South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) by Norman Douglas (novels for students TXT) 📕

Malipizzo Would Have Been Delighted To Lay Sacrilegious Hands On Mr.

Eames,  Whose Olympic Aloofness Had Always Annoyed Him And Against Whom

A Case Could Now Be Got Up,  On The Strength Of These Indications.

Somewhere In The Neighbourhood Of The Villa--That Was Quite Sufficient

To Warrant An Arrest.

The Boy In Question Happened To Be A Relation Of His Arch-Enemy,  The

Parish Priest. Better Still. Chuckling At The Happy Coincidence,  He

Forgot All About Mr. Eames,  And Gave Orders For The Other To Be

Conveyed To The Guard-House,  Searched,  And Interrogated,  Arguing

Plausibly That A Person Of His Mental Instability Would Be Sure To Give

Himself Away By Some Stupid Remark.

Things Turned Out Better Than He Had Dared To Hope. Under The

Prisoner's Clothing Was Discovered A Gold Coin Of Foreign Nationality

Attached,  By A Piece Of String,  Round His Neck. For All One Knew,  It

Might Have Been Muhlen's. The Interrogating Carbineer Who Is Invested,

During Such Preliminary Enquiries,  With Quasi-Judicial Functions--Being

Permitted To Assume The Role Of Prosecuting Or Defending Counsel,  Or To

Remain Sternly Unbiased,  As He Feels Inclined--Desired To Learn How He

Had Come By This Jewel.

He Received It Long Ago From His Mother,  He Said,  As A Talisman Against

The Moonsickness Which Had Tormented Him In Childhood. Replying,  In

Stammering And Dazed Fashion,  To Further Questions,  He Gave It To Be

Understood That Nobody Had Ever Set Eyes On The Coin In Question; He

Was Afraid Of Showing It,  Lest Someone Should Take It From Him By

Force. He Loved The Coin. He Got It From His Mother.

"Ah!" Said The Friendly Policeman. "And Your Mother,  Now--Could She

Perhaps Tell Us When She Gave It To You?"

"My Mother Is In Paradise."

"Dead,  Is She? H'm. That Looks Queer,  My Young Friend. Very Fishy. You

Should Be More Careful In Little Things Like That. She Ought To Have

Been Kept Alive,  You Know. Anybody Can Say They Had Gold Coins Given

Them By Dead Mothers,  Don't You See? Rather A Thin Trick. Can't You

Suggest Something Better? Cheer Up,  Boy! You Needn't Tremble All Over.

Look,  I Am Writing It Down,  And You Must Put Your Name To It

Afterwards. Think--Little. A Living Uncle,  For Instance--If He Came Into

Court And Testified That He Had Given You The Coin,  Why,  It Might Make

All The Difference And Get You Out Of A Nasty Scrape. Surely You've Got

An Uncle Or Something? How About His Reverence The Parroco? Couldn't He

Swear--?"

"My Mother Is In Paradise."

"In Paradise,  Is She? That's Where You Ought To Be,  My Son. Just Sign

This Declaration,  Please. Then Perhaps You Will Meet Your Mother Sooner

Than You Expect. Can't Read Or Write? Well,  Put Your Cross To It And

May The Madonna Help You! For I Can't. I've Done My Best To Be

Impartial,  But God Alone Can Steer A Fool. He Makes A Specialty Of It,

They Tell Me. If So,  You've Got A Sporting Chance. . . ."

Overjoyed With This Incriminating Deposition,  His Worship Gave Orders

For The Prisoner's Formal Arrest. Aloud He Remarked:

"What Have I Always Said? Beware Of Wimple Folks. They Are The Deep

Ones. Their Naivete Is Nothing But A Disguise. Here We Have A Case In

Point. This Boy,  From All Accounts,  Is The Pure Type Of The Callous

Murderer. He Stutters. He Makes Uncalled-For Gurglings Of A Bestial

Nature. He Has Pendulous Ears,  And Certain Other Stigmata Of

Degeneration Which Are Familiar To All Conversant With Criminal

Anthropology. Of Course He Denies Everything. But Mark My Words! After

Six Or Seven Months,  When The Prison Diet Begins To Take Effect,  He

Will Confess. I Know The Species; It Is All Too Common. Meanwhile We

Must Congratulate Ourselves On Having Tracked Down The Culprit So

Soon."

To Condemn For Homicide The Cousin Of A Catholic Priest Warmed The

Cockles Of His Free-Thinking Heart. In Fact,  On Second Thoughts,  It Was

Better Than If He Had Caught The Real Murderer Who Might Have Turned

Out To Be An Atheist,  Which Would Have Been Bad Enough--Or Possibly A

Freemason,  Which Would Have Been Really Awkward. The News Spread

Rapidly Over The Island,  And Caused Wild Rejoicings Among The

Anti-Clericals.

The Rejoicings Were Of Brief Duration.

Torquemada,  As Usual,  Was In Fighting Trim. Like All God-Fearing

Ascetics,  He Was A Man-Eater At Heart. He Made Up His Mind Long Ago To

Eat The Judge,  Whom He Considered An Offence To Heaven And Earth--The

Official Mouthpiece Of The Devil. Up To The Present He Had Bided His

Time,  Waiting For A Good Opportunity. The Time Was Now Ripe.

Not That He Greatly Loved His Cousin. The Family To Which The Unhappy

Youth Belonged Was Of No Credit Or Use To Himself,  And This Particular

Member Was Worse Than Useless,  Being Afflicted With An Unpardonable

Vice--Lack Of Judgment. His Stupidity Had Already Got Him Into A Number

Of Minor Scrapes. As A Child He Annoyed Foreigners By Ingenuous

Requests For Money,  Stole Flowers From Neighbours' Gardens Because They

Were So Irresistibly Pretty,  Tied Saucepans To Their Cats Because They

Had Such Irresistibly Long Tails And Made Such Irresistibly Droll

Movements And Noises In Order To Get Rid Of Them,  Frightened Old Ladies

By Making Faces At Them; Sometimes,  By Way Of A Change,  He Threw Off A

Fit; Later On,  He Had Taken To Smashing Crockery,  Mooning About The

Vineyards,  Forgetting Errands Entrusted To Him,  Throwing Stones At

Passing Carriages And Making A General Nuisance Of Himself. The Parroco

Knew That He Had Been Dismissed As Incompetent By Tradespeople To Whom

He Was Apprenticed,  By Farmers Who Had Employed Him As A Labourer. He

Could Not Even Repeat His Ave Maria Without Producing Sinister

Crepitations From His Gullet. And Now He Had Crowned All By This

Surpassing Act Of Imprudence. If He Had Only Kept His Mouth Shut,  Like

Everybody Else. But There! What Could You Expect From A Fool?

A Genuine Murderer--It Was Most Irreligious,  Of Course. Still,  Some

Homicides Were Fairly Justifiable,  Others Almost Meritorious; And A

Criminal Of This Kind Showed,  In Every Case,  Undeniable Traces Of

Manliness; One Could Not Help Respecting Him In An Oblique Sort Of

Fashion. But A Fool! Torquemada,  The Zealous Priest,  The Man Of God,

Could Never Quite Repress The Promptings Of His Blood. He Had All The

Fanatic's Appreciation Of Violent Methods; All The Southerner's

Fondness For A Miscreant,  And Contempt For A Simpleton. A Mere

Fool--What's The Use Of Him On Earth? Had The Culprit Been Any Ordinary

Christian,  His Reverence Would Not Have Dreamt Of Interfering; Gladly

Would He Have Let Him Spend The Remainder Of His Day Sin Prison Which

Everybody Knew To Be The Best Place For Stupid People--It Kept Them Out

Of Mischief.

But This Was Not An Ordinary Christian. He Was A Relation. A Relation!

That Meant That One Must Show Fight For Him,  If Only For The Sake Of

Public Appearances.

He Held A Hurried Council With His Family And,  Half An Hour Later,  A

Second One With The More Influential Members Of The Priesthood. It Was

Decided,  In Both Cases,  That The Occasion Was Favourable For A

Long-Deferred Contest Between The Powers Of Light And The Powers Of

Darkness,  The Catholic Church And Modernism,  The Clergy Of Nepenthe And

The Secular Authority Of Law And Order As Personified By That Judge In

Whom All Evil,  Public And Private,  Flowed Together. A Noble Parting

Cheque Which He Had Just Received From Mr. Van Koppen For Some Urgent

Repairs To The Parish Organ Came In Handy. It Would Enable Him To Face

The Adversary With Good Hopes Of Success. To His Friends He Said:

"An Insult To My Family! I Shall Not Take It Lying Down. Let Them See

What A Humble Servant Of God Can Do."

So Saying,  He Girded His Loins For The Fray,  Walked In Person To The

Post Office And Wrote Out A Lengthy Telegram To The Redoubtable Don

Giustino Morena,  The Parliamentary Representative Of Nepenthe Who,  As

Readers Of The Newspapers Were Aware,  Happened To Be Taking A Brief

Holiday Among His Own People In The South. It Was A Judiciously

Flattering Dispatch. It Prayed The Famous Lawyer-Politician To

Undertake The Defence Of A Relation,  An Orphan,  A Mere Child,  Unjustly

Accused Of Murder And Arbitrarily Imprisoned,  And To Deign To Accept A

Pitiful Honorarium Of Five Thousand Francs--The Largest Sum Which A

Parish Priest,  Poor But Jealous Of The Honour Of His Family,  Could

Scrape Together. If The Great Man Accepted The Offer,  He Might Arrive

By The Nest Day's Boat. There Was A Chance,  Thought The Parroco,  Of His

Doing So. Don Giustino Was An Ardent Catholic; He Might Be Favourably

Impressed By The Modest Petition Of A Clergyman In His Constituency. He

Had Promised Over And Over Again To Visit His Nepenthean Constituents.

He Would Now Be Killing Two Birds With One Stone.

Five Minutes,  Under Ordinary Circumstances,  Were Wont To Elapse Ere An

Item Of Private News Could Percolate Out Of The Post Office And Become

Public Property. Such Was The Portentous Import Of This Message That It

Did Not Percolate At All. It Flashed,  And Produced Forthwith A Feeling

Of Joyous Elation At The Prospect Of Lively Events In The Near

Future--Of A Battle Between The Vatican And The Quirinal. Coming On The

Top Of Muhlen's Murder--Which Was A Decided Improvement Upon His Alleged

Flight--It Caused The Citizens To Talk In Excited And Almost Random

Fashion About What Was Coming Next. Alone,  The Members Of The Alpha And

Omega Club,  Thanks To The Benign Influence Of Parker's Poison,  Received

The Successive Waves Of Information With Composure,  And Preserved From

Beginning To End Their Sense Of Proportion.

"Heard The News? Muhlen's Bolted."

"I Thought He Would."

"They Say He Owes A Good Deal."

"Obviously. Else He Wouldn't Have Bolted. Good Riddance,  Anyhow."

"That's What I Say. But He Owes Me A Lot Of Whiskies,  The Blighter."

"You're Lucky. Gone Off With Thirty Francs Of Mine."

"Damn His Eyes. I Expect We're Not The Only Ones."

"Not By A Long Chalk. Come And Have A Drink."

"Heard The News? Muhlen's Murdered."

"Serve Him Bloody Well Right. The Blackguard Owes Me Two Francs Fifty.

I'll Bet It Was Some Money Business."

"Not A Bit Of It. A Little Girl,  You Know. Got A Knife In The Stomach.

About Eleven At Night,  From All Accounts. They Heard Him Squealing A

Mile Off."

"I Don't Believe It. He Was Not That Kind."

"Not That Kind? What Do You Mean?"

"Not That Kind."

"Not That Kind? Really? Go On. You Don't Say So,  By Jove! What Makes

You Think It?"

"Think? I Don't Think. I Happen To Know. You Pay For My Peg And I'll

Tell You All About It. . . ."

"Heard The News? Don Giustino's Coming Over."

"The Old Assassin. What Of It?"

"Good Business! One In The Eye For Mali--What's His Name. There'll Be

The Hell Of A Row. We Ought To Be Grateful To Muhlen For This

Amusement."

"Damned If We Ought. Unless He Got Himself Killed On Purpose To Amuse

Us. And Even Then It Would Have Amused Me More If He Had Paid Me Back

Those Seventeen Francs."

"You're Very Hard To Please To-Day."

"So Would You Be,  If You'd Been As Raddled As I Was Last Night. You

Ought To See The Inside Of My Head,  You Ought. There's Room For A Coal

Barge,  In There."

"That's Easily Remedied. Toss Up For Drinks."

"Don't Mind If I Do. . . ."

Signor Malipizzo Heard The News As He Was Sitting Down To Luncheon. At

First He Thought The Priest Had Gone Crazy. Don Giustino--Good God! Five

Thousand Francs. Where Had He Found The Money? Then He Remembered

Hearing About Old Koppen's Cheque For The Organ. Those Confounded

Foreigners,  Always Mixing Themselves Up In Local Concerns! If The

Parroco Were Really Poor,  As These Hypocrites Of Christians Professed

To Be,  He Could Never Have Run To It. Don Giustino. What An Awful Turn

Of Events. And All Because Muhlen Got Himself Murdered. These

Confounded Foreigners!

His Heart Sank Within Him. He Had Looked Forward To Keeping The

Priest's Cousin For A Year Or Two In Gaol,  Previous To His Trial. That

Would Have To Be Altered. If Don Giustino Came,  The Proceedings Must Be

Fixed For Next Morning--It Was The Merest Act Of Courtesy Towards A Man

Of His Standing,  A Man Whom One Must Conciliate At Any Cost. He Blamed

Himself For Arresting That Young Idiot. It Threatened To Bring Him Into

Undesired Prominence. Hitherto,  By Reason Of His Sheer Insignificance,

He Had Escaped The Great Catholic Deputy's Eye. As Magistrate Of

Nepenthe,  Who Cared What Political Or Religious Views He Professed Or

In What Manner He Administered The Law? All This Was Now Changed. He

Was In The Limelight. It Might End--Who Knows Where? He Had Other

Enemies On The Island Beside The Clericals; The Arrival Of Don Giustino

Might Lead To A General Revision Of His Judicial Labours. To-Morrow

Perhaps He Would Have To Confront The Monster. Don Giustino! He Knew

Him By Reputation. A Camorrista Of The Blackest