W. Somerset Maugham: Novels, Short Stories, Plays & Travel Sketches (33 Titles In One Edition). Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

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      XIX

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       We issued out into the silence of the night. There had been a little rain during the day, and the air in consequence was fresh and sweet; the light breeze of the spring made one expand one's lungs and draw in long breaths. One felt the trees bursting out into green leaves, and the buds on the plants opening their downy mantles and discovering the flower within. Light clouds were wandering lazily along the sky, and between them shone out a few dim stars. Checco and Matteo walked in front, while I lingered enjoying the spring night; it filled me with a sweet sadness, a reaction from the boisterous joy of the evening, and pleasant by the contrast.

      When Matteo fell behind and joined me, I received him a little unwillingly, disappointed at the interruption of my reverie.

      'I asked Checco what the Count had said to him of the taxes, but he would not tell me; he said he wanted to think about the conversation.'

      I made no answer, and we walked on in silence. We had left the piazza, and were going through the narrow streets bordered by the tall black houses. It was very late, and there was not a soul about; there was no sound but that of our own footsteps, and of Checco walking a few yards in front. Between the roofs of the houses only a little strip of sky could be seen, a single star, and the clouds floating lazily. The warm air blew in my face, and filled me with an intoxication of melancholy. I thought how sweet it would be to fall asleep this night, and never again to wake. I was tired, and I wanted the rest of an endless sleep....

      Suddenly I was startled by a cry.

      I saw from the shadow of the houses black forms spring out on Checco. An arm was raised, and a glittering instrument flashed in the darkness. He staggered forward.

      'Matteo,' he cried. 'Help! Help!'

      We rushed forward, drawing our swords. There was a scuffle, three of us against four of them, a flash of swords, a cry from one of the men as he reeled and fell with a wound from Matteo's sword. Then another rush, a little band of men suddenly appeared round the corner, and Ercole Piacentini's voice, crying,—

      'What is it? What is it?'

      And Matteo's answer,—

      'Help us, Ercole! I have killed one. Checco is stabbed.'

      'Ah!' a cry from Ercole, and with his men he rushed into the fray.

      A few more cries, still the flash of swords, the fall of heavy bodies on the stones.

      'They are done for!' said Matteo.

      The shouts, the clang of metal woke up the neighbours; lights were seen at the windows, and night-capped women appeared shrieking; doors were thrown open, and men came out in their shirts, sword in hand.

      'What is it? What is it?'

      'Checco, are you hurt?' asked Matteo.

      'No; my coat of mail!'

      'Thank God you had it on! I saw you stagger.'

      'It was the blow. At first I did not know whether I was hurt or not.'

      'What is it? What is it?'

      The neighbours surrounded us.

      'They have tried to murder Checco! Checco d'Orsi!'

      'My God! Is he safe?'

      'Who has done it?'

      All eyes were turned to the four men, each one lying heaped up on the ground, with the blood streaming from his wounds.

      'They are dead!'

      'Footpads!' said Ercole; 'they wanted to rob you, and did not know you were accompanied.'

      'Footpads! Why should footpads rob me this night?' said Checco. 'I wish they were not dead.'

      'Look, look!' said a bystander, 'there is one moving.'

      The words were hardly out of the man's mouth before one of Ercole's soldiers snatched up his dagger and plunged it in the man's neck, shouting,—

      'Bestia!'

      A tremor went through the prostrate body, and then it was quite still.

      'You fool!' said Matteo, angrily. 'Why did you do that?'

      'He is a murderer,' said the soldier.

      'You fool, we wanted him alive, not dead. We could have found out who hired him.'

      'What do you mean?' said Ercole. 'They are common robbers.'

      'Here is the guard,' cried someone.

      The guard came, and immediately there was a babel of explanation. The captain stepped forward, and examined the men lying on the ground.

      'They are all dead,' he said.

      'Take them away,' said Ercole. 'Let them be put in a church till morning.'

      'Stop!' cried Checco. 'Bring a light, and let us see if we can recognise them.'

      'Not now, it is late. To-morrow you can do what you like.'

      'To-morrow it will be later, Ercole,' answered Checco. 'Bring a light.'

      Torches were brought, and thrust into the face of each dead man. Everyone eagerly scrutinised the features, drawn up in their last agony.

      'I don't know him.'

      Then to another.

      'No.'

      And the other two also were unknown. Checco examined the face of the last, and shook his head. But a man broke out excitedly,—

      'Ah! I know him.'

      A cry from us all.

      'Who is it?'

      'I know him. It is a soldier, one of the Count's guard.'

      'Ah!' said Matteo and Checco, looking at one another. 'One of the Count's guard!'

      'That is a lie,' said Ercole. 'I know them all, and I have never seen that face before. It is a footpad, I tell you.'

      'It is not. I know him well. He is a member of the guard.'

      'It is a lie, I tell you.'

      'Ercole is doubtless right,' said Checco. 'They are common thieves. Let them be taken away. They have paid a heavy price for their attempt. Good-night, my friends. Good-night, Ercole, and thanks.'

      The guard took hold of the dead men by the head and by the feet, and one after another, СКАЧАТЬ