South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) by Norman Douglas (great novels to read txt) 📖

Chapter 34

 

 

 

 

All The Traditions Of His Race,  The Uprightness Of Ages Of Decent

Law-Abiding Culture,  The Horror Of The Pure For What Is Impure Rebelled

Against This Thing Which Nothing But The Testimony Of His Own Eyes

Could Have Made Him Believe. He Felt Humiliated,  As Though He Had

Received A Blow; Inclined To Slink About And Hide His Face From Other

Men. There Was Contamination In The Mere Fact Of Having Been A Witness.

Oh,  It Was Villainous. How Carefully The Hour And Place Had Been

Chosen!

 

And He Himself,  During That Evening Walk,  Had Given Her The Idea. He

Had Said How Easily A Man Could Be Thrown Over At That Spot. Very

Simple. . . .

 

His Mind Would Clear Up,  Maybe,  In Course Of Time. Meanwhile He

Remembered About Retlow-Aliasmuhlen. It Came To Him In A Flash. The Man

Was His Cousin's First Husband; Possibly Her Only Legal Husband,  Seeing

That She May Not Have Been Able To Secure Sufficient Evidence Against

Him To Justify A Divorce--Had,  Indeed,  Lost Sight Of The Scoundrel

Altogether For Several Years Prior To Her Elopement With Young Meadows.

It Might Well Be That Muhlen Had Heard Somehow Or Other Of Her Presence

On Nepenthe,  And Gone There For The Purpose Of Renewing Acquaintance

With Her. But This Foul Crime! For It Cannot Have Been A Sudden Impulse

On Her Part. She Had Been Playing With Him--Leading Him On. His Visits

To The Old Town,  At That Quiet Hour Of The Day. . . . No. She Had

Carried Out Her Infamous Plan After Ample Premeditation.

 

Mr. Heard Stayed At Home,  Burdened With A Hideous Secret. Practical

Questions Began To Assail Him. What Should He Do? Wait! He Concluded.

Something Would Be Sure To Turn Up. He Was Too Dazed To Think Clearly,

As Yet. He Also Disliked That Fellow. But One Does Not Murder A Man

Because One Happens To Dislike Him. One Does Not Murder A Man . . .

Foolish Words,  That Kept On Repeating Themselves In His Mind.

 

To Pardon--Yes. Mr. Heard Could Pardon To Any Extent. The Act Of

Pardoning: What Did It Imply? Nothing More Than That Poor Deluded

Mortals Were Ever In Need Of Sympathy And Guidance. Anybody Could

Pardon. To Pardon Was Not Enough For A Man Of Mr. Heard's Ruthless

Integrity. He Must Understand. How Understand,  How Interpret,  A

Dastardly Deed Like This? What Could Her Motives Have Been? Of What Act

Of Proposal Could The Man Have Been Guilty To Merit,  Even In Her Eyes,

A Fate Such As This? For Evidently,  One Does Not Murder A Man Because

One Happens To Dislike Him--

 

Denis Came To Enquire,  In The Course Of The Morning. He Was Anxious To

Know How The Bishop Was Feeling After Yesterday's Attack Of Sunstroke.

 

"I Have Been Blaming Myself Bitterly For Dragging You Out," He Began.

"I--Really--"

 

"Don't Think About It! I Shall Be Better Soon. I'll Remain Indoors

To-Day."

 

"You Are Not Looking Quite Yourself Just Yet. What A Fool I Was! I

Can't Tell You How Sorry I Am."

 

"Not Worth Talking About. You'll Stay To Luncheon?"

 

The News Of Muhlen's Disappearance Was Spread About That Same Evening,

And Created No Surprise Whatever. Foreigners Had A Knack Of Coming To

The Island And Mysteriously Vanishing Again; It Was Quite The Regular

Thing To Run Up Accounts All Around And Then Clear Out. Hotel-Keepers,

Aware Of This Idiosyncrasy On The Part Of Distinguished Guests,

Arranged Their Scale Of Charges Accordingly; They Made The Prices So

High That The Honest Paid For The Dishonest,  As With English Tailors.

The Other Tradespeople Of The Place--The Smiling Confectioner,  The

Simple-Minded Bootmaker And Good-Natured Stationer,  The Ever-Polite

Hosier--They All Worked On The Same Principle. They Recouped Themselves

By Fleecing The More Ingenuous Of Their Clients.

 

In The Case Of Muhlen's Occultation There Was Even Less Surprise Than

Usual. Everybody,  Judging By His Lavish Display Of Gold And Showy

Manner,  Expected Him To Depart Sooner Or Later In The Orthodox

Manner--At Night-Time,  By Means Of A Sailing Boat Secretly Hired,

Conscientiously Prepaid. His More Intimate Friends,  The Magistrate And

The Commissioner,  Were Less Surprised Than Anyone Else. True,  Signore

Malipizzo Was Somewhat Hurt,  Because Muhlen Had Practically Invited Him

To Stay At His Own Native Town Where Every Kind Of Amusement Was To Be

Had,  The Female Society Being Of The Choicest. Exuberant Women--And

Rich! It Would Have Been A Pleasant Change After The Trim But Tedious

Gardens Of Salsomaggiore. He Had Strong Homes,  However,  Of Receiving A

Letter From Some Safe Place Outside The Dominions,  Making An

Appointment For The Holidays. For Form's Sake,  Of Course,  He Promptly

Initiated The Ordinary Judicial Enquiries. It Would Look Well In The

Records Of The Court.

 

As For Mr. Parker,  Who Was Brooding In The Retirement Of His Villa

Whither The News Had Swiftly Spread,  He Merely Thought:

 

"Got Off Scot Free. And Without Paying His Club Account,  I'll Bet.

Bolted. Lucky Devil. That's Where The Casual Visitor Has The Pull Over

A Resident Official Like Myself. Cleared Out! I'm Glad I Never Had Any

Money To Lend Him. Touched A Good Few Of Them,  I'll Be Bound."

 

Within An Hour Or So Of The Magistrate's Formal Enquiries Led To A

Startling Discovery. Muhlen's Room In The Hotel Was Broken Open,  And

His Property Searched. No Letters Could Be Found Conveying Any Clue As

To His Whereabouts. But--What Was Almost Incredible--There Was Loose

Money Lying About. A More Minute Investigation Proved That The

Gentleman Had Dressed Himself With Considerable Care Prior To Leaving

The Establishment For The Last Time. He Had Changed His Socks And Other

Underwear--Yes,  He Had Donned A Clean Shirt. The Old One,  Blue-Striped,

Which He Had Been Seen To Wear At Breakfast,  Was Lying Negligently

Across The Back Of A Chair With A Pair Of Costly Enameled Links,  Of

Azure Colour To Match,  In The Cuffs. Moreover,  In A Small Box Hidden

Beneath Some Collars In A Drawer Were Found A Few Foreign Bank-Notes,  A

Ring Or Two,  And A Handful Of Gold Coins Such As He Was In The Habit Of

Carrying About His Person. The Judge,  Who Superintended The Researches,

Caused These Valuables To Be Impounded,  Sealed,  And Deposited In The

Court Of Justice.

 

The Discovery Put A Fresh And Ominous Complexion On The Affair. When A

Man Means To Bolt,  He Does Not Leave Portable Jewelry--An Enameled Pair

Of Links--Behind Him. And Even If,  In The Hurry And Scurry Of Departure,

He Does Overlook Such Elegant Trifles,  He Never Forgets To Take His

Money; Least Of All A Man Like Muhlen.

 

A Lengthy Deposition Was Signed By The Hotel Proprietor. It Set Forth,

In Reference To Muhlen's General Habits,  That This Gentleman Had

Hitherto Not Attended To His Account; He Had Not Been Urgently Pressed

For A Settlement. One Did Not Like To Incommode Foreign Visitors With

Bills; It Annoyed Them So Much That They Sometimes Migrated To Other

Hotels And Made Debts There,  Debts Which In Certain Unexpected Cases

Were Liquidated In Full While The Former And Equally Legitimate Ones

Remained Unpaid--Which Was Disheartening. In Regard To His Recent Mode

Of Life,  The Document Contained The Suggestive Fact That Muhlen Had Not

Taken His Midday Meal At The Hotel For Some Time Past. He Was Strangely

Fond Of Going Out In The Late Mornings,  The Proprietor Averred; It

Might Be,  To Bathe; He Returned At About Five In The Afternoon After

Lunching,  Presumably,  In Some Small Restaurant By The Shore.

 

This Declaration,  Signed By A Respected Citizen,  Soon Leaked Into

Publicity. Taken In Conjunction With The Discovery Of His Money It Was

An Eye-Opener To The Whole Community,  And To Nobody More Than To The

Judge Himself. Signor Malipizzo Argued,  With His Usual Penetration,

That Muhlen Had Intended To Return To His Quarters As He Had Always

Done Of Late. The Animus Revertendi Was Abundantly Proven By The

Sleeve-Links And Loose Cash. He Had Not Returned. Ergo,  Something

Untoward Had Happened. Untoward Things May Be Divided,  For The Sake Of

Convenience,  Into Two Main Classes,  Sections,  Or Categories:

 

1. Accidents.

2. Foul Play.

 

Which Was It?

 

Signor Malipizzo Dismissed As Untenable The Hypothesis Of A Clandestine

Withdrawal From Local Creditors. By Way Of Clearing Up The Last Vestige

Of Doubt,  However,  And Also For The Sake Of Appearances (Seeing That A

Wise Magistrate Is Supposed To Take Nothing For Granted) He Called For

Depositions For The Sailors And Fishermen. It Was A Superfluous Piece

Of Work,  A Pure Formality; He Knew Beforehand What They Would Say. They

Always Said The Same Thing. They Said It. Interrogated On Oath They

Declared,  One And All,  That No Person Answering To The Description Of

Muhlen Had Appeared On The Beach For A Long Time; Not For The Last

Eight Months And Twelve Days,  To Be Quite Accurate; Much Less Had Such

A One Engaged A Vessel. The Jovial But Conservative Sea-Folk Never

Varied Their Utterance On Those Many Solemn Occasions When A Foreigner,

For The Purpose Of Evaporating,  Paid In Advance For The Hire Of A Boat,

Or Was Supposed To Have Done So. Albeit Even Ignorant People Attached

No Significance To This Statement,  It Went For What It Was Worth As

Cumulative Evidence.

 

The Sight Of That Loose Cash Would Have Been Quite Enough For A Man Of

Signor Malipizzo's Discernment. Muhlen Had Not Bolted. Nor Was He The

Kind Of Man To Lose His Life By An Accident. Not He! Muhlen Was Careful

Of His Skin. Ergo,  His Disappearance Was Due To Something Which Came

Under The Second Class,  Section,  Or Category. He Had Been Done Away

With.

 

The Magistrate,  Thinking Of Those Summer Holidays,  Began To Be Really

Vexed; So Did Mr. Parker,  Who Soon Learned The Result Of These

Enquiries And Regretted That His Mourning Retirement Prevented Him From

Issuing Forth And Telling Everybody What He Thought Of This New

Disgraceful Scandal. His English Blood Revolted At The Idea Of A

Harmless Tourist,  A Prominent Member Of The Alpha And Omega Club,  Being

Callously Murdered. Would These People Never Get Civilized? He Was Glad

To Hear,  At All Events,  That The Judge Was Doing Something.

 

Signor Malipizzo Was Doing A Good Deal. He Meant To Sift The Thing To

The Bottom. His Energy,  Hitherto Simulated,  Was Now Set Genuinely At

Work To Discover Indications Of The Murderer--Indications Of His Missing

Friend. But Nepenthe Is Not A Good Place For Finding Corpses. The

Island Is Full Of Fathomless Rents And Fissures. A Good Many

Foreigners,  Especially Such As Were Known To Carry Loose Gold In Their

Pockets,  Had Been Suspected Of Falling Into Them Without Leaving A

Trace Behind. Yet A Thorough Search Was Instituted,  For He Knew That

Criminals Were Not Always As Clever As They Thought Themselves; Some

Insignificant Relic Might Turn Up--A Shred Of Clothing Or So Forth. Such

Things Were Occasionally Picked Up On Nepenthe; Nobody Knew To Whom

They Belonged. The Cave Of Mercury,  On Being Searched,  Yielded Nothing

But A Trouser Button,  Apparently Of English Manufacture. Enquiries Were

Also Made As To When The Ill-Starred Gentleman Had Last Been Seen,  And

Where. Finally,  The Judge Drew Up A List,  A Fairly Long List,  Of All

The Suspicious Characters On The Place With A View To Placing Them

Under Lock And Key,  In Expectation Of Further Developments. Such Was

The Customary Procedure; One Must Assume The Worst. If Innocent,  They

Might Of Course Regain Their Liberty In A Year Or Two.

 

It Stands To Reason That A Good Many People Had Noticed Muhlen On The

Morning Of His Disappearance. One Cannot Walk About Nepenthe At That

Hour Of The Day Without Being Seen,  And Muhlen Was Sufficiently

Conspicuous. But Everyone Knew What Was In Store For Him If He Admitted

Such A Fact,  To Wit,  An Application Of Paragraph 43 Of The 92nd Section

Of The Code Of Criminal Procedure,  According To Which Any And Every

Witness Of This Kind Is Liable To Be Segregated From His Family And

Kept Under Arrest For An Indefinite Length Of Time,  Pending The

Instruction Of A Trial Which Might Take Half A Century. Nobody,

Therefore,  Was Fool Enough To Admit Having Encountered Him--Nobody Save

A Half-Witted Youth Who Fatuously Confided To A Policeman That The Had

Met The Gentleman Somewhere In The Neighbourhood Of The Bibliographer's

Villa About The Hour Of Midday. Under Ordinary Circumstances