CHAPTER XVIII.

WHEN STEEL MEETS STEEL.

“At last you have named me!” laughed the mysterious man.

“You wretch!” panted the gondolier. “How dare you again show your face in Venice?”

“I am not showing it very much,” was the cool retort. “Even here, as near as we are, you could not see it well enough to recognize me. By day you might rake the city with a fine comb, and still you would not find me.”

“You are a thief, a murderer, and death will be yours if you are discovered!”

“Never fear, my Reggio,” was the mocking assurance. “I have friends far more powerful than the authorities of this city. My friends are of the Ten.”

“For whom you committed a hundred crimes before you were compelled to flee the country in order to save yourself from the hand of justice. Well might they be your friends!”

“You are very careless in your speech, Tortora,” said the one accused, still with perfect self-possession. “I will take good care of Teresa when you are gone. Trust her to me, my Reggio. In my arms she will be safe.”

“Rather than think she might become yours would I slay her with my own hand!” panted the gondolier. “What have you been doing? You have frightened her!”

“I knocked at the door and asked admission. She should have welcomed me with open arms.”

“I knew you had frightened her. She loathes you, Nicola Mullura.”

“She shall adore me.”

“In her room she has been shuddering and praying since you knocked at the door and demanded admission.”

“You shall soothe her and tell her I have come to take her with me to America, where, in the city of New York, I am already a great man with my people.”

“Never! How have you the impudence to place your feet on these steps! How did you come here?”

“I was brought. When Teresa declined to admit me, I decided to wait until your return, for I knew you were out in the city. I am here. Now we will go in together. You shall leave me with Teresa while you take away the foreigners and return.”

The man spoke as if fully confident that Tortora would comply. The gondolier seemed hesitating, but suddenly he cried:

“As I must die, I’ll not leave you to torture my sister! The Ten will destroy me, but not until I have killed you, Mullura!”

“He has drawn a knife!” exclaimed Dick, noting as well as possible in the darkness the movements of Reggio.

“It sure is the real thing now!” said Buckhart.

“Terrible!” groaned Professor Gunn. “Where are the authorities? It should be stopped!”

Mullura had watched closely, and now he lost not a second in whipping out his own knife.

“Fool!” he sneered. “You are no match for me! I shall kill you, and save the Ten a task!”

Tortora held his knife at arm’s length toward the sky, as if invoking the assistance of a higher power. Then he started up the steps.

“Fair play!” cried Dick Merriwell, springing from the gondola. “If we can’t stop this business, Brad, we can see fair play!”

“You bet your boots!” roared the Texan, following promptly.

The professor called to them in the greatest consternation, but they did not heed his appeals.

Mullura waited for Tortora to come within reach. Being higher up, he had the advantage.

Suddenly the gondolier darted to one side and sprang up the steps until he was on a level with the other man. Mullura tried to prevent this, but he was not quick enough. He leaped forward, striking at the gondolier.

Reggio flung up his hand and warded the blow, the knives clinking as they met and rasping as they parted with a twist.

The gondolier gave the other a swing and then struck under like a flash, but Mullura leaped backward and escaped.

The struggle that followed was of a silent, deadly sort.

Dick and Brad pressed near to watch, but did not try to interfere between the men.

Suddenly a door was flung open and a fan of light flared out upon the steps. In the open doorway, holding a lighted candle above her head, was a girl.

Both Dick and Brad gasped as they saw her, for they were struck with the fact that she was wonderfully beautiful. She was not more than seventeen, with eyes and hair as dark as deepest midnight. Her features were finely molded.

The girl’s face was very pale and her lips were parted. She made a wonderful picture as she stood there peering out at the fighting men.

The light of the candle enabled the men to see how to get at each other. Mullura cried:

“He forced it on me, Teresa! I do not wish to kill him, but now it is his life or mine!”

Saying which he crouched at a little distance. He sprang forward on the steps, made a false thrust with his knife that bore a dark stain, then plunged beneath the arm Reggio flung up.

It seemed that the gondolier would be cut to death in a moment, but he made a lucky clutch with his empty hand, and caught the wrist of his enemy, partly checking and turning the blow. He was wounded slightly.

Baffled in that manner, Mullura had the misfortune to slip on the steps while within the reach of Tortora. Before he could recover and save himself, the latter plunged the knife into his shoulder.

The stricken man broke the hold of the other, but up went one of his arms, and he reeled down the steps, on which his knife clanged, having fallen from his hand.

Reggio followed. His back was toward the light, but his manner was that of one who means to finish a task not yet accomplished.

Mullura tried to rise to his feet. He scrambled up, saw Tortora right upon him, leaped back, again lost his footing, and, a moment later, plunged with a great splash into the water.

The gondolier followed to the edge of the water, where he crouched, bloody knife in hand, watching for the man he hated to rise to the surface.

The water was ruffled and broken, but the ripples were caused by the man who had vanished, and they grew less and less. The head of Mullura did not rise into view.

“I opine the gent is done for,” muttered Brad Buckhart, finding his voice at last.

“I believe he is,” said Dick, speaking with an effort. “If so, he met his just due.”

“Nary dispute to make on that, pard.”

There was something of disappointment in Reggio’s manner as he rose to his feet.

“I wished to see him dead,” he muttered. “Still, I know he is done, and he will never touch Teresa with his vile hands.”

“I reckon he’s gone, all right, Reg,” said Brad; “but so is your gondola. It’s disappeared, and Professor Gunn has disappeared with it. Pard, we’re kind of left here, I judge.”

Already Dick had discovered that the gondola was gone.

With it had vanished the possibility of their immediately leaving the place by water, as they had reached it.

“We’re stranded, Brad,” said Dick.

They called to Professor Gunn, but there was no answer.

“Courageous old boy!” muttered the Texan, with a show of anger.

“I don’t know that we can blame him much,” said Dick, seeking an excuse. “He’s very nervous, and the spectacle of Reggio and his antagonist fighting like tigers for their lives must have caused him to lose his head.”

“Oh, he’s all right,” said Brad hastily—“he’s all right when he doesn’t tell people how brave he is.”

In the meantime Reggio was reassuring his sister, who had seemed quite horrified by the spectacle of her brother engaged in the deadly struggle with Nicola Mullura. He placed his arm about her supportingly, speaking soft words into her ear. She was white, and the candle in her hand trembled violently.

“What can we do, Reggio?” questioned Dick, in very poor Italian. “The professor is gone, and the gondola with him.”

“Come in da house,” invited the gondolier, abandoning his own tongue for the time being. “Spik da English-a to me-a. I understand-a heem vera much-a well.”

“But he can’t understand your talk, pard,” chuckled Buckhart. “That’s a horse on you.”

“I suppose we had better accept his invitation. We can’t stay out here.”

“Sure—we’ll accept it,” nodded the Texan.

So they followed Reggio and his sister into the house, the door being closed behind them. They mounted some stairs, threaded a passage of several angles, and came to a lighted room.

“Teresa,” said Reggio, “I introduce-a you my ’Merican friends. They very fine-a gentleman.”

“Wow!” muttered Brad. “Our gondolier calls us his friends, pard!”

Reggio seemed to catch the meaning of Buckhart’s low-spoken words, which were not intended for his ears, for he straightened up with an air of pride, quickly saying:

“You hear me tell-a Nicola Mullura my ancestor they belong-a to da Castellani. Mebbe you no understand-a me? I spik to him in da Italian. I poor gondolier now. My family good one. Da blood-a of da gentleman run here in me-a. I no tell-a it ev’rybody. What da use? I tell-a you now. Da Mullura blood vera bad—vera bad. Da Mullura belong-a to da Nicolletti—common class-a. My sist’ she fine-a lady.”

This was said with considerable effort, and suddenly Dick began to understand that this Venetian gondolier really believed himself and his sister of greater distinction than most of the foreigners he rowed about the city in his boat. Indeed, there was something that carried the impression that Reggio really believed he was unbending and bestowing on them a favor by permitting them to meet his sister.

“No offense, Reg, old man,” said Brad, in his frank, Western way. “I can tell that your sister is an aristocrat by looking at her. You don’t have to explain that any to me. She is all right, and so are you. I certain admire the way you polished off old Mul, out on the front steps. All the same, I didn’t think you had cooked his hash when you sheathed your knife in his dirty hide, and it was a surprise for the Unbranded Maverick of the Rio Pecos when he failed to rise to the surface after going in for that little swim.”

“His shoulder,” said Reggio; “I strike-a him in da shoulder. He no swim-a.”

“Well, it was a right fine job, Reg.”

The gondolier now questioned his sister in Italian, and she told him how she had endured terror while Mullura was outside the door, on which he knocked and knocked, demanding admittance. At first, on hearing his rapping, she took a candle and crept down to the door, asking who was there. He answered, saying it was a friend from her brother; but she recognized his voice, and fled back to her room, where she remained, praying that the door would not yield until her brother returned. After a time he ceased to knock, and she hoped he had departed. Still, knowing how bitterly he hated Reggio, she feared he was waiting to attack him at the door, and therefore she had given the danger signal by flashing the light when she heard her brother’s whistle.

Reggio explained how Mullura had attempted to force his attentions upon Teresa. He was a reckless character in Venice at the time, with a very black reputation, and the girl had shrunk from him with the greatest aversion.

On discovering that Teresa feared him, the fellow became more and more persistent in his annoying attentions. At last he insulted her, and then, burning with fury, Reggio sought the scoundrel, intending to kill him. They fought, but were separated before either had been harmed.

Then and there Mullura swore to obtain possession of Teresa and to kill Reggio if he lifted a hand to prevent it.

But directly after that the authorities obtained conclusive evidence that Mullura had been concerned in a number of crimes, the most dastardly being a cold-blooded murder. The fellow was forced to flee from Venice, much to the relief of both Reggio and Teresa. He emigrated to America, but sent back word that some day he would return and secure Teresa, in spite of herself and her brother.

All this was explained in a broken manner to the boys, upon which Brad cried:

“Good riddance to old Nic! You won’t have to worry about him any more, Reg. Both you and your sister are safe.”

“No, no!” muttered the man, a dark shadow coming to his face. “Nicola Mullura gone-a, but I have-a da iron ring-a.”

At this Teresa, who understood a little English, gave a cry and caught her brother by the arm. In Italian she plied him with questions. At first he tried to put her off, but his manner added to her alarm, and she insisted that he should tell her the truth.

“I have-a to tell-a her!” he murmured sadly. “Mebbe bet’ tell-a her now. She find-a out prit soon, best I can-a do.”

Then he took her in his arms, looking sadly and lovingly down into her upturned face.

“Little sister,” he said in soft Italian, “my heart is sore, for it is true that the Ten have placed the death seal upon me.”

She cried out in horror, clutching him and clinging to him.

“No, no, no! Oh, Reggio, my brother, my dear, good brother, why should they do it? It cannot be true!”

“You know, little sister, that a Tortora never stained his hand with crime. The Ten live and grow fat on the proceeds of crime. Every man who fails to contribute his share of loot at their command is sure in the end to get the iron ring. When that happens, unless he is able to flee from Venice at once, he is doomed to die. I have no money. I cannot flee. The ring was tossed at my feet. Within twenty-four hours from the time it fell there I shall be dead. Poor, little Teresa! What will become of you?”

She put her slender arms round him and clung to him with fierce affection, as if she would in some manner protect him from the black peril that threatened. Again and again she cried that it could not be, this terrible thing. She drew him down, wound her arms about his neck and kissed him.

“Brad,” said Dick, in a husky voice, “we must save Tortora somehow.”

“Right you are, partner!” agreed the Texan heartily. “I was thinking of that some before getting a look at his sister; and I am thinking it a heap sight more since. However are we going to do it?”

“We must get him out of Venice before the blow is struck by the Terrible Ten.”

“Or take to the warpath and chaw up the Terrible Ten. That would suit me a heap better.”

“That’s out of the question. The only way is to smuggle Reggio out of Venice. I have a way. The fishing boats! They start out for the fishing grounds of the open sea before daybreak. We must find a man who, for a sufficient bribe, will hide Reggio aboard his boat, take him out of the city, and keep him until we can get along with a little steamer. It will cost a lot of money, but what is money when a human life is in the balance!”

Reggio had been listening to Dick’s words. He now put his sister gently aside, turning to the boy, placed his hands on Merriwell’s shoulders, and spoke with deep feeling:

“A thousand times I thank-a you, my frien’! You good-a, kind-a! No use to try. No do-a it.”

“Why not?”

The gondolier explained that in all Venice there was not one fisherman who would dare smuggle him away on learning that he had been condemned by the Ten, and had been given the iron ring. The man who did it would be assassinated in less than a day and a night after his return to the city.

“But why tell him that you have received the ring?” asked Dick.

For a moment Reggio’s face brightened, and then the shadow returned and settled upon it.

“Would you hav-a me getta poor feesh’man killed?” he asked. “That what come-a to him. You gent’man-a. You save-a me from da Ten, but you gitta da in’cent man-a kill.”

“Well, that sure takes the prize!” muttered Brad. “I’ll never say again that a dago has no sense of real honor and justice. How many men would think of that? What would they care? To escape they would be willing to sacrifice a dozen innocent men. Pard, it sure is a whole lot amazing!”

Dick agreed that it was. Then he talked earnestly with Reggio, seeking to discover or invent some plan by which the escape could be contrived.

The gondolier insisted that all efforts were useless. Never had any man placed beneath the ban of the Ten escaped. He seemed to think the power of the Ten was almost infinite. In the old days the Council of Ten had possessed unlimited power, but even the original council, it seemed, had not been more dreaded than were the Ten of modern times.

At last Reggio said:

“You want-a do somet’ing for me-a? Good! You have-a da mon’. You honorable gent’man-a. See my little sister? I leave-a her all ’lone in da worl’. You take-a her to ’Merica? Over dere, in da cit’ of New York-a live one Antonio Melino. He know-a me—know-a my father—know-a my sister. You take-a her to him; he take-a care of her. What you say to dat?”

“It shall be done!” cried Dick.

Then, of a sudden, came a loud hammering on the door at the foot of the stairs, heavy blows that resounded crashingly through that part of the building.

“They have come!” said Reggio, in Italian.