menu_book Chapter 1

CHAPTER I. We were in Venice, Venice the silent and mysterious, the one European city of which I never tire. My wife had not enjoyed good health for some months past, and for this reason we had been wintering in southern Italy. After that we had come slowly north, spending a month in Florence, a fortnight in Rome, en route, until we found ourselves in Venice, occupying a

suite of apartments at Gallagherty's famous hotel overlooking the Grand Canal. Our party was a small one. It consisted of my wife, her friend Gertrude Trevor, and myself Richard Hatteras, once of the South Sea Islands, but now of the New Forest Hampshire, England. It may account for our fondness of Venice when I say that four years previous we had spent the greater part of our honeymoon there. Whatever the cause may have been, however,

there could be no sort of doubt that the grand old city, with its palaces and churches, its association stretching back to long forgotten centuries, and its silent waterways possessed a great fascination for us. We were never tired of exploring it, finding something to interest us, even in the most out of the way corners. In Miss Trevor we possessed a charming companion, a vital necessity, as you will admit when people travel together. She was

an uncommon girl in more ways than one. A girl, so it seems to me, England alone is able to produce. She could not be described as a pretty girl. But then the word pretty is one that sometimes comes periously near carrying contempt for this. One does not speak of Venus di Medici as pretty, nor would one describe the Apollo of Belvedere as very nice looking. That Miss Trevor was exceedingly handsome would, I fancy, be generally admitted.

At any rate, she would command attention wherever she might go, and that is an advantage which few of us possess. Should a more detailed description of her be necessary, I might add that she was tall and dark, with black hair and large luminous eyes that haunted one, and was suggestive of a southern ancestor. She was the daughter, and indeed the only child, of the well-known Dean of Bedminster, and this was the first time she had visited

Italy, or that she had been abroad. The wonders of the art country were all new to her, and in consequence our wanderings were one long succession of delight. Every day added some new pleasure to her experiences, while each night saw a life desire gratified. In my humble opinion, to understand Italy properly, one should not presume to visit her until after the first blush of youth has departed, and then, only when one has prepared

oneself to properly appreciate her many beauties, Venice, above all others, is a city that must be taken seriously. To come at a proper spirit of the place, one must be in a reverent mood. Cheap jokes and cockney laughter as I'm suited to the place where Folleri yielded his life as a downcast face would be in Nice at carnival time. On the afternoon of the particular day from which I date my story, we had been to the

island of Morallo to pay a visit to the famous glass factory, of which it is the home. By the time we reached Venice once more, it was nearly sunset, having something like an hour to spare. We made our way, at my wife's suggestion, to the Florian Cafe on the Piazza St. Mark in order to watch the people. As usual, the place was crowded. At first glance, it looked as if we would be unable to find sufficient vacant chairs. Fortune favoured

us however. When we had seated ourselves, and I had ordered coffee, we gave ourselves up to the enjoyment of what is perhaps one of the most amusing scenes in Venice. To a thoughtful mind, the great square must at all times be an object of absorbing interest. I have seen it at every hour and on almost every aspect. At a break of day, which one has to oneself and is able to enjoy its beauty undisturbed. At midday, when the importunate

shopkeepers endeavour to seduce one into entering their doors, by tales of the marvels therein. At sunset, when the cafes are crowded, the band plays. And all is merriment. And last but not least, at midnight, when the moon is sailing above St. Mark's, the square is full of strange shadows, and the only sound to be heard is the cry of a gull on the lagoon, or the s'apremi of some belated gondolier.

"'This is the moment to which I have looked forward all my life,' said Miss Trevor as she sat back in her chair and watched the animated crowd before her. Look at that pretty little boy with the pigeons flocking around him. What a picture he would make if only one had a camera. If you care to have a photo of him, one can easily be obtained,' I remarked. Any one of these enterprising photographers would only be too pleased to take one for

you for a few centissimi. I regret to say that many of our countrymen have a weakness for being taken in that way. Fancy Septimus Brown of Tooting, my wife remarked, a typical English paterfamilias, with a green vial, blue spectacles, and white umbrella, daring to ask the sun to record his image with the pigeons of St. Mark's clustering about his venerable head. Can't you picture

the pride of that worthy gentleman's family when they produce the album on a Sunday afternoon and show it to their friends? This is Pa, the eldest girl would probably remark, when he was travelling in Venice, as if Venice were a country in which one must be perpetually moving on. And that's how the pigeons came down to him, to be fair. Isn't it splendid of him? Papa, who never ventured

beyond Brighton Beach before, would be a person of importance for that moment. You forget one circumstance, however, Miss Trevor replied, who enjoyed an argument and for this reason contradicted my wife on principle. In allowing himself to be taken at all, Brown of Tooting has advanced a step. For the moment he dared to throw off his insularity, as the picture at which you are laughing is indisputable

testimony. Do you think he would dare to be photographed in a similar fashion in his own marketplace? Standing outside his shop door with his assistants watching him from behind the counter, I'm quite sure he would not. A very excellent argument I answered. Unfortunately, however, it carries within its own refutation. The mere fact that Brown takes the photograph home to show his friends goes a long way to proving that he is still as insular as when

he set out. If he did not consider himself of sufficient importance to shut out the portion of St Mark's with his voluminous personality, he would have not employed the photographer at all, in which case we no further advanced than before. These little sparring matches were a source of great amusement to us. The cockney tourist was Miss Trevor's bet-noir. Upon this failing, my wife and I loved to tweet her. On the whole, I rather fancy she

liked being teased by us. When it finished our coffee, I was still idly watching the people about us, but I noticed that my wife had turned a little pale. I was about to remark upon it when she uttered an exclamation as if something had startled her. Good gracious, Dick, she cried. Surely it's not possible. It must be a mistake. What is it that cannot be possible, I inquired? What do you think you see?

A glance in the direction she indicated, I could recognise no one with whom I was acquainted. An English clergyman and his daughter were sitting near the entrance to the cafe, and some officers in uniform were on the other side of the room again. But still my wife was looking in the same direction and with an equally startled face. I placed my hand upon her arm. It was a long time since I had seen her so agitated.

Come, darling, I said. Tell me what it is that troubles you. Look, she answered. Can you see the table a little to the right of that which those officers are seated? I was about to reply in the affirmative, but the shock I received deprived me of speech. The person to whom my wife referred had risen from his chair and was in the act of walking towards us. I saw him, I looked at him, looked away and

then looked again. No, there was no room for doubt. The likeness was unmistakable. I should have known him anywhere. He was Dr Nicola, the man who had played such an important part in our life's drama. Five years had elapsed since I had last seen him, but in that time he was scarcely changed at all. He was the same tall, thin figure, the same sallow, clean-shaven face, the same piercing black eyes. As he drew nearer, I

noticed that his hair was a little more grey, that he looked slightly older, otherwise he was unchanged. But why was he coming to us? Surely he did not mean to speak to us. After the manner in which he had treated us in bygone days, I scarcely knew how to receive him. He on his side, however, was quite self-possessed. Raising his hat with an easy grace, always distinguishing, he advanced and held out his hand to my wife.

My dear Lady Hatteras, he began in his most conciliatory tone, I felt sure you would recognise me. Observing that you had not forgotten me, I took the liberty of coming to pay my respects to you. Then, before my wife could reply, he had turned to me and was holding out his hand. For a moment I had half determined not to take it. When his glittering eyes looked into mine, I changed my mind and shook hands with him more cordially than I should ever

have thought it possible for me to do. Having thus broken the ice, as we had for all intents and purposes permitted him to derive the impression that we were prepared to forgive the past, nothing remained for us but to introduce him to Miss Trevor. From the moment that he had approached us, she had been watching him covertly, and that he had produced a decided impression upon her was easily seen. For the first time since we had known her, she, usually

so staid and unimpressionable, was nervous and ill at ease. The introduction affected, she drew back a little, and pretended to be absorbed in watching a party of our fellow countrymen who had taken their places at a table a short distance away from us. For my part I do not mind confessing that I was by no means comfortable. I remember my bitter hatred of Nicola in the days gone by. I recall that terrible house in Port Said, and thought

of the night on the island when I had rescued my wife from his clutches. In my estimation then he had been a villain of the deepest die, and yet here he was, sitting beside me, as calm and collected, and apparently as interested in the resume of our travels in Italy that my wife was giving him. As if we had been bosom friends throughout our lives. In anyone else it would have been a piece of marvellous effrontery. In Nicola's case, however, it

did not strike one in the same light. As I have so often remarked, he seemed incapable of acting like any other human being. His extraordinary personality lent a glamour to his simplest actions, and demanded for them an attention they would scarcely have received had he been less endowed. Have you been long in Venice, my wife acquired when she had completed the record of our doings?

Feeling, she must say something. I seldom remain anywhere for long, he answered, with one of his curious smiles. I come and go like a will of the wisp. I am here today and gone tomorrow. It may have been an unfortunate remark, but I could not help uttering it. For instance, you are in London today, I said, in Portside next week, and in the South Sea Islands a couple of months

later. He was not in the least disconcerted. Ah, I see you have not forgotten our South Sea adventure, he replied cheerfully. How long ago it seems, does it not? To me it is like a chapter out of another life. And turning to Miss Trevor, who of course had heard the story of our dealings with him sufficiently to often be weary of it, he added,

I hope you are not altogether disposed to think ill of me. Perhaps some day you will be able to persuade Lady Hatturas to forgive me, that is to say, if she has not already done so. Yet I do not know why I should plead for pardon, seeing that I am far from being in a repentant mood. As a matter of fact, I am very much afraid that should the necessity arise, I

should be compelled to act as I did then. And let us pray most fervently that the necessity may never arise, I answered. I for one do not entertain a very pleasant recollection of that time. I spoke so seriously that my wife looked sharply up at me, fearing, I suppose, that I might commit myself. She added quickly, I trust it may not, for I can assure you, Dr. Nicola, that my inclinations lie much

nearer Bond Street than the South Sea Islands. All this time Miss Trevor said nothing, but I could tell from the expression upon her face that Nicola interested her more than she would ever been willing to admit. "'Is it permissible to ask where you are staying?' he inquired, breaking the silence, and speaking as if at a point upon which he was most anxious to be assured.

"'At Gallagetti's,' I answered. "'Why, in Venice, we always make it our home.' "'Ah, the good Gallagetti,' said Nicola softly. "'It's a long time since I last had the pleasure of seeing him. I fancy, however, he would remember me. I was able to do him a slight service some time ago, and I have always understood

that he possesses a retentive memory.' "'Then, doubtless feeling that he had stayed long enough, he rose and prepared to take leave of us. "'Perhaps, Lady Hatteras, you will permit me to do myself the honour of calling upon you,' he said.

"'I shall be very pleased to see you,' my wife replied, though with no real cordiality. He then bowed to Miss Trevor and shook hands with myself. "'Goodbye, Hatteras,' he continued. "'I shall hope soon to see you again. I expect we have lots of news for each other, and doubtless you will be interested to learn the history and subsequent adventures of that peculiar little stick

which caused you so much anxiety and myself so much trouble five years ago. "'My dress is the Palace Ravishy in the Rio de Consiglio, where, needless to say, I shall be delighted to see you if you care to pay me a visit.' I thanked him for his invitation and promised that I would call upon him. With a bow he took his departure, leaving behind him a sensation of something missing, something that could not be replaced. To sit down and continue the conversation where he had broken into it was out of the question.

We accordingly rose, and after I had discharged the bill, strolled across the piazza towards the lagoon. Observing that Miss Trevor was still very silent, I inquired the cause. If you really want me to tell you, I can only account for it by saying that your friend Dr Nicola has occasioned it,' she answered. I don't know why it should be so, but that man has made a curious impression upon me. He seems to affect everyone in a different

manner,' I said, and for some reason made no further comment upon her speech. When we had called a gondola and were on our way back to the hotel, she referred to the subject again. "'I think I ought to tell you that it is not the first time I have seen Dr Nicola,' she said. You may remember that yesterday, while Phyllis was lying down, I went out to do some shopping. I cannot describe exactly which direction I took, save that I went towards the lealto.

It is sufficient that in the end I reached a chemist's shop. It was only a small place, and very dark, so dark indeed that I did not see that it contained another customer until I was really inside. When I noticed a tall man busily engaged in conversation with the shopman, he was declaiming against some drugs he had purchased there on the previous day, and demanding that for the future there should be a better quality, otherwise he would be compelled

to take his patronage elsewhere. In the middle of this harangue he turned round, and I was permitted an opportunity of seeing his face. He was none other than your friend Dr Nicola.' "'But my dear Gertrude,' said Phyllis, "'will all be respect to your narrative. I do not see that the mere fact of you having met Dr Nicola in a chemist's shop yesterday, and your having been introduced to him today, should have caused you so much concern.' I don't know why it should,' she

answered, but it is a fact nevertheless. Ever since I saw him yesterday, his face with its terrible eyes has haunted me. I dreamt of it last night. All day long I have had it before me, and now, as if to add to the strangeness of the coincidence, he proves to be the man of whom you have so often told me, your demaniacal, fascinating Nicola. You must admit that it is very strange.' "'A coincidence, a mere coincidence, that is all,' I replied. Nicola possesses an extraordinary face,

and it must have impressed itself more deeply upon you than the average countenance is happy enough to do.' Whether my explanation satisfied her or not, she said no more upon the subject. But that our strange meeting with Nicola had an extraordinary effect upon her was plainly observable. As a rule, she was bright and merry a companion as one could wish to have. On this particular evening, however, she was not herself at all. It was the more annoying,

for the reason that I was anxious, that she should shine on this occasion, as I was expecting an old friend who was going to spend a few days with us in Venice. That friend was none other than the Duke of Glen Bath, who, previous to his succession to the dukedom, had been known as the Marquis of Beckenham, and who, as the readers of the history of my adventures with Dr Nicola may remember, figured as a very important factor in that strange affair. Ever since the day when I had had the good

fortune to render him a signal service in the bay of a certain south coast watering place, and from the time that he accepted my invitation to join us in Venice, I had looked forward to his coming with the greatest possible eagerness. As it happened, it was well nigh seven o'clock, by the time we reached our hotel. Without pausing in the hall further than to examine the letter rack, we ascended to our rooms on the floor above. My wife and Miss Trevor had gone to their

apartments. I was about to follow their example, as soon as I had obtained something from the sitting room. A nice sort of host, a very nice host, said a laughing voice as I entered. He invites me to stay with him, and is not at home to bid me welcome. My dear old Dick, how are you? My dear fellow, I cried, hastening forward to greet him. I must beg your pardon ten thousand times. I had got the least idea that you would be here so early. You had been sitting on the piazza and did not hurry home.

He neededn't apologise, he answered, for once an Italian train was before its time. Now tell me about yourself. How is your wife? How are you? What sort of holiday are you having? I answered his question to the best of my ability, keeping back my most important item as a surprise for him. And now I said it's time to dress for dinner. But before you do so, I have some important news for you. Who do you think is in Venice? Needless to say,

he mentioned everyone but the right person. You'd better give up, you'll never guess, I said. Who is the most unlikely person you expect to see in Venice at the present moment? Old Mac Fierce and my solicitor, he replied promptly. The rascal would no more think of crossing the channel, but he would contemplate standing on his head in the middle of the strand. Must be Mac Fierce. Nonsense, I cried. I don't know Mac Fierce in the first place, but I doubt if he would interest me

in the second. No, no, this man is neither a Scotchman nor a lawyer. He is an individual bearing the name of Nicola. I quite expected to surprise him, but I scarcely look for such an outbreak of astonishment. What, he cried and amazed him? You must be joking. You don't mean to say that you have seen Nicola again. I not only mean that I have seen him, I replied. But I'll go further than that and say that he was sitting on the piazza with us not more than half an hour ago.

What do you think his appearance in Venice means? I don't know what to think, he replied with an expression of almost comic bewilderment upon his face. Seems impossible. And yet you don't look as if you are joking. I tell you the news in all sober earnestness, so I answered, dropping my bantering tone. It is a fact that Nicola is in Venice and what is more, that he has given me his address. He has invited me to call upon him. And if you like, we'll go together. What do you say?

I shall have to have time to think about it, Glenn Bath replied seriously. I don't suppose for a moment he has any intention of abducting me again. Nevertheless, I am not going to give him the opportunity. By Joe, how that fellow's face comes back to me. It haunts me. Miss Trevor has been complaining of the same thing, I said. Miss Trevor, the duke repeated, and pay, who may Miss Trevor be? A friend of my wife's said, I answered, she has been travelling

with us for the last few months. I think you will like her. Now come along with me and I'll show you your room. I suppose your man has discovered it by this time. Stevens would find it if this hotel were constructed on the same principle as the maze at Hampton Court, he answered. He has the virtue of persistence. When he wants to find a thing, he secures the person who would be the most likely to tell him, and sticks to him until his desire has been gratified. It turned out as

he had predicted, and three quarters of an hour later, our quartet sat down to dinner. My wife and Glenn Bath, by virtue of an old friendship, agreed remarkably well, while Miss Trevor, now somewhat recovered from her Nicolaar in disposition, was more like her old self. It was a beautiful night, and after dinner it was proposed, seconded and carried unanimously that we should charter a gondola and go for a row upon the canal.

On a homeward voyage, the gondolier, by some strange chance, turned into the Rio del Concilio. Perhaps you could tell me which is the Palace of Ravici, I said to the man. He pointed to a building we were in the act of approaching. There it is, senor, he said. At one time it was a very great palace, but now, here he shrugged his shoulders to enable us to understand that its glory had departed from it. Not another word was

said upon the subject, but I noticed that all our faces turned in the direction of the building. With the exception of one solitary window, it was in total darkness. As I looked at the latter, I wondered whether Nicolaar was in the room, and if so, what was he doing? Was he poring over some of his curious books, trying some new experiment in chemistry, or putting to test some theory such as I had found him at work upon in that curious house in Port Said? A few minutes later we had

left the Rio de Concilio behind us. I turned to the right, and we were making our way back by another watery thoroughfare towards the Grand Canal. Thanks to your proposition, we have had a delightful evening, Miss Trevor said, as we paused to say good night at the foot of the staircase a quarter of an hour so later. I have enjoyed myself immensely. You should not tell him that, dear, said my wife. You know how

conceited he is already. He will take all the credit and be unbearable for days afterwards. And turning to me, she added, You are going to smoke, I suppose. I thought of doing so, I replied, and then I added with mock humility, If you do not wish it, of course, I will not do so. I was only going to keep Glen Bath company. They laughed and bade us good night, and when we had seen them depart in the direction of the rooms,

we lit our cigars and passed into the balcony outside. At this hour of the night, the Grand Canal looked very still and beautiful, and we both felt the humour for its confidences. You know how to rest, said Glen Bath, after the few moments paused that followed our arrival in the open air. That Nicholas turning up in Venice at this particular juncture savours to me a little of the uncanny. What his mission may be, of course, I cannot tell, but that it is some

diabolical thing or another I have not a doubt. One thing is quite certain, I answered. He would hardly be here without an object, and after our dealings with him in the past, I am prepared to admit that I do not trust him any more than you do, and know that he has asked you to call upon him, what are you going to do? I paused before I replied. The question involved greater responsibilities than were at first glance apparent. Knowing Nicholas so well, I had not the least desire

or intention to be drawn into any of the plots or machinations he was so fond of working against other people. I must confess, nevertheless, that I could not help feeling a large amount of curiosity as to the subsequent history of that little stick, to obtain which he had spent so much money and had risked so many lives. Yes, I think I shall call upon him, I said reflectively, as if I had not quite made up my mind. Surely to see him once more could do no harm. Good heavens, what an

extraordinarily fellow he is. Fancy you or I being afraid of any other man as we are afraid of him. But mind you, I know that you stand quite as much in awe of him as I do. Why, do you know when my eyes fell upon him this afternoon, I felt the return of the old dread of his presence used to cause him me five years ago. The effect he had upon Miss Trevor was also very singular when you come to think of it. By the way, Hatteras, talking of Miss Trevor, what an awfully nice girl she is.

I don't know when I have ever met a nicer. Who is she? She is the daughter of the Dean of Bedminster, I answered. Splendid old fellow. I like his daughter the Duke of Mark. Yes, I may say that I like her very much. I was glad to hear this, for I had my own little dreams and my wife, who by the way is a born matchmaker, had a long time ago come to a similar conclusion. She is a very nice girl, I replied. And what is more, she is as good as she is nice. Then I continued.

He will indeed be a lucky man who wins Gertrude Trevor for his wife. And now, since our cigars are finished, what do you say to bed? It's growing late. I expect you are tired after your journey. I'm quite ready, he answered. I shall sleep like a top. I only hope and pray that I shall not dream of Nicola. End of chapter one.