The Princess Passes Volume 56 by Alice Muriel Williamson, Charles Norris Williamson (great book club books .txt) 📕

Not Appear, And The Curiosity Of Gaetà, Who Had Been Restless Since

The Boy's Departure, Could No Longer Be Kept Within Bounds. "Do Go And

See If He Has Got That Wonderful Bag," She Said. "He Might Come To

Tell Us!"

I Obeyed, Nothing Loth, But Only To Learn From The Concierge That The

Young Gentleman Had Gone Away With The Man Who Had Called.

"Did He Leave No Message?" I Asked.

"No, Monsieur. He Talked With The Man Here In The Hall For A Few

Minutes; Then He Ran Upstairs And Soon Came Down Again With A Cap And

Coat. Immediately After, He And The Man Went Out Together."

"What Sort Of Man Was He?"

"An Italian, Monsieur; A Very Rough-Looking Peasant-Fellow Of Middle

Age, Poorly Dressed In His Working Clothes. I Have Never Seen Him

Before."

I Did Not Like This Description, Nor The News The Concierge Had Given.

It Was Nine O'clock, And Very Dark, For It Had Begun To Rain Towards

Evening, And A Monotonous Drip, Drip Mingled With The Plash Of The

Fountain In The Garden. Grim Fancies Came Knocking At The Door Of My

Brain. It Was A Mad Thing For A Boy, Little More Than A Child, To Go

Out Alone In The Night With A Stranger, A "Rough-Looking

Peasant-Fellow," Who Pretended To Know Something Of The Vanished Bag;

To Go Out, Leaving No Word Of His Intentions, Nor The Direction He

Would Take. As Like As Not, The Man Was A Villain Who Scented Rich

Prey In A Tourist Offering A Reward Of Five Thousand Francs For A Lost

Piece Of Luggage.

As I Thought Of The Brave, Innocent Little Comrade Walking

Unsuspectingly Into Some Trap From Which I Could Have Saved Him Had I

Been By His Side, A Sensation Of Physical Sickness Came Over Me.

"How Long Is It Since They Went Out?" I Asked Quickly.

"Ten Minutes, At Most, Monsieur."

I Could Have Shaken The Concierge's Hand For This Good News, For There

Was Hope Of Catching Them Up. I Was In Dinner Jacket And Pumps, But I

Did Not Wait To Make A Dash Upstairs For Hat Or Coat. I Borrowed The

Blue, Gold-Handed Cap Of The Concierge, Not Caring Two Pence For My

Comical Appearance, Which Would Have Sent Gaetà Into Peals Of Silver

Laughter, And Out Into The Rain I Went, Turning Up The Collar Of My

Jacket.

I Had Forgotten The Contessa, And My Promise To Return Immediately

With Tidings From The Front. All I Thought Of Was, Which Direction

Should I Take To Find The Boy. Ought I To Turn Towards The Town Or

Away From It?

Before I Reached The Garden Gate, Not Many Metres From The Door, I Had

Decided To Try The Town Way; And Lest I Should Be Doing The Wrong

Thing And Have To Rectify My Mistake Later, I Ran As A Lamplighter Is

Popularly Supposed To Run, But Doesn't And Never Did.

The Boy And His Companion Would Be Walking, And, If I Were On The

Right Track, I Was Almost Sure To Catch Them Up Sooner Or Later At

This Pace, Before They Could Reach The Town And Turn Off Into Some

Side Street.

I Had Not Been Galloping Along Through The Fresh, Grey Mud For Three

Hundred Metres When I Saw Two Figures Moving Slowly A Few Paces Ahead.

One Was Small And Slender, The Other Of Middle Height And Strongly

Built.

"Boy, Is That You?" I Shouted.

The Slim Figure Turned, And I Mumbled A "Thank Goodness!"

"Little Wretch!" I Exclaimed Heartily, As I Joined The Couple Ahead.

"How Could You Go Off Alone Like This With A Stranger, Perhaps A

Ruffian (He Looks It), Without Leaving Any Word For Me? You Deserve To

Be Shaken."

"You Wouldn't Say He Looked A Ruffian, If You Could See His Face. I'm

Sure He's Honest. And As For Sending Word, I Didn't Care To Disturb

You And--Your Contessa."

"Hang The--No, Of Course, I Don't Mean That. Luckily I Was In Time To

Catch You, And----"

"Did The Contessa Send You After Me, Or Did----"

"She Doesn't Know What's Become Of You. There Was No Time For

Politenesses. You Gave Me Some Bad Moments, Little Brute. Now, Tell Me

What You're About."

He Explained That The Peasant (Who Understood No Word Of English) Was

An Italian Who Had Come To Martigny To Find Work As A Road Mender,

That He Had Been Taken Ill And Lost His Job; That He Had Tramped Back

Over The St. Bernard To Aosta, Near Which Place He Had Once Lived;

That The Work He Had Heard Of There Was Already Given To Another; And

That, Walking Back To Rejoin His Family Near Martigny, He Had Found

The Bag On The Pass. He Had Brought It Home, And Had Only Just Learned

The Address Of The Owner, As Set Forth In The Handbills.

"Why Didn't He Bring The Bag To You, And Claim The Reward?" I Asked.

"It Is At The House Of The Priest, And The Priest Has Been Away All

Day, Visiting A Relative In The Country Somewhere, Who Is Ill, So This

Man, Andriolo Stefani, Couldn't Get The Bag. But He Came To Tell Me

That It Was Found, And Where It Was."

"And He Pretends To Be Guiding You To The House Of The Priest Now?"

"No. I'm Going To His House--Or Rather, The Room Where He And His Wife

And Children Live."

"For Goodness' Sake, Why?"

"Because He's Refused To Accept The Reward For Finding The Bag."

"By Jove, He Must Have Some Deep Game. What Reason Did He Give, And

What Excuse Did He Make, For Dragging You Off To His Lair? It Sounds

As If He Meant To Try And Kidnap You For A Ransom--(These Things Do

Happen, You Know)--And There Are Probably Others In It Besides

Himself. I Don't Believe In The Priest, Nor The Wife And Children, Nor

Even In His Having Found The Bag."

"He Didn't Ask Me To Go To His House. When I Spoke Of The Reward, He

Said That He Couldn't Take It, And Though I Questioned Him, Would Not

Tell Me Why, But Was Evidently Distressed And Unhappy. Finally He

Admitted That It Was His Wife Who Would Not Allow Him To Accept A

Reward. She Had Made Him Promise That He Wouldn't. Then I Said That

I'd Like To Talk To Her, And Might I Go With Him To His House. He

Tried To Make Excuses; He Had No House, Only One Room, Not Fit For Me

To Visit; And The Place Was A Long Way Off, Outside Martigny Bourg;

But I Insisted, So At Last He Gave In. Now, Do You Still Think He's

The Leader Of A Band Of Kidnappers?"

"I Don't Know What To Think. There's Evidently Something Queer. I'll

Talk To Him."

During Our Hurried Conversation, The Man Had Walked On A Few Steps In

Advance. I Called Him Back, Speaking In Italian. He Came At Once, And

Now That We Were In The Town, Where Here And There A Blur Of Light

Made Darkness Visible, I Could See His Face Distinctly. I Had To

Confess To Myself At First Glance That It Was Not The Face Of A

Cunning Villain,--This Worn, Weather-Beaten Countenance, With Its

Hollowed Cheeks, And The Sad Dark Eyes, Out Of Which Seemed To Look

All The Sorrows Of The World.

He Had Found The Bag Night Before Last, He Said, Between The Cantine

De Proz And Bourg St. Pierre. It Had Been Lying In The Road, In The

_Rücksack_, And He Judged By The Strap That It Had Been Attached To

The Back Of A Man, Or A Mule. While I Questioned Him Further, Trying

To Get Some Details Of Description Not Given In The Handbills, He

Paused. "There Is The Priest's House," He Said. "There Is A Light In

The Window Now. Perhaps He Has Come Back."

"We Will Stop And Ask For The Bag," Said I, Watching The Face Of The

Man. It Did Not Blench, And I Began To Wonder If, After All, He Might

Not Be Honest.

The Priest, A Delightful, White-Haired Old Fellow, Himself Of The

Peasant Class, Had Returned, And From A Locked Cupboard In His Bare

Little Dining-Room Study Produced The Much Talked Of Bag, In Its

_Rücksack_.

The Boy Sprang At It Eagerly. So Secure Had He Believed It To Be On

The Grey Donkey's Back, That He Had Not Been In The Habit Of Taking

Out The Key. It Was Still In The Lock, And, The Bag Standing On The

Priest's Dinner Table, The Boy Opened It With Visible Excitement. Then

He Dived Down Into The Contents, Without Bringing Them Into Sight, And

A Bright Colour Flamed In His Cheeks. "Everything Is Safe," He Said,

With A Long Sigh Of Relief. "I'm Thankful."

He Turned To The Priest, Speaking In French--And His French Was Very

Good. "I Have Offered A Large Reward To The Finder Of This Bag. But

The Man Will Not Have It. Can You Tell Me Why, _Mon Père_?"

"I Cannot Tell You, Monsieur. Doubtless He Has A Reason Which Seems To

Him Good," Answered The Priest, Who Evidently Knew That Reason, But

Was Pledged Not To Tell. "He And His Family Have Not Been In My Parish

Long, But I Believe Them To Be Worthy People. I Have Been Trying To

Get Work For Andriolo, Since He Has Been Well Again, And Able To

Undertake It, But So Far I Have Not Been Fortunate."

The Boy Took A Handful Of Gold From His Pocket. "For The Poor Of Your

Parish, _Mon Père_, If You Will Be Good Enough To Accept It For Them,"

Said He, With Great Charm And Simplicity Of Manner. The Old Priest

Flushed With Pleasure, Saying That He Had Many Poor, And Was

Constantly Distressed Because He Could Do So Little. This Would Be A

Godsend. I Glanced At The Italian, And Saw That His Weary, Dark Eyes

Were Fixed With A Passionate Wistfulness Upon The Gold. This Look, His

Whole Appearance, Bespoke Poverty, Yet He Had Deliberately Refused

Five Thousand Francs, A Fortune To Most Men Of His Condition. Now That

He Was Vouched For By The Priest, Extreme Curiosity Took The Place Of

Suspicion In My Mind.

I Hid The Blue Cap Of The Concierge Behind My Back, In The Priest's

House, But The Boy Saw It, And Saw That I Was Drenched With Rain. I

Must