
"Then, mamma, why should you fear? He would have to walk if they took his horse, and in that case he may have separated from his guide and lost his way. He may be here in the morning."
"So he may, Celeste; but I fear—"
"Well, Mamma?"
"I fear," said Madame Dufour, "that your brother is too brave a man to have yielded the money without a struggle, and that in that struggle—" her voice faltered.
"He sets so little value on money, mamma."
"Celeste," replied Madame Dufour, almost angrily, "do you not see that your brother was holding your money—holding it in trust for you? He would die rather than betray a trust—"
"O, forgive me, mamma; I understand."
"But, dear Celeste, dear Madame Dufour," gently interrupted Leroux, "this does not help us. What is to be done? That is the point."
He then proceeded to advise that, in the morning, himself and the four Corsicans (who were to remain at the villa for the night) should go to the Rouge-gorge, ascertain if the landlord had returned, and cross-examine him; while a second party of Madame Dufour's servants should scour the country round, making inquiries in every direction. It was decided also that bills should be printed, offering a reward for the discovery of Adolphe, dead or alive.
This seemed to Madame Dufour sensible advice, and sh¢ promptly determined to act upon it.
"I am not altogether easy about Coletti," she added. "It appears strange to me that he should have been absent when M. Previn was about to leave his auberge."
"Be sure I will cross-examine him well, dear mother."
"Ah, you call me 'mother.' That is right; let us act heart with heart, and hand with hand, my son," she said solemnly; and she extended her hand to Leroux, who grasped it affectionately.
"What if Coletti should not have returned?" said Celeste.
"Ah, that would indeed look suspicious," replied her betrothed. "But at least there is his wife, who appears, by M. Previn's account, to be easily influenced."
"Yes," said Madame Dufour; "depend upon it, our best hope will be in that woman. She appears to have suspicions herself. She has no doubt been deceived by her husband."
"But what motive, mamma, could Coletti have for detaining or injuring Adolphe?"
"The most powerful of all motives for a man of his class—he may have known of that money."
"O, surely he would not rob the son of an old benefactress!"
"You heard M. Previn say that he was not aware that it was our Adolphe?" answered the terror-stricken mother.
"Ah, so he did! But he would not hurt him?"
"Who knows, my child? Coletti thought small robberies scarcely a crime. None of these lower sort of Italians do. He may have planned a greater one. These unknown travellers (unknown to him) offered a good opportunity, since one was crippled, and the other had charge of the property. Your brother would not give up his trust with life. There may have been a struggle, and then—ah, then—" she sighed heavily. "My mind misgives me."
"Dear mother, let us trust that, by God's mercy, our dear one may be safe."
"Yes, yes," said Leroux; "and now, Celeste, and you too, mother, endeavour to rest. If you cannot sleep, at least lie down. It is now two, and at five I will be off with these worthy Corsicans to the hostelry."
"Are they trustworthy, do you think?"
"O yes; I will answer for them."
And he was right; for the four young peasants happened, by good luck, to be worthy and intelligent men in the main, superior indeed to the generality of their order.
Celeste and her mother yielded to these affectionate pleadings, and each retired to her apartment.
Leroux meanwhile ordered all the lights to be extinguished; and, withdrawing to his own bedchamber, exchanged his ball-room suit for one fitted for the work before him. Then he threw himself, dressed as he was, upon his couch, and snatched a few hours' slumber.
At about half-past four he awoke, and immediately proceeded to collect the Corsicans, who, stimulated by the prospect of a large reward, were not only ready but eager to begin the search. Besides, the game was an exciting one, and Corsicans delight in anything that promises adventure.
Up and down the mountain paths, across dried-up swamps and springs went the five with all speed possible; but it was ten o'clock, and the sun was high in the heavens before the party arrived in sight of the hostelry of the Rouge-gorge.
Leroux and his men halted before the low door, and the former, being unacquainted with Coletti or his wife, desired one of the Corsicans—Ferdinando—to commence the parley. This he did by knocking briskly on the door.
"Come, Signor Coletti, open to your customers, man!"
"He may not have returned," suggested Leroux; "call madame."
Ferdinando continued his knocking, but there was no reply.
"If it please you, signor," he said fat length, " I will go round the back way. It is likely Annetta may have some house-work in hand."
"Do so," replied Leroux; and the Corsican made the circuit of the house, leaving the other four waiting at the front doorway.
Five minutes passed—ten minutes!
Leroux was in an agony of suspense. Was there a trap here? At last the Corsican returned, very pale, and with astonishment depicted on his face.
"Signor, there is no one within. I have entered every room in the house."
Leroux appeared confounded. All the chief actors in this remarkable drama of real life had disappeared as if by magic. Dufour, Caravarri, Coletti, and his wife, had vanished as completely as if they had melted into thin air.
"My men, will you help me with all your hearts to solve this mystery?" he said at length.
"Si, signor."
"Break-in the door, then." And the wood-work speedily gave way beneath the united efforts of the five men.
Leroux advanced cautiously into the little kitchen. It was undisturbed. Not so much as a kettle or a pan had been used that day. It was evident the flight had been a thing of the night before.
But where was Dufour? Had he been kidnapped, robbed, and murdered? or was he held prisoner for the sake of ransom? That was the question.
Leroux searched every room minutely, mystified beyond measure by the non-appearance of Madame Coletti. Was she an accomplice, or had she also been silenced? Suddenly it occurred to him that her husband might have returned and fetched her. Occupied with these and a thousand other thoughts, he came to the room which had been occupied by Dufour, as it happened. There was nothing here to excite any suspicion. But as Leroux was going out, his foot struck against a hard substance on the floor, and he stooped to pick it up.
It was a Spanish gold double doubloon! Leroux secured the coin; but it gave him no clue. He knew that the missing man had with him part of his sister's dowry in doubloons, and he thought that it was just possible Adolphe might have accidentally dropped one in this chamber, which was perhaps the one he had slept in. And yet what reason could the traveller have had for opening the valise which contained the money? Was it not more probable that Dufour had been robbed, and that the piece of money had been dropped in the struggle? Yet if he had been robbed, had he also been murdered? There was not the least appearance of resistance, no blood—nothing disarranged. Standing on the threshold meditating this horrible mystery, Dufour slightly moved the door-mat with his restless foot. As he did so, a piece of dirty paper caught his eye. He stooped, and seized it eagerly. These two words were written on it, in a woman's hand, "Follow: Naples."
Leroux remembered that Coletti and his half-brother were Neapolitans, and immediately understood that the wife of the former had written this note. But with what motive? She could not, it was evident, be an accomplice—or at least a willing one; but then, would she betray her husband? Was this another snare?
At length he came to the conclusion that his first step was to return to Ajaccio, and acquaint Madame Dufour with the result of this search. It was plain nothing could be done until then.
Leroux collected the Corsicans, and asked them if they would be willing to accompany him back to Ajaccio, and possibly from thence to Naples.
All gave a willing assent.
"Thanks, good fellows," he said; and as an earnest of future reward he gave each of them two or three pieces of gold. This was the finishing stroke. All four were now clamorous with gratitude, and willing to follow him to the uttermost ends of the earth.
M. Leroux considered himself perfectly justified under the circumstances in availing himself of all the provisions he found ready to his hand in the larder of this ominous hostelry, and accordingly in a few moments he and his little band sat down to an excellent repast. The leader was too much oppressed with sad forebodings to care about eating; but his satellites did not fail to make an exceedingly hearty meal. This over, and the horses refreshed, they at once returned to Ajaccio.
When Leroux reached the chateau in the evening he found Madame Dufour and her daughter in one of the saloons, with Jules Previn, who was stretched upon a couch. A light repast of coffee, chocolate, fruits, &c. was on the table, but it had scarcely been touched.
As Leroux, hot, jaded, and anxious, entered the apartment, booted and spurred as he was, Madame Dufour and Celeste rose simultaneously, whilst even the invalid made a motion as if he too would fain have risen. Leroux advanced uneasily towards Madame Dufour. "Alas," he said, "mother, the mystery only grows darker." Then he detailed the results of his journey.
Madame Dufour and her daughter could not restrain their tears, while Previn sobbed aloud.
For a few moments there was silence, broken only by that most terrible of all sounds, the outburst of a man's uncontrollable sorrow. At last Leroux said,
"I shall depart for Naples to-morrow."
That silent handclasp was for him an all-sufficient reward.
"But," said Celeste, who was the calmest of the party, "this Madame Coletti's conduct seems inexplicable. Can she have determined to betray her husband?"
"We have no knowledge that she is even with him," said Madame Dufour.
"O yes," interrupted Leroux; "the scrap of paper proves that."
"Ah, I suppose so!"
"Can they have taken Adolphe with them?" inquired Celeste.
'It is barely possible," said her lover, 'for he would give the alarm on the road, or at any rate when they reach Naples."
"Where, then, is he, do you think?"
Leroux was silent.
"Speak!" said Madame Dufour. "Do you fear the worst?"
"I do. If Adolphe has been robbed, he has been—"
Madame Dufour could scarcely suppress a cry; but she subdued her emotion with the courage of a Spartan mother, and said in a voice which only slightly trembled:
"Murdered, you mean!"
"Alas, yes!" faltered Leroux.
Then again a dead silence reigned.
Finally it was arranged that Leroux and his four Corsican followers should set out for Naples on the following day, making inquiry on their route, as well as in Naples itself, for the fugitives; the main object, of course, being to track Caravarri, who at least, it was evident, must be cognisant of the fate of Adolphe.
Then this second miserable day came to a close, and the heart-broken little party, with anxious presentiments, once more retired for the night.
CHAPTER V.
IN FULL CRY.
M. Leroux, who fortunately possessed an aptitude for sleeping under the most trying circumstances, awoke at seven in the morning very greatly refreshed. This was lucky, as he had work before him of no ordinary character.
He descended to the breakfast-room, and was shortly joined by the other members of the family, too anxious to have passed so good a night as our friend Albert. M. Previn, in particular, was so pale and wan as to put his joining the voyage of discovery quite out of the question, even had his sprained foot permitted it.
The breakfast was a cheerless one; for Madame Dufour and her daughter were too cast down to endeavour to hide it, and the busy brain of Leroux was meditating the best initiatory steps to take in the search. At last Madame Dufour broke the silence:
"At what time do you depart, my son?"
"Immediately after we have finished breakfast. So we must at once say all that is to be said."
"Immediately! But you will want time to prepare your luggage."
"All that is done. I saw to that before I came down."
"And your four Corsicans?"
"O, they are quite ready, good fellows that they are."
"What is to be done at Naples, Albert?" inquired Celeste.
"Why, first we shall visit Caravarri's haunts. I have ascertained that he has a cousin who keeps an auberge on the outskirts of the city. Really they seem all innkeepers, the relations of this man."
"Well, then?"
"Then I shall find out if he has been in Naples lately, and when he was last seen."
"Surely," interposed Previn, "he will warn his friends against telling you."
"Ah, but I intend to have the help of the chief of police, who will find out all I want to know; whether Monsieur—that is to say, Signor—Caravarri likes it or not."
"But can he help you to make these discoveries?" said Madame Dufour.
"That remains to be seen, my dear mother; but at least we will try. There are clever police in other places besides Paris."
"Do not be rash, my son. If these bad men have injured Adolphe, they will be desperate to guard against—"
"O, we will take care about that."
"And we shall hear from you?"
"Of course. I may be months away."
"Months!"
"Certainly; if these men have been to Naples, it is not probable they have remained there, knowing as they must that there will be search made for poor Adolphe."
"What, then, do you think?"
"That they will cross into England, or Germany, or France—perhaps even to America."
"But to do that they must have passports."
"Yes; and therein lies one of the best means we have of tracking them."
"Albert, you think of everything."
"Well, some one must think. It is not child's-play, this game."
"You are a fine fellow, my son."
"Thanks, mother; I shall do my best." And he rose from the table. All immediately followed his example.
Then came the hasty and anxious leave-taking to be expected on such an occasion. But Leroux, with his usual good sense, would not prolong it, although conscious that his mission was an eminently dangerous one, and even, at the best, could scarcely terminate satisfactorily so far as Adolphe was concerned.
Descending the broad steps of the mansion, he found all his four Corsicans waiting for him. They set up a kind of half-suppressed cheer when they saw him.
"Good-morning, signor."
In a few moments they were all five on their way, Madame Dufour and her companions waving their last adieux from the windows of the house.
There is no need to describe the voyage to Naples. Nothing of importance occurred on the way; and at ten o'clock on a fine star-light night M. Leroux and his companions found their vessel in that magnificent bay which has been the theme of more praises and more songs than any other sea-view in the world.
Leroux's first care was to repair to an hotel, where he procured ample accommodation for himself and his four attendants for the night.
In the morning he went to the bureau of the chief of police, to whom he detailed the story of Adolphe's disappearance. Signor Foletti shrugged his shoulders and looked interested.
"Ah! a case of brigandage!"
"Well, not exactly. Rather of roadside murder."
"That makes no difference." And the grand official took a tremendous pinch of snuff. He was a fine-looking old fellow, with hair white as snow.
"Well, we will not dispute about particulars. I have reason to suppose my friend has met with foul play."
"The signor is right."
"What, you think so too?"
"Certainly."
Leroux groaned, for the decision with which Signor Foletti spoke swept away his last hope of finding Adolphe—alive at least.
Foletti mused a moment. Then he said:
"Describe to me this Caravarri."
Leroux complied.
"Now, Coletti."
Leroux did so.
"And his wife?"
"A little, golden-haired, timid woman with—"
"Ah, stay. I am mistaken if I did not see her yesterday near the market-place, with a sullen-looking man, whom she appeared terribly loth to accompany—"
"O, my dear M. Foletti!"
"Stop a bit. The husband—has he this kind of thing" (and Foletti imitated the appearance of a hunchback) "in his shoulders?"
"Yes, yes!" eagerly cried Leroux.
"Good. I think that gentleman has been wanted by our dear little government some years, on account of a slight mistake he made when— But stay; let me see."
Then Foletti opened a drawer, from which he took a printed paper. This he examined carefully.
"Ah, ah!" said he; and he read, "'Carlo Coletti, age forty-three, swarthy complexion, grizzled beard, eyes particularly bright and piercing, very broad shoulders, with a slight stoop—'"
"It is the man himself!" cried Leroux.
"Yes, indeed, I think so."
"But the mistake he made, M. Foletti; whet was it?"
"O, my dear friend, a mere nothing. He had here a kind of coffee-shop. One day an old gentleman took a bed with this worthy Coletti. In the morning no old gentleman, no landlord, no anybody; all fled."
"But, good God! this is another edition of my story."
"Well, yes." And Foletti pronounced the words unctuously, as if a murder or two made a very pleasant diversion in the way of business.
"And, M. Foletti," said Leroux, "you actually saw, then, this wretch and his wife yesterday? Why did you not arrest them?"
"Gently, gently, mio caro; how could I tell? It is only by your description of the woman I thought of the man."
"But you say you had wanted him for years."
"Yes; but the search was long since given up. That printed description has lain in my drawer for about a dozen summers. We have an enormous amount of business. Consider, then, how unlikely it was that my mind should revert to that affair unless some unusual occurrence recalled it."
Leroux felt the justice of this remark.
"Well, you will help me?" he said.
"With heart and soul, signor," replied the chief, who was a good and just although eccentric man.
"You did not see a third person, then, with Coletti and his wife, M. Foletti?"
"No; and I am sure there was not."
"What is to be done, M. Foletti?"
"Why, firstly, you and I will repair, with two armed servants of mine, to the auberge of this Caravarri's cousin. If he be there, we shall, through him, track the man and his wife. We will arrest Caravarri, and we shall find out something, never fear."
"But if we do not find Caravarri?"
"In that case we will try to find the worthy Coletti."
The first thing Foletti did was shrewd. He forwarded a description of Coletti and his wife to all the sub-offices of police, with orders to prevent any vessel leaving Naples without express permission. Consequently, unless Coletti had already departed, he could not escape. This done, he and Leroux, with two assistants, set out for the auberge indicated, which was on the very outskirts of the city.
It was about one when they reached the Cenerentola, which a glance showed them to be a very low sort of cabaret. Indeed, its frequenters were, if possible, even more grimy and tattered and torn than the heroine of Rossini's charming opera; and both Leroux and M. Foletti at once saw the need of extreme caution. The latter, taking Albert's arm, advanced to the bar, where a dirty but somewhat pretty handmaid of Bacchus was dispensing various glasses of poisonous compounds to the still dirtier customers.
Foletti, signing to Leroux to hold his tongue, called for four glasses of spirits. Then, whilst his party were drinking and playing their parts (they were all disguised as fishermen), he said:
"'Tis a fine day, mia bella!"
The girl brightened up, and looked pleased at the words "mia bella."
"Si, signor."
"And is trade pretty brisk?"
"Yes; we cannot complain. Uncle is doing well."
"O, that is Signor Caravarri, is it not?"
"Yes, surely."
"Ah, it is easy to be seen, so pretty a girl as you will not want for dower. By my faith, if I were a score of years younger, when I came home from next voyage, I might think about taking a wife; as it is, hang me if I will not bring you a pair of earrings to walk out with on fête-days!" and Foletti, who played the master of a fishing-vessel to the life, and looked a perfect Masaniello in his dark wig, swore a great oath. "What is your name, mia angela?"
"Lauretta," said the girl, who was growing more and more taken with the new-comer.
"Cielo! What a lovely name! I daresay your cousin now thinks so also?"
"My cousin?"
"Yes, your cousin, the worthy guide, who now and then visits Corsica."
"Visits?"
"Yes; does he not?"
"O, no; he lives there. But I would have you know he is nothing to me," added she briskly, "though I daresay he will pester me with his nonsense next time he comes to see us. He is always at that, stupid fellow!"
"You have not seen him lately, then?"
"Not for a year."
"Ah, well," said Foletti, who had now learned all he desired to know, "one feels jealous to think of handsome cousins, you know."
"0, do be quiet with your rubbish, signor!" returned Lauretta, who, however, relished it extremely.
"Addio, mia bella!" said the chief of police, chucking her under the chin. "This is fine brandy, my faith, and I shall not fail to come hither to see my pretty tapster again, when I return from sea. I shall not forget the earrings. Addio!" And he and Leroux, with their two companions, quitted the cabaret.
Lauretta went to the door to see the last of them, and absolutely sent a sigh after the handsome fisherman. Then she went back quite disgusted with all her present customers, and fully resolved to hold her head high for the future.
Did she dream of the respectable Signor Foletti that night? Possibly.
"Well?" said Leroux, as they retraced their way to the chef's bureau.
"O, I am satisfied he has not been there. The girl spoke truth. He is either with Coletti and his wife, or he has quitted them to save himself."
It may be as well here, for the purposes of this tale, to state that Caravarri had never quitted Corsica.
When M. Foletti and Leroux returned to the former's office, the chef offered his guests refreshments, which were at once accepted. Whilst partaking of these, Foletti displayed great social humour, and M. Leroux began to think he had never met with a more agreeable companion.
All at once there was a terrific knock at the outer door.
A servant entered: he announced "Signor Poretti, who wishes to see you immediately, M. Foletti."
"Ah," said Foletti, "a colleague of mine! Show him up."
The servant bowed, and shortly returned, ushering in a little, bustling, active man of business, who was a sub-officer of police under Foletti.
"Ah, M. Foletti, your servant, sir."
"Yours also, my good Poretti. And what, pray, brings you hither at a time when I know the signora, your wife, provides for your creature comforts?"
"Well," replied the little man, looking very important, "you sent a notice, you know, concerning two persons whom you suspected to be criminals—"
"A—h!" said Foletti, drawing his chair closer to that of his subordinate.
Leroux listened with all his ears.
"Well," repeated Poretti, "being, as you know, signor, always desirous to show my zeal—"
"Yes, yes, I know. Continue."
"Well," continued Poretti, for the third time, "I found that passports had been granted yesterday to a man and woman answering to the description of your fugitives, and also that they had taken passages in a vessel about to sail, it was thought, for Marseilles. Down I went to the quay and made inquiries. 'Did any vessel sail, or was any vessel going to sail for Marseilles or for any part of France?'"
"Capital! Well?"
"Well, La Belle Etoile and La Mirabelle were about to sail, the one for Marseilles, the other for Nantes; but in consequence of your orders, Signor Foletti, both were awaiting permission."
"Quite right, quite right. Proceed."
"I displayed my warrant of search, I described the persons I required, and I will do the captains the justice to say they assisted me in every way. But no fair-haired woman, no grizzly man, could I find. I took every cranny by storm, signor; not so much as a rat escaped notice."
"Good, good!"
"Well, as I was leaving the quay—having given up the search as hopeless—a ragged man touched me on the shoulder. 'The signor wants to find somebody,' he said. You may be sure I pricked up my ears at this. 'O ho,' I thought; and I put my hand into my pocket. The beggar extended his hand, saying, 'A golden key will open every door, signor.'
"I dropped into the rascal's palm a bright beautiful napoleon, full weight." (Here Poretti, who was somewhat miserly, heaved a deep sigh).
"Then the beggar whispered to me, 'A vessel sailed early yesterday from here. Among the passengers were two persons—a dark slouching man and golden-haired woman—' 'Ah, ah!' cried I; 'the vessel's name?' 'The George Washington.' 'And she sailed for?' 'New York' This was enough; I gave the beggar a napoleon, ran off at full speed, and here I am."
Poretti paused for breath; M. Foletti's face was radiant with pleasure.
"You are an ornament to the state, M. Poretti," he said, "and here is an earnest of reward;" and he gave the delighted official fifty napoleons.
Then he made arrangements for a long absence. He appointed Poretti chief for three months. He gave him briefly and hastily a few directions, wrote a few notes, and sent him to hire a vessel to sail immediately for New York. Poretti departed, thinking all this good luck a dream.
Leroux looked on passively, feeling that the matter could not be in better hands. Only once did Foletti address him.
"This will be expensive, M. Leroux."
"You have carte blanche."
"Very well;" and he continued his writing.
The four Corsicans were well paid, and sent home rejoicing.
As the setting sun sank behind the blue waves of the matchless Bay of Naples, a vessel sailed grandly out with her white sails bathed in a glow of gold. She was bound for New York.
Two figures stood on her deck watching the receding shore. One of them had scarcely spoken a word for hours. He had been absorbed in thought.
Suddenly he turned his face, radiant with satisfaction, towards his companion—the satisfaction of a genius who finds his plottings progress favourably.
"Eh bien, M. Leroux. I think we have them now."
"I think so."
CHAPTER VI.
RETRIBUTION.
The Vendetta—for such was the name of the vessel which carried Leroux and Signor Foletti to New York, and there was something in the appellation which tickled the officer's sense of justice—made an excellent voyage; indeed, she met with but one misadventure. She lost a mast in a terrific hurricane. A jury-mast, however, brought her safely into the harbour of the famous American city.
The first business of the two friends, after due rest and refreshment, was to inquire if the George Washington had arrived.
Yes; she had come safely into port three days sooner than themselves, being a magnificent sailer.
"Ah, indeed!" said Foletti to his informer, a clerk, whose business it was to see the ship's stores cleared and the passengers landed; "and had you amongst her passengers a stout, stooping, coarse-looking man, with singularly piercing eyes and a grizzled beard?"
"I cannot remember— I—"
"He had with him," interrupted Leroux, "a golden-haired little woman, timid to a degree—"
"Yes, yes, I remember now. O yes, there was such a man and woman."
"Do you know what became of them?"
"No—stay; I heard the man abusing his wife. Was she his wife?"
"Yes, yes; go on."
"Ah, I thought she was his wife, because he scowled at her so. Well, he said, 'Wait till I get you out at Wencheston, my catamaran; I will pay you there for this cursed folly.'"
"Wencheston! How far is it from this city?"
"About a hundred and thirty miles," said the clerk. "Lots of settlers go there. A party went yesterday."
"And you think this man and his wife went with them?"
"It is very possible."
"Thank you." Foletti gave the youth a douceur, and walked away arm-in-arm with Leroux.
"We will go to-night," he said.
"After Coletti?"
"Yes, we shall overtake them, I think."
"How shall we go?"
"Why, the emigrants are in wagons. There are a couple of thousand of them. If we go on horseback, we shall more easily overtake them."
They now entered the hotel at which they had temporarily put up. It was about twelve o'clock, and Foletti ordered dinner at once, as he was about, he said, to proceed on a mission of much importance. The landlord looked curious.
"Can you," said Foletti, "recommend to me two trustworthy strong fellows, who will join me and my friend in an expedition for a hundred miles or so? They shall have plenty of dollars."
"Reckon I can, stranger."
"They must be ready in an hour's time."
"Calculate they shall, stranger."
"It is a mission of some danger."
"Bar-hunting, 'praps, stranger?"
"More dangerous than that." The landlord opened his eyes.
"Well, I will trust you. It is to take a desperate criminal."
"Je-ru-sa-lem!"
"And I know the Yankees have pluck."
"I calculate you're about right there, stranger. If, for almighty fire-away pluck, they don't whip all creation, I'm—"
"Well, well, can I depend on you?"
"Reckon you can, stranger. And now I'll send in dinner."
And an excellent dinner it was, in which the most prominent dishes were white-fish, canvas-back ducks (with hominy beans), and the splendid peach-fed hams of Cincinnati. But what astonished Foletti and Leroux more than anything was the enormous variety of mixed drinks peculiar to America. Sherry-cobbler, gin-sling, mint-julep, slap-bang, brandy-cocktail, and a score of other potations were suggested by their host in succession. Both, however, ate and drank moderately.
The meal was no sooner over than the landlord informed them the horses and a wagon were ready. They were to ride; but it was necessary that a wagon should follow them with provisions, sleeping rugs, and other requisites. A strong stout young fellow was in attendance to form one of the party; and the second assistant proved to be no other than the landlord himself, who, although he had as much "bounce" as most Americans, was at bottom an honest and really courageous fellow.
The landlord, knowing well the route towards Wencheston, whither so many emigrants were daily departing, was a very excellent guide. Accordingly they took the main road; and believing that Coletti and his wife could not be more than from fifty to sixty miles ahead, they rode on steadily in order to spare their horses, whilst the wagon with the provisions followed more at leisure.
They had proceeded a dozen miles or so at a fair pace, when the idea occurred to Leroux, that it would be difficult to find the persons they were in search of amongst so numerous a body of emigrants, and he communicated his thoughts to Foletti.
"Ah, we must trust to chance for that," was the reply.
"Do you know," continued the Neapolitan chef, addressing the landlord (whose name, by the way, was Stackles), "of how many this party of emigrants consists?"
"Wal, I heerd say about fourteen hunder, childer and all, and I calculate about fifty waggins, stranger."
"O," said Foletti, turning to Leroux, "that will not be difficult. Since we could trace them in a city, we shall easily do so in a wilderness; besides, there is no escape, and the woman will readily be detected."
"Ah, yes!"
And they continued to ride on, conversing freely with Stackles, who, barring the insuperable egotism inseparable from the Yankee character, was a well-informed, pleasant fellow-traveller. As soon as evening began to close in, Foletti proposed to encamp for the night and await the arrival of their provision-cart (for it was not in reality a wagon, but a tilted carrier's cart). The proposition was hailed with acclamation, as all the party were somewhat weary.
"A bit of hung beef will be excellent," said Leroux.
"And a draught of good cider," chimed in Foletti.
"Wal, yes, and a good chaw of 'bacca," added Stackles.
"You may keep that to yourself, at any rate," said both his companions.
"No offence, strangers. Every crittur has its own ways, you know, and so have most nations under the sun, I reckon."
They now dismounted, and selected a smooth green hollow, underneath a clump of butter-nut trees, for the place of bivouacking. After reclining here about an hour and a half, their sight was gladdened by the view of their approaching provisions. The cart was received with a hearty cheer, and a meal of hung beef, bread, cider, and ale quickly prepared. Whilst employed in enjoying it, they discussed their prospect of coming up with the emigrants.
"They cannot be more than twenty miles ahead," said Foletti.
"No, for they must stop for the night like ourselves, I reckon," replied Stackles.
"How terrified the wretch will be!" added Leroux.
"Astonished, not terrified," quietly said Foletti.
"The rascal!"
"The vagabond!"
"The darned skunk!"
It was agreed that they should commence operations early in the morning, that they might the sooner come up with the emigrants; and after a hearty meal and a cheerful pipe all round, they retired to the cart, where, with the aid of bear-skins and rugs, they formed themselves far from despicable couches, and so, with the bright stars shining round in the deep blue of a summer night, and the silence unbroken save by the occasional cry of the hare and the note of the whip-poor-will, they were soon wrapped in deep and healthy sleep.
Day was just breaking when Stackles, who was the first to awake, aroused the other sleepers.
A hurried toilette was made, and fortunately there was water at hand for their ablutions. Then a fire was made gipsy-fashion, and a breakfast of coffee and ham quickly prepared. It was scarcely light when the horses had been put to the wagon and the saddle-horses mounted. Then the equestrians galloped on, leaving the driver of the wagon to follow at his leisure. The morning was fine, and the voice of the blue-bird was frequently heard in the maples,—now beginning to grow red. It was a morning to make the pulse bound and the blood stir in the veins, and but for their pre-occupation of spirit, both Foletti and Leroux would have enjoyed it. As for Stackles, he was as blithe as a mocking-bird. He had no reputation as a police-officer at stake, nor was he seeking to throw light on the fate of a dear friend. The occasion was to him merely that of a hunt rather more exciting than one after bears or lynxes. He whistled, he sang, he chattered; but both his companions remained silent, only now and then arousing themselves to reply to some query from the American.
"Should like to tree that ar coon, strangers."
"He richly deserves it," said Foletti. Suddenly he started with a loud exclamation.
"What is that long blue line about four miles ahead?"
"Whar?" interrupted Stackles.
Foletti pointed towards a chain of hills in the distance, where a long blue line was winding in serpentine fashion around their base.
"'Tis the emigrants, I reckon. Darned if 'tisn't!" said the landlord. "Apple squash and airthquakes, 'tis the emigrants!"
All spurred on their horses, greatly excited, keeping their eyes fixed upon the living mass ahead.
Suddenly the blue winding line stopped.
In a few minutes they had ridden near enough to perceive that there was some great commotion in the emigrants' camp. The hoarse roar of a great many voices was suddenly heard in the air, and people could be seen hurrying to and fro in a state of manifest excitement.
As they came nearer and yet nearer they could hear the mob frightfully excited.
"Ah, the wretch! the bloodthirsty tiger!"
"Judge Lynch, Judge Lynch!"
"Hurrah!"
"Hang him, hang him!"
"Judge Lynch, Judge Lynch!"
The ocean of voices rose to a perfect tempest of wrath, amid which Foletti and his party rode up to the emigrant wagons just in time to see the form of a man run up, hanging by the neck, to the bough of a great maple.
"Hurrah, hurrah! Judge Lynch, Judge Lynch!" screamed the infuriated mob; and as the body swayed to and fro in its ghastly struggles, the shouts were renewed till the clamour was deafening. When there was a moment's lull,
"What is all this?" said Foletti.
Then followed a torrent of excited incoherent explanations.
"Ah, the wolf!"
"Beast!"
"Murderer!"
"Poor, dear, pretty creature!"
"So young!"
"Hideous wretch!"
"So beautiful!"
"Bloodthirsty tiger!"
"O, dear! O, dear!"
Leroux, Foletti, and Stackles gently put aside the clamorous women, who were clustered round one spot near the maple-tree, and, without more force than needful, penetrated into the midst of the group.
On the ground, her long golden hair all dabbled in blood, her beautiful features white and fixed, eyes staring and glassy, dead, stiff, and cold, lay poor Annetta, stabbed through the heart by the murderous knife of her ruffian husband. In a mad fury of drunken vengeance he had killed this helpless companion of his wanderings, and had been taken red-handed by his fellow-emigrants.
Foletti and Leroux at once comprehended the whole, and drew back with a fearful shudder.
"The miscreant!" said Leroux.
"Ah, you have paid for it, you brute!" said Foletti.
"The darned coon deserved burning!" said Stackles, in a burst of genuine indignation.
In all the group there was not a dry eye; yet it was no shame to their manhood.
Poor unhappy Annetta,—young, fair, loving,—cut off by a violent death, seemed, even in that death, to call upon Heaven to avenge her.
The chief of police, with his comrades, advanced towards the maple-tree which bore such ghastly fruit, and cut down the body.
Yes, it was the miscreant Coletti.
The mob was hushed into silence.
"I had orders to take this man, dead or alive," Foletti said aloud to the astonished emigrants. "You have spared me the trouble."
"Hurrah!"
"And I confess," said the honest police-officer, fairly overcome with emotion, "I do not regret it."
"Hurrah, hurrah! bravo, Mr. Foreigner!"
"I must have taken him, had he been alive," continued Foletti; "but as he is dead, I will not defile my fingers with such carrion. Let a grave be made for him far away from the spot where you lay his unhappy victim."
After this there was no more to be done but to go back to Italy.
CHAPTER VII.
FOUND AT LAST.
Leroux had written to Madame Dufour before he left Naples, informing her of his projected visit to America; and he had written again from the latter country, detailing to the horror-stricken family at Ajaccio the particulars of the tragedy recorded in the last chapter. So that, when he arrived once more at Madame Dufour's mansion, all were prepared for the result of his voyage. The meeting was affectionate, but deeply sorrowful, and everyone felt that the protracted absence of Leroux had been unavailing, since, though it informed them of the death of Coletti and his wife, it threw no light upon the missing Adolphe. Caravarri had never since been heard of; and but for the flight of Coletti and his wife, many would have supposed that young Dufour and his guide had perished by some accident in the mountain passes. But the disappearance of the landlord and Annetta entirely negatived this supposition.
Madame Dufour, her daughter, Leroux, and Jules Previn were once more collected round the family tea-table, when Leroux, who had been for some time wrapped in thought, spoke aloud.
"We can none of us ever know rest or peace till we are assured of the fate of poor Adolphe."
"No, indeed," said all.
"I propose to obtain permission from the landlord of the Rouge-gorge to pull that unlucky house down. I cannot but think we may find some traces of Adolphe and the guide. Do you not remember that in searching before I found a doubioon?"
"Well?"
"Well, that proves to my mind that the robbery was committed there; and on close search we might find— Yes," said Leroux, making an effort, "we might find Adolphe himself."
A deep silence followed.
"I will buy this house to-morrow," continued Leroux. "We will relieve our minds from this torturing suspense. Even to know the worst would be preferable."
"O yes! O yes!"
The conversation closed; but in the morning Leroux proceeded to the Corsican gentleman of whom the miscreant Coletti had rented the auberge and its grounds. He found him a fine old hearty fellow, deeply sympathising with the Dufour family, and very willing to sell the luckless inn.
"Indeed, M. Leroux," he said, "I had resolved on pulling down the accursed place myself, so I will not take a copper coin for it. Come you here as soon as you like with a party, and I will join you with another. We will search together. I will not leave one stone of the vile place standing. Such a story is a disgrace to Corsica!"
Leroux thanked him warmly, and appointed the next day at two o'clock in the afternoon. This was fully agreed on, and he accepted the old farmer's hospitality for the night. The house was but five miles from the Rouge-gorge.
In the morning Leroux, the farmer, and a party of six or eight, set out for the ill-fated hostelry. It loomed grim and ominous against the clear sky; and as Leroux thought of the stirring events of the last twelve months, he felt a strange sensation at the sight of the house, the entering of which by Adolphe and Previn had brought about so much sorrow. It seemed to him as if the veil of this strange mystery was about to be lifted. He could see daylight looming through the darkness. Then there was that unfortunate Annetta. That she had suspected foul play was certain, or else why that slip of paper on which was written, "Follow: Naples"? Poor girl, she had paid for her partisanship with her life!
As they approached the house the good farmer (whose name was Buonarotti) said gravely:
"It looks gloomy, does it not?"
Leroux assented with a sigh, and the party dismounted. They proceeded to search the rooms as before. All were apparently in the same state, save that everything was shrouded in the pall of dust which had accumulated. They searched cupboards, tried planks, sounded chimneys, but found no evidence of the missing Adolphe. All at once Buonarotti stopped short.
"Ah," he said, "I remember above there was a small chamber which I latterly had boarded in, because the flooring was somewhat unsafe. You gain access to it by a sliding door, carefully concealed beneath the old tapestry, for this was once a nobleman's house. What a fool I was to have forgotten it!"
"Let us examine it," said Leroux.
They proceeded, in company with their fellow-searchers, to the room which had been occupied by Adolphe Dufour. The secret chamber was within it.
Suddenly they stopped short.
The idea had occurred to all—what a sight they might possibly encounter there. Leroux drew back.
Buonarotti was the first to recover his self-possession.
'It must be done," he said, as he pushed back the panel.
The little chamber was shrouded in darkness—so much so, that they were forced to strike a light. Then they observed the figure of a man crouching down in the furthest corner.
"O," said Leroux, "it is the body of Adolphe!"
But as they advanced they saw the figure move. It was alive! Breathless with suspense they advanced still nearer, when the form sprang towards them with a yell that made the whole house reëcho.
It was Caravarri!
Yes, it was Caravarri. His hair was grown about his shoulders, his beard reached to his waist, his eyes were sunk and dim, and his nails like birds' claws. But it was Caravarri.
On the table was an earthenware vessel full of—of water?
No. Full of gold napoleons and doubloons!
The miserable wretch saw that he was lost. The agonies of remorse had been worse to him than could be the hangman's cord.
He hastened to make the following confession:
On that unlucky night, when Dufour and Previn had taken shelter at the Rouge-gorge, he had overheard the remark of the former relative to the value of the contents of his valise, and had suggested to his half-brother Coletti the idea of robbing him and taking flight. For this purpose Caravarri ensconced himself in the inner chamber, intending, when Dufour was asleep, to steal the valise, but with no intention, as he averred, of taking his life. But whilst he was committing the robbery Dufour awoke, and, being a determined little man, resolved not to sacrifice his sister's dowry without a struggle. This grew hot and fierce; and Coletti, who had been on the watch listening for the issue of the infamous plot, entered, and dashed in poor Adolphe's skull with a wood-axe, Caravarri, terrified, was compelled, by the brutal threats of Coletti, to keep silence, and the booty was divided. In the morning Coletti absented himself, hoping that Jules Previn would proceed to Ajaccio without inquiry; whilst Caravarri, in his fear, hid himself closely in the secret closet with his share of the gold. When the coast was clear Coletti returned for his wife; but he could not persuade Caravarri to accompany them. The latter would not keep the company of a murderer: he had intended to be a thief, but not to shed blood. Poor Annetta had been compelled to accompany her rascally husband, but it was at the suggestion of Caravarri that she had left the note and the double doubloon. The glitter of the coin, it was thought, would attract notice, and the searcher might then observe the end of the note protruding from the mat. The miserable Caravarri had lived a year shut up in this prison, subsisting only on such salt meat and water as he dared steal out by night and take from the kitchen stock.
"And O, signori, what I have suffered! Ah, that poor little laughing gentleman!"
"But, Adolphe! Great God, where is he?"
"His body is buried in the dried-up well!"
It will be remembered that in the first chapter allusion was made to this well, which the exceeding drought of that summer had caused to be dry. The body of the poor little Frenchman was thrown by the wretch Coletti on to the rubbish in the well, and then further rubbish was thrown on the body itself.
Caravarri was put under the care of two of the party, and the remainder, with Leroux and Buonarotti, proceeded, with hearts full of emotion, to the well.
There was no doubt now. All was certainty.
The stones were cleared out, the rubbish extracted, and in a few minutes Leroux was kneeling with covered face beside the remains of the missing son.
Lost sight of for a year, the dead was found at last.
Leroux resolved to have poor Adolphe removed to Ajaccio, in order that he might rest in the near neighbourhood of those who had loved him, and who so deeply mourned his miserable fate.
Under his direction the body was borne reverently into the house, and laid tenderly upon the table of Annetta's kitchen.
Suddenly a great cry burst from the outside passage.
It was from the two men who had been guarding Caravarri.
With a superhuman effort of strength, the poor wretch, mad with the agonies of remorse, had burst from them and precipitated himself down the well from which Adolphe had just been removed.
Assistance was rendered, and they got him out without delay. His neck was broken.
The Rouge-gorge was pulled down, and the farm turned into a waste. No one would rent it. It was a veritable Aceldama.
Adolphe Dufour is sleeping his last quiet sleep beneath, a group of cypresses in the foreign burying-ground at Ajaccio.