<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2 class="p4">CHAPTER XXIV</h2>
<p class="pch">THE MASCOT</p>
<p class="drop-cap16">ARSENIO opened the door of the apartment
with his latchkey and stood aside to let me
pass in first. The door of his sitting room,
the long, narrow room which I have described before,
stood slightly ajar, and a light shone through
it. I advanced across the passage—the hall could
hardly be called more—and flung the door wide
open as I entered, Arsenio following just behind.</p>
<p>There, in the middle of the room, two or three
paces from the big bureau, one side of which flapped
open, showing shelves and drawers, stood Louis the
valet, the waiter from that “establishment” of Arsenio’s
at Nice, the seller of the winning ticket, the
author of Arsenio’s luck. In his left hand he held,
clasped against his body, a large black leather portfolio
or letter case; in his right was the revolver
which his master had given him to clean.</p>
<p>He stood quite still, frightened, as it seemed, into
immobility, glaring at us with a terrified face. He
had thought that we were safely bestowed, round
the table downstairs, for some time to come. Our
footsteps on the stairs had disturbed him when his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</SPAN></span>
work was almost finished; our entrance cut off his
retreat. Even if he had had the presence of mind
to bar the door, it would have given him only a brief
respite; escape by the window was impossible; but
he did not look as if he were capable of reckoning
up the situation, or his chances, at all. He was
numb with fear.</p>
<p>“Drop that thing, you scoundrel!” I cried; and
it is my belief to this day that he would have
obeyed me, put down his weapon, and meekly surrendered,
if he had been let alone. He was certainly
not built for a burglar or for deeds of violence,
though I suppose the possession of the revolver
had nerved him to this enterprise of his.</p>
<p>But Arsenio did not let him alone, or wait to
see the effect of my order. Even as I spoke, he
dashed forward in front of me, uttering a wild cry;
it did not sound like fear—either for his money or
for his life—or even like rage; really, it sounded
more like triumph than anything else. And he made
straight for the armed man, utterly regardless of
the weapon that he held.</p>
<p>Thus put to it, Louis fired—once, twice. Arsenio
ran, as it were, right on to the first bullet. I
had darted forward to support his attempt to rush
the thief—if that really was what he had in his
mind—and he fell back plump into my arms, just as
the second bullet whizzed past my head. Then
with a yell of sheer horror—at what he had done,
I suppose—Louis dropped the revolver with a bang<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</SPAN></span>
on the floor, dropped the fat portfolio too with a
flop, and, before I, cumbered with Arsenio’s helpless
body, could do anything to stop him, bolted out
of the room like a scared rabbit. I heard his feet
pattering down the stairs at an incredible pace.</p>
<p>Arsenio was groaning and clutching at his chest.
I supported him to his shabby old sofa, and laid
him down there. Then I violently rang the bell
which communicated with the ground floor where
Amedeo abode.</p>
<p>The next moment Lucinda came into the room—very
quickly, but calmly. “Did he do it himself,
after all?”</p>
<p>“No, Louis; he’d been rifling the bureau; and the
revolver——”</p>
<p>“Ah, it was Louis that I heard running downstairs!
I’ll look after him. Go for a doctor.”
There were no telephones in the old <i>palazzo</i>; the
owner had not spent his precarious gains in that
fashion!</p>
<p>“I thought of sending Amedeo——”</p>
<p>“You’ll be quicker. Go, Julius.” She knelt down
by Arsenio’s sofa.</p>
<p>As I went on my errand—I knew of a doctor who
lived quite close—I met old Amedeo, lumbering upstairs,
half-dressed, and told him what had happened.
“He looks very bad,” I added.</p>
<p>Amedeo flung up his hands with pious ejaculations.
“As I go by the <i>piano nobile</i> I’ll call Father<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</SPAN></span>
Garcia, and take him up with me. Don Arsenio’s
a good Catholic.”</p>
<p>Yes! That fact perhaps had something to do
with the course which events had ultimately taken
that night!</p>
<p>When I got back with the doctor—he had gone
to bed, and kept me waiting—Arsenio had been
moved into his bedroom. The priest was still with
him, but, when he was informed of the doctor’s
arrival, he came out and Amedeo took the doctor
in to the patient, on whom Lucinda was attending.</p>
<p>Father Garcia was a tall, imposing old ecclesiastic,
of Spanish extraction, and apparently a friend
of the Valdez family, for he spoke of “Arsenio”
without prefix. “I have done my office. The doctor
can do nothing—Oh, I’ve seen many men die
in the war, and I can tell! He’s just conscious, but
he can hardly speak—it hurts him to try. Poor
Arsenio! His father was a very worthy man, and
this poor boy was a good son of the Church. For
the rest——!” He shrugged his ample shoulders;
he was probably reflecting the opinions of the aristocratic
and antiquated coterie which Arsenio had
been in the habit of laying under requisitions when
he was in Venice. “But a curious event, a curious
event, just after his prodigious luck!” Father
Garcia’s eyes bulged rather, and they seemed to
grow bulgier still as, between sniffs at a pinch of
snuff, he exclaimed slowly, “Three million francs!
Donna Lucinda will be rich!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>The old fellow seemed disposed to gossip; there
was nothing else to do, while we awaited the verdict.</p>
<p>“A gamester, I’m afraid, yes. His father feared
as much for him—and a good many of my friends
had reason to suspect the same. You’re a friend
of his, Mr.—er——?”</p>
<p>“My name’s Rillington, sir,” I said.</p>
<p>He raised his brows above his bulging eyes. “Oh!—er—let
me see! Wasn’t Donna Lucinda herself
a Rillington—or am I making a mistake?”</p>
<p>“Only just,” said I. I couldn’t help smiling.
“Donna Lucinda all but became a Rillington——”</p>
<p>“Ah!” he interrupted. “Now I remember the
story. Some visitors from London brought it over
in the early days of the war—I think they were
propaganda agents of your nation, in fact. It was
before Italy made the mis——it was before Italy
joined in the war.”</p>
<p>“Donna Lucinda’s maiden name was Knyvett.
Her mother and she once rented this very apartment
from Arsenio, I believe.”</p>
<p>“Yes, and I think I remember that too.” However,
he did not seem to remember too much about
it, for he went on. “And so the romance started,
I suppose! She’s a very beautiful woman, Mr. Rillington.”</p>
<p>The expression in his eyes justified my next remark.
“Whatever else one may say about the
poor fellow, he was a devoted lover to his wife, and
she was—absolutely true to him.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“I’m old-fashioned enough to think that that
covers a multitude of sins. She’s not, I gather, a
Catholic?”</p>
<p>“No, I believe not.”</p>
<p>“A pity!” he said meditatively; whether he was
thinking of Lucinda’s soul or of her money, I didn’t
know—and I will forbear from speculating. If he
was thinking about the money, it was, of course, only
with an eye—a bulging eye—on other people’s souls—as
well as Lucinda’s.</p>
<p>“Pray, sir,” I asked, on a sudden impulse, “do
you know anything of a friend of Arsenio’s here—Signor
Alessandro Panizzi?”</p>
<p>“I know what everybody knows,” he replied with
a sudden fierceness—“that he’s a pestilent fellow—a
radical, a freemason, an atheist! Was he a friend
of Arsenio’s?”</p>
<p>“Oh, well, I really don’t know. I happened to
meet them walking together on the Piazza this
afternoon, and Arsenio introduced me.”</p>
<p>“Then he kept worse company than any of us
suspected,” the old priest sternly pronounced. If
the opinion thus indicated was a just one, Signor
Panizzi must be a very bad man indeed! I was
just adding hastily that I knew nothing of the man
myself (he had looked the acme of respectability)
when Lucinda opened the door of the room and
beckoned to me. With a low bow to Father Garcia,
who was still looking outraged at the thought of
Signor Panizzi, I obeyed her summons.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“He has only a few minutes to live,” she whispered
hurriedly, as we crossed the passage. “He
seems peaceful in mind, and suffers little pain, except
when he tries to speak. Still I’m sure there’s
something he wants to say to you; I saw it in his
eyes when I mentioned your name.”</p>
<p>He was in bed, partly undressed. The end was
obviously very near. The doctor was standing a
yard or two from the bed, not attempting any further
ministration. I bent over Arsenio, low down,
nearly to his pale face, and laid my hand gently on
one of his. He did look peaceful; and, as he saw
me, the ghost of his monkeyish smile formed itself
on his lips. He spoke, with a groan and an effort:
“I told you—Julius—that fellow would—bring me
luck. But you never believed—you never believed—in
my——” His voice choked, his words ended,
and his eyes closed. It was only a few minutes
more before we left him to the offices of old Amedeo
and the old wife whom he summoned from
their cupboard of a place on the ground floor.</p>
<p>By this time the police were on the scene; there
is no need to detail their formalities, though they
took some time. The case appeared a simple one,
but Lucinda and I were told that we must stay
where we were, pending investigations, and the arrest
and trial of Louis; we knew him by no other
name, and knew about him no more than what
Arsenio had told me. They let Lucinda retire to
her apartment soon after midnight, and me to mine<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</SPAN></span>
half an hour later; one of them remained on duty
in the hall of the <i>palazzo</i>; and, of course, they took
that portfolio away with them.</p>
<p>In the end the formalities proved to be just that,
and no more. Two days later a body was found
in the Grand Canal, having been in the water apparently
about thirty hours. Amedeo and I identified
it. The inference was that, although Louis had
no stomach for fighting, he had that form of courage
in which his master had at the last moment
failed; it is probable that he was not a good Catholic.
I felt indebted to him for the manner of his
end; it saved us a vast deal of trouble. Poor
wretch! I do not believe that he had any more
intention of killing Arsenio than I had myself. The
knowledge of all that money overcame his cupidity;
perhaps he felt some proprietary right in it! The
possession of the revolver probably screwed him up
to the enterprise. But the actual shooting was, I
dare swear, an instinctive act of self-defense; Arsenio’s
furious, seemingly exultant, rush terrified
him. Anyhow, there was an end of him; the mascot
had brought the luck and, having fulfilled its
function, went its appointed way.</p>
<p>But by no means yet an end of Don Arsenio Valdez!
That remarkable person had prepared
posthumous effects, so characteristic of him in their
essence, yet so over-characteristic, that he seemed
to be skillfully burlesquing or travestying himself:
in those last days he must have been in a state of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</SPAN></span>
excitement almost amounting to light-headedness
(he had seemed barely sane at the banquet), a complete
prey to his own vanity and posturing, showing
off on the brink of the grave, contriving how to
show off even after it had closed over him; and
speculating—I do not in the least doubt—how all
the business would impress Lucinda. One thing
fails to be said about it: he succeeded in stamping
it with that vinegary comedy which was the truest
hall mark of Monkey Valdez.</p>
<p>Quite early on the morning after the catastrophe—if
that be the right word to use—I was sitting
in my room, musing over it and awaiting a summons
from Lucinda, when I was favored with a call from
that eminently respectable (?), most pestilent (?)
person, Signor Alessandro Panizzi. After elaborate
lamentations and eulogies (it would have warmed
Arsenio’s heart to hear them), and explanations
of how he, in his important position, was in close
touch with the police authorities, and so heard of
everything directly it happened, and consequently
had heard of this atrocious crime as soon as he
was out of his bed—he approached the object of
his visit. I was, he had understood from the deceased
gentleman, his confidential friend; also an
intimate family friend of Donna Lucinda; was I
aware that Don Arsenio had made a disposition of
his property on the afternoon of the very day of
his death?—“a thing which might impress foolish
and superstitious people,” Signor Panizzi remarked<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</SPAN></span>
with a sad but superior smile. He himself, as a
notary, had drawn up the document, which Don Arsenio
had executed in due form; it was in his custody;
he produced from his pocket a copy, or rather
an abstract, of the operative part of it. To sum
up this instrument as briefly as possible, Arsenio
bequeathed: First, ten thousand lire to the Reverend
Father Garcia, in trust to cause masses to be said
for his soul, should Holy Church so permit (it
sounded as if Arsenio had his doubts, whether well-founded
or not, I do not know, and, as things had
turned out, immaterial); secondly, the entire residue
of his estate to his wife, the most excellent
Signora Donna Lucinda Valdez, his sole surviving
near relative; but, thirdly, should the said most excellent
Lady, being already fully provided for (!),
accept only the <i>palazzo</i>—as it was his earnest wish
that she should accept it, his ancestral residence—and
renounce the inheritance of his personal estate,
then and in that case, he bequeathed the whole of
that personal estate to Signor Alessandro Panizzi
and two other gentlemen (I forgot their names,
but they were both, I subsequently learnt from
Father Garcia, “pestilent” friends of Panizzi’s, one
may suppose, and naturally pestilent), on a trust
to apply the same, in such ways as the law permitted,
to the use and benefit of the City of Venice and its
inhabitants, which and who were so dear to the
heart of the adopted but devoted son of the said
City, Arsenio Valdez.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“It is prodigious!” said Signor Alessandro Panizzi.
He handed me the abstract, adding, “You
will perhaps like to show it to the Excellent Lady?”
He paused. “It is, of course, a question what
course she will adopt. The sum is a large one, I
understand.”</p>
<p>The anxiety that showed itself in his voice was
natural and creditable to a Venetian patriot—and
quite intelligible too in a gentleman who saw himself
with the chance of handling an important public
trust. There would be <i>kudos</i> to be got out of
that! But I did not pay much attention to his
anxiety.</p>
<p>“You’re right. It is prodigious,” I said, smiling
broadly in spite of myself. How Arsenio must have
enjoyed giving those instructions! No wonder he
had looked complacent when I met him with Panizzi
on the Piazza; and no wonder that Panizzi had
been so deferential. A foretaste for Arsenio of the
posthumous praise which he was engineering—the
talk of him after his death, the speculation about
him! Because, of course, he was quite safe with
Lucinda—and he knew it. He was obliged, I believe,
though I do not profess to know the law, to
leave her part of his property. But it was handsome,
more gallant and chivalrous, to give it all to
her—in the sure and certain knowledge that she
would not take the money brought by the winning
ticket! And, next to her in his heart came his
dear City of Venice! If not beloved Lucinda, then<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</SPAN></span>
beloved Venice! The two Queens of his heart!
What a fine flourish! What an exit for himself
he had prepared! The plaudits would sound loud
and long after he had left the stage.</p>
<p>“It is, of course, possible,” I found Signor Panizzi
saying, “that our lamented friend had discussed
the matter with his wife and that they
had——”</p>
<p>“Well, that’s not at all unlikely. You’d like me
to tell her about this?”</p>
<p>“It would, no doubt, be convenient to have, as
soon as possible, an indication of her——”</p>
<p>“Naturally. I’ll speak to her, and let you know
her views as soon as possible. It is a large sum, as
you say. She may desire to take time for consideration.”
I knew that she would not take five minutes.</p>
<p>“I may tell you—without breach of confidence, I
think—that our lamented friend was at first disposed
to confine his benefaction, in the event of
its becoming operative by his wife’s renunciation, to
distinctly ecclesiastical charities. I allowed myself
the liberty—the honor—of suggesting to him a
wider scope. ‘Why be sectional?’ I suggested. ‘The
gratitude, the remembrance, of all your fellow citizens—that
would be a greater thing, Don Arsenio,’
I permitted myself to say. And the idea appealed
to him.”</p>
<p>“Really, then,” I remarked, “Venice is hardly<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</SPAN></span>
less indebted to you—Venice as a whole, I mean—than
to poor Arsenio himself!”</p>
<p>“No, no, I couldn’t allow that to be said. But
I’m proud if I, in any way, had a humble——”</p>
<p>“Exactly. And if that comes out—and surely
why shouldn’t it?—everybody will be very grateful
to you—except perhaps the distinctly ecclesiastical
charities! By the way, do you know this Father
Garcia? He’s living in this house, on the first floor,
and we called him in to see Arsenio—last night, you
know,—before he died.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know Father Garcia personally,” he said
stiffly, “but very well by repute.” He paused; I
waited to see what he would say of Father Garcia.
“An utter reactionary, a black reactionary, and none
too good an Italian.” He lowered his voice and
whispered, “Strongly suspected of Austrian sympathies!”</p>
<p>“I see,” I replied gravely. He had almost got
even with the old priest’s “pestilent.”</p>
<p>He rose and bade me a ceremonious farewell.
As he went out, he said, “This bequest—and
whether it comes into operation or not, it must receive
publicity—coming from a member of the old
reactionary nobility—from a Spanish Catholic—may
well be considered to mark a stage in the growing
solidarity of Italy.”</p>
<p>That seemed as much as even Arsenio himself
could have expected of it!</p>
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