Suddenly I became intensely alive to the whole situation.Ibounded back, closed the door of Blunt's room, and the next moment was speaking to the Italian."A little patience." My hands trembled but I managed to take down the chain and as I allowed the door to swing open a little more I put myself in his way.He was burly, venerable, a little indignant, and full of thanks.Behind him his two girls, in short-skirted costumes, white stockings, and low shoes, their heads powdered and earrings sparkling in their ears, huddled together behind their father, wrapped up in their light mantles.One had kept her little black mask on her face, the other held hers in her hand.
The Italian was surprised at my blocking the way and remarked pleasantly, "It's cold outside, Signor." I said, "Yes," and added in a hurried whisper: "There is a dead man in the hall." He didn't say a single word but put me aside a little, projected his body in for one searching glance."Your daughters," I murmured.
He said kindly, "Va bene, va bene." And then to them, "Come in, girls."There is nothing like dealing with a man who has had a long past of out-of-the-way experiences.The skill with which he rounded up and drove the girls across the hall, paternal and irresistible, venerable and reassuring, was a sight to see.They had no time for more than one scared look over the shoulder.He hustled them in and locked them up safely in their part of the house, then crossed the hall with a quick, practical stride.When near Senor Ortega he trod short just in time and said: "In truth, blood"; then selecting the place, knelt down by the body in his tall hat and respectable overcoat, his white beard giving him immense authority somehow."But - this man is not dead," he exclaimed, looking up at me.With profound sagacity, inherent as it were in his great beard, he never took the trouble to put any questions to me and seemed certain that I had nothing to do with the ghastly sight.
"He managed to give himself an enormous gash in his side," was his calm remark."And what a weapon!" he exclaimed, getting it out from under the body.It was an Abyssinian or Nubian production of a bizarre shape; the clumsiest thing imaginable, partaking of a sickle and a chopper with a sharp edge and a pointed end.A mere cruel-looking curio of inconceivable clumsiness to European eyes.
The old man let it drop with amused disdain."You had better take hold of his legs," he decided without appeal.I certainly had no inclination to argue.When we lifted him up the head of Senor Ortega fell back desolately, making an awful, defenceless display of his large, white throat.
We found the lamp burning in the studio and the bed made up on the couch on which we deposited our burden.My venerable friend jerked the upper sheet away at once and started tearing it into strips.
"You may leave him to me," said that efficient sage, "but the doctor is your affair.If you don't want this business to make a noise you will have to find a discreet man."He was most benevolently interested in all the proceedings.He remarked with a patriarchal smile as he tore the sheet noisily:
"You had better not lose any time." I didn't lose any time.Icrammed into the next hour an astonishing amount of bodily activity.Without more words I flew out bare-headed into the last night of Carnival.Luckily I was certain of the right sort of doctor.He was an iron-grey man of forty and of a stout habit of body but who was able to put on a spurt.In the cold, dark, and deserted by-streets, he ran with earnest, and ponderous footsteps, which echoed loudly in the cold night air, while I skimmed along the ground a pace or two in front of him.It was only on arriving at the house that I perceived that I had left the front door wide open.All the town, every evil in the world could have entered the black-and-white hall.But I had no time to meditate upon my imprudence.The doctor and I worked in silence for nearly an hour and it was only then while he was washing his hands in the fencing-room that he asked:
"What was he up to, that imbecile?"
"Oh, he was examining this curiosity," I said.
"Oh, yes, and it accidentally went off," said the doctor, looking contemptuously at the Nubian knife I had thrown on the table.Then while wiping his hands: "I would bet there is a woman somewhere under this; but that of course does not affect the nature of the wound.I hope this blood-letting will do him good.""Nothing will do him any good," I said.
"Curious house this," went on the doctor, "It belongs to a curious sort of woman, too.I happened to see her once or twice.Ishouldn't wonder if she were to raise considerable trouble in the track of her pretty feet as she goes along.I believe you know her well.""Yes."
"Curious people in the house, too.There was a Carlist officer here, a lean, tall, dark man, who couldn't sleep.He consulted me once.Do you know what became of him?""No."
The doctor had finished wiping his hands and flung the towel far away.
"Considerable nervous over-strain.Seemed to have a restless brain.Not a good thing, that.For the rest a perfect gentleman.
And this Spaniard here, do you know him?""Enough not to care what happens to him," I said, "except for the trouble he might cause to the Carlist sympathizers here, should the police get hold of this affair.""Well, then, he must take his chance in the seclusion of that conservatory sort of place where you have put him.I'll try to find somebody we can trust to look after him.Meantime, I will leave the case to you."
