 Section 22 of Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories. Volume 4. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Karen Savage. Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories. Volume 4 by Julian Horfinn, Editor. Section 22, The Nail, by Pedro de Alarcon. Part 1. The thing which is most ardently desired by a man who steps into a stagecoach, bent upon a long journey, is that his companions may be agreeable, that they may have the same tastes, possibly the same vices, be well educated, and know enough not to be too familiar. When I opened the door of the coach, I felt fearful of encountering an old woman suffering with the asthma, an ugly one who could not bear the smell of tobacco smoke, one who gets seasick every time she rides in a carrot, and little angels who are continually yelling and screaming for God knows what. Sometimes you may have hoped to have a beautiful woman for a travelling companion. For instance, a widow of twenty or thirty years of age, let us say thirty-six, whose delightful conversation will help you pass away the time. But if you ever had this idea, as a reasonable man you would quickly dismiss it, for you know that such good fortune does not fall to the lot of the ordinary mortal. These thoughts were in my mind when I opened the door of the stagecoach at exactly eleven o'clock on a stormy night of the autumn of eighteen forty-four. I had ticket number two, and I was wondering who number one might be. The ticket agent had assured me that number three had not been sold. It was pitch dark within. When I entered I said, good evening, but no answer came. The devil, I said to myself, is my travelling companion deaf, dumb or asleep? Then I said in a louder tone, good evening, but no answer came. All this time the stagecoach was whirling along, drawn by ten horses. I was puzzled. Who was my companion? Was it a man? Was it a woman? Who was the silent number one? And whoever it might be, why did he or she not reply to my courteous salutation? It would have been well to have lit a match, but I was not smoking then and had none with me. What should I do? I concluded to rely upon my sense of feeling, and stretched out my hand to the place where number one should have been, wondering whether I would touch a silk dress or an overcoat. But there was nothing there. At that moment, a flash of lightning, herald of a quickly approaching storm, lit up the night, and I perceived that there was no one in the coach excepting myself. I'd burst out into a roar of laughter, and yet a moment later I could not help wondering what had become of number one. A half hour later we arrived at the first stop, and I was just about to ask the guard who flashed his lantern into the compartment why there was no number one when she entered. In the yellow rays I thought it was a vision—a pale, graceful, beautiful woman, dressed in deep mourning. Here was the fulfilment of my dream, the widow I had hoped for. I extended my hand to the unknown to assist her into the coach, and she sat down beside me murmuring, thank you, sir, good evening. But in a tone that was so sad that it went to my very heart. How unfortunate, I thought! There are only fifty miles between here and Malaga. I wished to heaven this coach were going to Kamchatka. The guard slammed the door, and we were in darkness. I wished that the storm would continue and that we might have a few more flashes of lightning. But the storm didn't. It fled away, leaving only a few pallid stars whose light practically amounted to nothing. I made a brave effort to start a conversation. Do you feel well? Are you going to Malaga? Did you like the Alhambra? You come from Granada? Isn't the night damp? To which question she respectively responded, thanks very well. Yes. No, sir. Yes. Awful. It was quite certain that my travelling companion was not inclined to conversation. I tried to think up something original to say to her, but nothing occurred to me. So I lost myself for the moment in meditation. Why had this woman gotten on the stage at the first stop instead of at Granada? Why was she alone? Was she married? Was she really a widow? Why was she so sad? I certainly had no right to ask her any of these questions, and yet she interested me. How I wished the sun would rise. In the daytime one may talk freely, but in the pitch darkness one feels a certain oppression. It seems like taking an unfair advantage. My unknown did not sleep a moment during the night. I could tell this by her breathing and by her sighing. It is probably unnecessary to add that I did not sleep either. Once I asked her, do you feel ill? And she replied, no, sir, thank you. I beg pardon if I have disturbed your sleep. Sleep, I exclaimed disdainfully. I do not care to sleep. I feared you were suffering. Oh, no! she exclaimed, in a voice that contradicted her words. I am not suffering. At last the sun rose. How beautiful she was. I mean the woman, not the sun. What deep suffering had lined her face and lurked in the depths of her beautiful eyes. She was elegantly dressed, and evidently belonged to a good family. Every gesture bore the imprint of distinction. She was the kind of a woman you expect to see in the principal box at the opera, resplendent with jewels, surrounded by admirers. We breakfasted at Colmenard. After that my companion became more confidential, and I said to myself, when again we enter the coach, Philip, you have met your fate. It's now or never. II I regretted the very first word I mentioned to her regarding my feelings. She became a block of ice, and I lost at once all that I might have gained in her good graces. Still she answered me very kindly. It is not because it is you, sir, who speak to me of love, but love itself is something which I hold in horror. But why, dear lady, I inquired? Because my heart is dead. Because I have loved to the point of delirium, and I have been deceived. I felt that I should talk to her in a philosophic way, and there were a lot of platitudes on the tip of my tongue, but I refrained. I knew that she meant what she said. When we arrived at Malaga she said to me in a tone I shall never forget as long as I live. I thank you a thousand times for your kind attention during the trip, and hope you will forgive me if I do not tell you my name and address. Do you mean then that we shall not meet again? Never. And you especially should not regret it. And then, with a smile that was utterly without joy, she extended her exquisite hand to me and said, Pray to God for me. I pressed her hand and made a low bow. She entered a handsome Victoria which was awaiting her, and as it moved away she bowed to me again. II Once later I met her again. At two o'clock in the afternoon I was jogging along in an old cart on the road that leads to Cordoba. The object of my journey was to examine some land which I owned in that neighbourhood, and pass three or four weeks with one of the judges of the Supreme Court, who was an intimate friend of mine, and had been my schoolmate at the University of Granada. He received me with open arms. As I entered his handsome house I could but note the perfect taste and elegance of the furniture and decorations. Ah, sarco, I said! You have married, and you have never told me about it. Surely this was not the way to treat a man who loved you as much as I do. I am not married. And what is more? I never will marry, answer the judge sadly. I believe that you are not married, dear boy, since you say so, but I cannot understand the declaration that you never will. You must be joking. I swear that I am telling you the truth," he replied. But what a metamorphosis! I exclaimed. You were always a partisan of marriage, and for the past two years you have been writing to me and advising me to take a life partner. Whence this wonderful change, dear friend? Something must have happened to you. Something unfortunate, I fear. To me, answer the judge somewhat embarrassed, yes to you. Something has happened, and you are going to tell me all about it. You live here alone, have practically buried yourself in this great house. Come, tell me everything." The judge pressed my hand. Yes, yes, you shall know all. There is no man more unfortunate than I am. But listen. This is the day upon which all the inhabitants go to the cemetery, and I must be there, if only for form's sake. Come with me. It is a pleasant afternoon, and the walk will do you good after riding so long in that old cart. The location of the cemetery is a beautiful one, and I am quite sure you will enjoy the walk. On our way, I will tell you the incident that ruined my life, and you shall judge yourself whether I am justified in my hatred of women. As together we walked along the flower-bordered road, my friend told me the following story. Two years ago, when I was assistant district attorney, and I obtained permission from my chief to spend a month in Sevilla. In the hotel where I lodged, there was a beautiful young woman who passed for a widow, but whose origin, as well as her reasons for staying in that town, were a mystery to all. Her installation, her wealth, her total lack of friends or acquaintances, and the sadness of her expression, together with her incomparable beauty, gave rise to a thousand conjectures. Her rooms were directly opposite mine, and I frequently met her in the hall, or on the stairway, only too glad to have the chance of bowing to her. She was unapproachable, however, and it was impossible for me to secure an introduction. Two weeks later, fate was to have bored me the opportunity of entering her apartment. I had been to the theatre that night, and when I returned to my room, I thoughtlessly opened the door of her apartment, instead of that of my own. The beautiful woman was reading by the light of the lamp, and started when she saw me. I was so embarrassed by my mistake, that for a moment I could only stammer unintelligible words. My confusion was so evident that she could not doubt for a moment that I had made a mistake. I turned to the door, intent upon relieving her of my presence as quickly as possible, when she said with the most exquisite courtesy, in order to show you that I do not doubt your good faith, and that I am not at all offended, I beg that you will call upon me again intentionally. Three days passed before I got up sufficient courage to accept her invitation. Yes, I was madly in love with her. Acustomed as I am to analyze my own sensations, I knew that my passion could only end in the greatest happiness, or the deepest suffering. However, at the end of the three days I went to her apartment and spent the evening there. She told me that her name was Blanca, that she was born in Madrid, and that she was a widow. She played and sang for me, and asked me a thousand questions about myself, my profession, my family, and every word she said increased my love for her. From that night my soul was the slave of her soul. Yes, and it will be for ever. I called on her again the following night, and thereafter every afternoon and evening I was with her. We loved each other, but not a word of love had ever been spoken between us. One evening she said to me, I married a man without loving him. Shortly after marriage I hated him. Now he is dead. Only God knows what I suffered. Now I understand what love means. It is either heaven or it is hell. For me, up to the present time, it has been hell. I could not sleep that night. I lay awake thinking over these last words of Blancas. Somehow this woman frightened me. Would I be her heaven, and she my hell? My leave of absence expired. I could have asked for an extension pretending illness, but the question was, should I do it? I consulted Blanca. Why do you ask me, she said, taking my hand? Because I love you. Am I doing wrong in loving you? No, she said, becoming very pale. And then she put both arms about my neck, and her beautiful lips touched mine. Well, I asked for another month, and thanks to you, dear friend, it was granted. Never would they have given it to me without your influence. My relations with Blanca were more than love. They were delirium, madness, fanaticism. Call it what you will. Every day my passion for her increased, and the morrow seemed to open up vistas of new happiness. And yet I could not avoid feeling at times a mysterious, indefinable fear. And this I knew she felt as well as I did. We both feared to lose one another. One day I said to Blanca, we must marry as quickly as possible. She gave me a strange look. You wish to marry me? Yes, Blanca, I said. I am proud of you. I want to show you the whole world. I love you, and I want you pure, noble, and saintly as you are. I cannot marry you, answered this incomprehensible woman. She would never give a reason. Finally my leap of absence expired, and I told her that on the following day we must separate. Separate. It is impossible, she exclaimed. I love you too much for that. But you know, Blanca, that I worship you. Then give up your profession. I am rich. We will live our lives out together, she said, putting her soft hand over my mouth to prevent my answer. I kissed the hand, and then gently removing it, I answered, I would accept this offer from my wife, although it would be a sacrifice for me to give up my career. But I will not accept it from a woman who refuses to marry me. Blanca remained thoughtful for several minutes. Then, raising her head, she looked at me and said very quietly, but with a determination which could not be misunderstood, I will be your wife, and I do not ask you to give up your profession. Go back to your office. How long will it take you to arrange your business matters, and secure from the government another leave of absence to return to Sevilla? A month. A month? Well, here I will await you. Return within a month, and I will be your wife. Today is the fifteenth of April. You will be here on the fifteenth of May? You may rest assured of that. You swear it? I swear it. You love me? More than my life. Go then, and return. Farewell. I left on the same day. The moment I arrived home, I began to arrange my house to receive my bride. As you know, I solicited another leave of absence, and so quickly did I arrange my business affairs, that at the end of two weeks I was ready to return to Sevilla. I must tell you that during this fortnight I did not receive a single letter from Blanca, though I wrote her six. I started at once for Sevilla, arriving in that city on the thirtieth of April, and went at once to the hotel where we had first met. I learned that Blanca had left there two days after my departure, without telling anyone her destination. Imagine my indignation, my disappointment, my suffering. She went away without even leaving a line for me, without telling me whether she was going. It never occurred to me to remain in Sevilla until the fifteenth of May, to ascertain whether she would return on that date. Three days later I took up my court work and strove to forget her. A few moments after my friend Sarko finished the story, we arrived at the cemetery. This is only a small plot of ground covered with a veritable forest of crosses, and surrounded by a low stone wall. As often happens in Spain when the cemeteries are very small, it is necessary to dig up one coffin in order to lower another. Those thus disinterred are thrown in a heap in a corner of the cemetery, where skulls and bones are piled up like a haystack. As we were passing, Sarko and I looked at the skulls, wondering to whom they could have belonged, to a rich or poor, noble or plebeian. Suddenly the judge bent down, and picking up a skull exclaimed in astonishment, Look here, my friend, what is this? It is surely a nail. Yes, a long nail had been driven in the top of the skull which he held in his hand. The nail had been driven into the head, and the point had penetrated what had been the roof of the mouth. What could this mean? He began to conjecture, and soon both of us felt filled with horror. I recognize the hand of Providence, exclaimed the judge. A terrible crime has evidently been committed, and would never have come to light had it not been for this accident. I shall do my duty, and will not rest until I have brought the assassin to the scaffold. III My friend Sarko was one of the keenest criminal judges in Spain. Within a very few days he discovered that the corpse to which this skull belonged had been buried in a rough wooden coffin which the gravedigger had taken home with him, intending to use it for firewood. Fortunately the man had not yet burned it up, and on the lid the judge managed to decipher the initials, A-G-R, together with the date of internment. He had at once searched the parochial books of every church in the neighborhood, and a week later found the following entry. In the parochial church of San Sebastián, of the village of, on the Fourth of May, 1843, the funeral rites as prescribed by our holy religion were performed over the body of Don Alfonso Gutierrez Romeral, and he was buried in the cemetery. He was a native of this village, and did not receive the holy sacrament, nor did he confess, for he died suddenly of apoplexy at the age of thirty-one. He was married to Don Agabriela Saara del Valle, a native of Madrive, and left no issue him surviving. The judge handed me the above certificate, duly certified to by the parish priest, and exclaimed, Now everything is as clear as day, and I am positive that within a week the assassin will be arrested. The apoplexy in this case happens to be an iron nail driven into the man's head, which brought quick and sudden death to A-G-R. I have the nail, and I shall soon find the hammer. According to the testimony of the neighbours, Senor Romeral was a young and rich landowner, who originally came from Madrive, where he had married a beautiful wife. Four months before the death of the husband, his wife had gone to Madrive to pass a few months with her family. The young woman returned home about the last day of April, that is, about three months and a half after she had left her husband's residence to go to Madrive. The death of Senor Romeral occurred about a week after her return. The shock caused to the widow by the sudden death of her husband was so great that she became ill and informed her friends that she could not continue to live in the same place where everything recalled to her the man she had lost, and just before the middle of May she had left from Madrive ten or twelve days after the death of her husband. The servants of the deceased had testified that the couple did not live amicably together and had frequent quarrels, that the absence of three months and a half which preceded the last eight days the couple had lived together was practically an understanding that they were to be ultimately separated on account of mysterious disagreements which had existed between them from the date of their marriage. That on the date of the death of the deceased both husband and wife were together in the former's bedroom, that at midnight the bell was rung violently and they heard the cries of the wife, that they rushed to the room and were met at the door by the wife, who was very pale and greatly perturbed, and she cried out, An apoplexy, run for a doctor, my poor husband is dying. That when they entered the room they found their master lying upon a couch, and he was dead. The doctor who was called certified that Senor Romeral had died of cerebral congestion. Three medical experts testified that death brought about as this one had been could not be distinguished from apoplexy. The physician who had been called in had not thought to look for the head of the nail, which was concealed by the hair of the victim, nor was he in any sense to blame for this oversight. The judge immediately issued a warrant for the arrest of Donia Gabriela Sara Del Valle, widow of Senor Romeral. Tell me, I asked the judge one day, do you think you will ever capture this woman? I'm positive of it. Why? Because in the midst of all these routine criminal affairs there occurs now and then what may be termed a dramatic fatality which never fails. To put it in another way, when the bones come out of the tomb to testify there is very little left for the judge to do. In spite of the hopes of my friend, Gabriela was not found. And three months later she was, according to the laws of Spain, tried, found guilty, and condemned to death in her absence. I returned home, not without promising to be with Sarco the following year. CHAPTER VIII. THE NELL. BY PEDRO DE LARCON. CHAPTER IV. That winter I passed in Granada. One evening I had been invited to a great ball given by a prominent Spanish lady. As I was mounting the stairs of the magnificent residence I was startled by the sight of a face which was easily distinguishable even in this crowd of Southern beauties. It was she, my unknown, the mysterious woman of the stagecoach in fact, number one, of whom I spoke at the beginning of this narrative. I made my way toward her, extending my hand in greeting. She recognized me at once. Senora, I said, I have kept my promise not to search for you. I did not know I would meet you here. Had I suspected it I would have refrained from coming for fear of annoying you. Now that I am here, tell me whether I may recognize you and talk to you. I see that you are vindictive, she answered graciously, putting her little hand in mine. But I forgive you. How are you? In truth I don't know. My health, that is, the health of my soul, for you would not ask me about anything else in a ballroom, depends upon the health of yours. What I mean is that I could only be happy if you are happy. May I ask if that wound of the heart which you told me about when I met you in the stagecoach has healed? You know as well as I do that there are wounds which never heal. With a graceful bow she turned away to speak to an acquaintance, and I asked a friend of mine who was passing, can you tell me who that woman is? A South American whose name is Mercedes de Merida Nueva. On the following day I paid a visit to the lady who was residing at that time at the hotel of the Seven Planets. The charming Mercedes received me as if I were an intimate friend, and invited me to walk with her through the wonderful Alhambra, and subsequently to dine with her. During the six hours we were together, she spoke of many things, and as we always returned to the subject of disappointed love, I felt impelled to tell her the experience of my friend, Judge Sarco. She listened to me very attentively, and when I concluded she laughed and said, Let this be a lesson to you not to fall in love with women whom you do not know. Do not think for a moment, I answered, that I have invented this story. Oh, I don't doubt the truth of it. Perhaps there may be a mysterious woman in the hotel of the Seven Planets of Granada, and perhaps she doesn't resemble the one your friend fell in love with in Sevilla. So far as I am concerned, there is no risk of my falling in love with any one, for I never speak three times to the same man. Senora, that is the equivalent to telling me that you refuse to see me again. No. I only wish to inform you that I leave Granada to-morrow, and it is probable that we will never meet again. Never? You told me that during our memorable ride in the stagecoach, and you see that you are not a good prophet. I noticed that she had become very pale. She rose from the table abruptly saying, Well, let us leave that to fate. For my part I repeat that I am bidding you an eternal farewell. She said these last words very solemnly, and then with a graceful bow turned and ascended the stairway which led to the upper story of the hotel. I confess that I was somewhat annoyed at the disdainful way in which she seemed to have terminated our acquaintance, yet this feeling was lost in the pity I felt for her when I noted her expression of suffering. We had met for the last time. Would to God that it had been for the last time. Man proposes, but God disposes. 5. A few days later, business affairs brought me to the town wherein resided my friend Judge Sarco. I found him as lonely and as sad as at the time of my last visit. He had been able to find out nothing about Blanca, but he could not forget her for a moment. Unquestionably this woman was his fate, his heaven or his hell as the unfortunate man was accustomed to saying. We were soon to learn that his judicial superstition was to be fully justified. The evening of the day of my arrival we were seated in his office, reading the last reports of the police, who had been vainly attempting to trace Gabriela, when an officer entered and handed the judge a note which read as follows. In the hotel of the lion there is a lady who wishes to speak to Judge Sarco. Who brought this? asked the judge. A servant. Who sent him? He gave no name. The judge looked thoughtfully at the smoke of his cigar for a few moments, and then said, A woman? To see me? I don't know why, but this thing frightens me. What do you think of it, Philip? That it is your duty as a judge to answer the call, of course. Perhaps she may be able to give you some information in regard to Gabriela. You are right," answered Sarco, rising. He put a revolver in his pocket, threw his cloak over his shoulders, and went out. Two hours later he returned. I saw it once by his face that some great happiness must have come to him. He put his arms about me and embraced me convulsively, exclaiming, Oh, dear friend, if you only knew—if you only knew! But I don't know anything," I answered. What on earth has happened to you? I am simply the happiest man in the world. But what is it? The note that called me to the hotel was from her. But from whom? From Gabriela Sara? Oh, stop such nonsense! Who is thinking of those things now? It was she, I tell you, the other one. In the name of heaven, be calm and tell me whom you are talking about. Who could it be but Blanca, my love, my life? Blanca! I answered with astonishment. But the woman deceived you. Oh, no! That was all a foolish mistake on my part. Explain yourself. Listen. Blanca adores me. Oh, you think she does? Well, go on. When Blanca and I separated on the 15th of April, it was understood that we were to meet again on the 15th of May. Only after I left she received a letter calling her to Madrive on urgent family business, and she did not expect me back until the 15th of May, so she remained in Madrive until the first. But as you know, I, in my impatience, could not wait, and returned fifteen days before I had agreed, and not finding her at the hotel, I jumped to the conclusion that she had deceived me, and I did not wait. I have gone through two years of torment and suffering, all due to my own stupidity. But she could have written you a letter. She said that she had forgotten the address. Ah, my poor friend, I exclaimed. I see that you are striving to convince yourself. Well, so much the better. Now, when does the marriage take place? I suppose that after so long and darker night the son of matrimonial rise radiant. Don't laugh, exclaimed Sarko. You shall be my best man, with much pleasure. Man proposes, but God disposes. We were still seated in the library chatting together when there came a knock at the door. It was about two o'clock in the morning. The judge and I were both startled, but we could not have told why. The servant opened the door, and a moment later a man dashed into the library so breathless from hard running that he could scarcely speak. Good news, Judge! Grand news! he said when he recovered breath. We have won! The man was the prosecuting attorney. Explain yourself, my dear friend, said the judge, motioning him to a chair. What remarkable occurrence could have brought you to hither in such haste, and at this hour of the morning? We have arrested Gavriela Sahara. Arrested her? exclaimed the judge joyfully. Yes, sir, we have her. One of our detectives has been following her for a month. He has caught her, and she is now locked up in a cell of the prison. Then let us go there at once, exclaimed the judge. We will interrogate her to-night. Do me the favour to notify my secretary. Owing to the gravity of the case, you yourself must be present. Also notify the guard who has charge of the head of Señor Romeral. It has been my opinion from the beginning that this criminal woman would not dare deny the horrible murder when she was confronted with the evidence of her crime. And so far as you are concerned, said the judge, turning to me, I will appoint you assistant secretary, so that you can be present without violating the law. I did not answer. A horrible suspicion had been growing within me. A suspicion which, like some infernal animal, was tearing at my heart with claws of steel. Could Gavriela and Blanca be one and the same? I turned to the assistant district attorney. By the way, I asked, where was Gavriela when she was arrested? In the hotel of the lion. My suffering was frightful, but I could say nothing, do nothing, without compromising the judge. Besides, I was not sure. Even if I were positive that Gavriela and Blanca were the same person, what could my unfortunate friend do? Fane a sudden illness? Flee the country? My only way was to keep silent, and let God work it out in his own way. The orders of the judge had already been communicated to the chief of police and the warden of the prison. Even at this hour the news had spread throughout the city, and idlers were gathering to see the rich and beautiful woman who would ascend the scaffold. I still clung to the slender hope that Gavriela and Blanca would not the same person. But when I went toward the prison, I staggered like a drunken man, and was compelled to lean upon the shoulder of one of the officials, who asked me anxiously if I were ill. We arrived at the prison at four o'clock in the morning. The large reception room was brilliantly lighted. The guard, holding a black box in which was the skull of Senor Romeral, was awaiting us. The judge took his seat at the head of the long table. The prosecuting attorney sat on his right, and the chief of police stood by with arms folded. I and the secretary sat on the left of the judge. A number of police officers and detectives were standing near the door. The judge touched his bell and said to the warden, bring in Donya Gavriela Sara. I felt as if I were dying, and instead of looking at the door, I looked at the judge to see if I could read in his face the solution of this frightful problem. I saw him turn livid and clutch his throat with both hands, as if to stop a cry of agony. And then he turned to me with a look of infinite supplication. Keep quiet, I whispered, putting my finger on my lips. And then I added, I knew it. The unfortunate man arose from his chair. Judge, I exclaimed, and in that one word I conveyed to him the full sense of his duty, and of the dangers which surrounded him. He controlled himself and resumed his seat. But were it not for the light in his eyes he might have been taken for a dead man? Yes, the man was dead. Only the judge lived. When I had convinced myself of this, I turned and looked at the accused. Good God! Gavriela Sara was not only Blanca, the woman my friend so deeply loved, but she was also the woman I had met in the stagecoach, and subsequently at Granada, the beautiful South American Mercedes. All these fantastic women had now merged into one, the real one who stood before us, accused of the murder of her husband, and who had been condemned to die. There was still a chance to prove herself innocent. Could she do it? This was my one supreme hope, as it was that of my poor friend. Gavriela—we will call her now by her real name—was deathly pale, but apparently calm. Was she trusting to her innocence or to the weakness of the judge? Our doubts were soon solved. Up to that moment the accused had looked at no one but the judge. I did not know whether she desired to encourage him or menace him, or to tell him that his Blanca could not be an assassin. But noting the impassibility of the magistrate, and that his face was as expressionless as that of a corpse, she turned to the others as if seeking help from them. Then her eyes fell upon me, and she blushed slightly. The judge now seemed to awaken from his stupor, and asked in a harsh voice, What is your name? Gavriela Sara, widow of Romeral, answered the accused in a soft voice. Sarko trembled. He had just learned that his Blanca had never existed. She told him so herself. She, who only three hours before, had consented to become his wife. Fortunately no one was looking at the judge. All eyes being fixed upon Gavriela, whose marvellous beauty and quiet demeanour carried to all an almost irresistible conviction of her innocence. The judge recovered himself. And then, like a man who was staking more than life upon the cast of a dye, he ordered the guard to open the black box. Madam, said the judge sternly, his eyes seeming to dart flames. Approach and tell me whether you recognise this head. At a signal from the judge, the guard opened the black box and lifted out the skull. A cry of mortal agony rang through that room. One could not tell whether it was of fear or of madness. The woman shrank back, her eyes dilating with terror, and screamed, Alfonso, Alfonso! Then she seemed to fall into a stupor. All turned to the judge, murmuring, she is guilty beyond a doubt. Do you recognise the nail which deprived your husband of life, said the judge, arising from his chair, looking like a corpse rising from the grave? Yes, sir, answered Gavriela mechanically. That is to say, you would admit that you assassinated your husband, asked the judge in a voice that trembled with his great suffering. Sir, answered the accused, I do not care to live any more. But before I die I would like to make a statement. The judge fell back in his chair, and then asked me by a look, what is she going to say? I myself was almost stupefied by fear. Gavriela stood before them, her hands clasped, and a faraway look in her large, dark eyes. I am going to confess, she said, and my confession will be my defence, although it will not be sufficient to save me from the scaffold. Listen to me, all of you. Why deny that which is self-evident? I was alone with my husband when he died. The servants and the doctor have testified to this. Hence, only I could have killed him. Yes, I committed the crime, but another man forced me to do it. The judge trembled when he heard these words, but dominating his emotion, he asked courageously, the name of that man, madam, tell us at once the name of the scoundrel. Gavriela looked at the judge with an expression of infinite love, as a mother would look at the child she worshipped, and answered, By a single word I could drag this man into the depths with me, but I will not. No one shall ever know his name, for he has loved me, and I love him. Yes, I love him, although I know he will do nothing to save me. The judge half rose from his chair and extended his hands beseechingly, but she looked at him as if to say, Be careful, you will betray yourself, and it will do no good. He sank back into his chair, and Gavriela continued her story in a quiet, firm voice. I was forced to marry a man I hated. I hated him more after I married him than I did before. I lived three years in Martyrdom. One day there came into my life a man whom I loved. He demanded that I should marry him. He asked me to fly with him to a heaven of happiness and love. He was a man of exceptional character, high and noble, whose only fault was that he loved me too much. Had I told him I have deceived you, I am not a widow, my husband is living. He would have left me at once. I invented a thousand excuses, but he always answered, Be my wife. What could I do? I was bound to a man of the vilest character and habits whom I loathed. Well, I killed this man, believing that I was committing an act of justice. And God punished me, for my lover abandoned me. And now I am very, very tired of life, and all I ask of you is that death may come as quickly as possible. Gavriela stopped speaking. The judge had buried his face in his hands as if he were thinking, but I could see he was shaking like an epileptic. Your honour, repeated Gavriela, grant my request that I may die soon. The judge made a sign to the guards to remove the prisoner. Before she followed them, she gave me a terrible look in which there was more of pride than of repentance. I do not wish to enter into details of the condition of the judge during the following day. In the great emotional struggle which took place, the officer of the law conquered the man, and he confirmed the sentence of death. On the following day the papers were sent to the Court of Appeals, and then Sarco came to me and said, Wait here until I return. Take care of this unfortunate woman, but do not visit her, for your presence would humiliate instead of consoling her. Do not ask me whether I am going, and do not think that I am going to commit the very foolish act of taking my own life. Farewell, and forgive me all the worry I have caused you. Twenty days later the Court of Appeals confirmed the sentence, and Gavriela Sarra was placed in the death cell. The morning of the day fixed for the execution came, and still the judge had not returned. The scaffold had been erected in the centre of the square, and an enormous crowd had gathered. I stood by the door of the prison, for while I had obeyed the wish of my friend that I should not call on Gavriela in her prison, I believed it my duty to represent him in that supreme moment, and accompany the woman he had loved to the foot of the scaffold. When she appeared surrounded by her guards, I hardly recognized her. She had grown very thin, and seemed hardly to have the strength to lift to her lips the small crucifix she carried in her hand. I am here, senora. Can I be of service to you? I asked her as she passed by me. She raised her deep, sunken eyes to mine, and when she recognized me she exclaimed, Oh, thanks! Thanks! This is a great consolation for me in my last hour of life. Father, she added, turning to the priest who stood beside her, may I speak a few words to this generous friend? Yes, my daughter, answered the venerable minister. Then Gavriela asked me, Where is he? He is absent. May God bless him and make him happy. When you see him, ask him to forgive me, even as I believe God has already forgiven me. Tell him I love him yet, although this love is the cause of my death. We had arrived at the foot of the scaffold stairway, where I was compelled to leave her. A tear, perhaps the last one there was in that suffering heart, rolled down her cheek. Once more she said, Tell him that I died blessing him. Suddenly there came a roar like that of thunder. The mass of people swayed, shouted, danced, laughed like maniacs, and above all this tumult one word rang out clearly, pardoned, pardoned. At the entrance to the square appeared a man on horseback galloping madly toward the scaffold. In his hand he waved a white handkerchief, and his voice rang high above the clamor of the crowd, pardoned, pardoned. It was the judge. Reining up his foaming horse at the foot of the scaffold he extended a paper to the chief of police. Gavriela, who had already mounted some of the steps, turned and gave the judge a look of infinite love and gratitude. God bless you, she exclaimed, and then fell senseless. As soon as the signatures and seals upon the document had been verified by the authorities, the priest and the judge rushed to the accused to undo the cords which bound her hands and arms and to revive her. All their efforts were useless, however. Gavriela Saara was dead. End of Section 23. Section 24 of Library of World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories, Volume 4. I know nothing at all about it, Your Honor. Nothing at all. How can that be? It all happened within fifty yards of your shop. Nothing at all. I said it in an off-hand way, but really next to nothing. I am a barber, Your Honor, and heaven be praised. I have custom enough to keep me busy from morning till night. There are three of us in the shop in what was shaving and combing and hair-cutting. Not one of the three of us has time to stop and scratch his head, and I least of all. Many of my customers are so kind as to perform my services to those of my two young men, perhaps because I amused them with my little jokes. And while with lathering and shaving this face and that, combing the hair of so many heads, how does Your Honor expect me to pay attention to other people's affairs? And the morning I read about it in the paper, why, I stood there with my mouth open and I said, well, that was the way it was bound to end. Why did you say that was the way it was bound to end? Why? Because it had ended that way. You see? On the instant, I called to mind the ugly face of the husband. Every time I saw him pass up or down the street, one of those impressions that no one can account for, I used to think, that fellow has the face of a convict. But, of course, that proves nothing. There are plenty who have the bad luck to be uglier than mortal sin, but very worthy people all the same. But in this case I didn't think that I was mistaken. But you were friends. He used to come very often and sit down at the entrance to your barber shop. Very often? Only once in a while, Your Honor. By your leave neighbor, he would say. He always called me neighbor. That was his name for everybody. And I would say, well, certainly, the chair stood there empty. Your Honor understands that I could hardly be so uncivil as to say to him, no, you can't sit down. A barber shop is a public place, like a cafe or a beer saloon. At all events, one may sit down without paying for it, and no need to have a shave or haircut either. By your leave neighbor, and there he would sit in silence, smoking and scowling with his eyes half shut. He would loaf there for half an hour, an hour, sometimes longer. He annoyed me, I don't deny it from the very start. There was a good deal of talk. What sort of talk? A good deal of talk. Your Honor knows better than I how evil minded people are. I make it a practice not to believe a syllable of what I'm told about anyone good or evil. That is the way to keep out of trouble. Come, come. What sort of talk? Keep to the point. What sort of talk? Why, one day they would say this and the next day they would say that. And by harping on it long enough, they made themselves believe that the wife. Well, your honor knows that a pretty wife is a chastisement of God. And after all, there are some things you can't help seeing unless you won't see. Then it was he, the husband. I don't know nothing about it, your honor, nothing at all. But it is quite true that every time he came and sat down by my doorway or inside the shop, I used to say to myself, if that man can't see, he certainly must be blind. And if he won't see, he certainly must be. Your honor knows what I mean. There was certainly no getting out of that out of that. Perhaps your honor can help me to the right word. Dilemma, dilemma. Yes, your honor. And Bayesie, the notary who comes to me to be shaved uses another word that just fits the case begging your honor's pardon. Then according to you, this Don Nicacio, I won't put my finger in the pie. Let him answer for himself. Everyone has a conscious of his own. And Jesus Christ said, Judge not lest you be judged. Well, one morning, or was it in the evening? I don't exactly remember. Yes, now comes back to me that it was in the morning. I saw him passed by scowling with his head bent down. I was in my doorway sharpening a razor. Out of curiosity, I gave him a passing word, as well as a nod, adding a gesture that was as good as a question. He came up to me, looked me straight in the face and answered. Haven't I told you that sooner or later I should do something crazy? And I shall neighbor. Yes, I shall. They are dragging me by the hair. Let me cut it off. Then I answered jokingly to make him forget himself. So he had told you before, had he? How did he happen to tell you before? Oh, your honor knows how would slip out of the mouth at certain moments. Who pays attention to him? For my part, I have too many other things in my head. Come, come. What had he been talking about when he told you before? Great heavens, give me time to think, your honor. What had he been talking about? What about his wife, of course? Who knows? Someone must have put a flea in his ear. It only needs a half a word to run a poor devil's peace of mind. And that is how a man let such words slip out of his mouth as sooner or later I shall do something crazy. That's all. I know nothing else about it, your honor. And the only answer you made him was a joke. I could not say to him, go ahead and do it. Could I? As it was, he went off shaking his head. And what idea he kept brooding over after that? Who knows? One can't see inside another man's brain. But sometimes when I heard him freeing his mind, then he used to free his mind to you. Well, yes, to me and maybe to others besides, you see, one bears things and bears things and bears things. And at last, rather than burst with them, one frees one's mind of the first man who comes along. But you were not the first man who came along. You used to call at his house only as a barber, your honor, only when Don Necasio used to sin for me. And very often I'd get there too late, though I tried my best. And very likely you sometimes went there when you knew that he was not at home. On purpose, your honor. No, never. And when you found his wife alone, you allowed yourself. Calamities, your honor. Who dares say such a thing? Does she say so? It may be that once or twice a few words escaped me in jest. You know how it is. When I found myself face to face with a pretty woman, you know how it is. If only not to cut a foolish figure. But it was very far from a joke. You ended by threatening her. What Calamities? Threatener? What for? A woman of her stamp don't need to be threatened. I would never a stoop so low. I'm no schoolboy. Passion leads men into all sorts of folly. That woman is capable of anything. She would slander out Lord himself to his face. Passion. My age. I'm well on in the Fortis, your honor. And many agree here besides. Many a folly I committed in my youth like everyone else. But now, besides with a woman like that, I was no blind man. Even if Don Necasio was. I knew that that young fella poor fool who paid daily for her. I knew that he had turned her head. That's the way with some women. They go their own gate. They're off with one and on with another. And then they end up becoming the slave of some scallywag who robs and abuses them. He used to beat her, your honor. Many and many a time, your honor. And I for the sake of the poor husband whom I pitted. Yes, that's why she says I threatened her. She says so because I was foolish enough to go and give her a talking to the day that Don Necasio said to me, I shall do something crazy. She knew what I meant. At least she pretended that she did. No, this is what you said. Yes, your honor. I remember now exactly what I said. I'll spoil your sport, I told her, if it sends me to the gallows. But I was speaking in the name of the husband. In the heat of the moment one falls into a pot. The husband knew nothing of all this. Was I to boast to him of what I had done? A friend that gives his services or else he doesn't. That's how I understand it. Why were you so much concerned about it? I ought not to, Ben, your honor. I have too soft a heart. Your threats became troublesome and not threats alone, but promise after promise and gifts besides a ring and a pair of earrings. That is true. I won't deny it. I found them in my pocket quite by chance. They belonged to my wife. It wasn't extravagance, but I did it to keep poor Don Necasio from doing something crazy. If I could only win my point, I told myself, if I could only get that young fellow out of the way, then it would be time enough to say to Don Necasio, my friend, give me back my ring and earrings. He would not have needed to be told twice. He's an honorable man, Don Necasio. But when she answered you, keep them yourself, I don't want them. You began to beg her, almost in tears. Ah, your honor, since you must be told, I don't know how I managed to control myself. I had so completely put myself in the place of the husband. I could have strangled her with my own hands. I could have done that very same crazy thing that Don Necasio thought of doing. Yet you were very prudent. That is evident. You said to yourself, if not for me, then not for him. The lover, I mean, not Don Necasio. Then you began to work upon the husband, who up to that time had let things slide, either because he did not believe, or because he preferred to bear the lesser evil. It may be that some chance were to escape to me. There are times when a man of honor loses his head. But beyond that, nothing, your honor. Don Necasio himself will bear me witness. But Don Necasio says, He too. He has failed me. He has turned against me. A fine way to show his gratitude. He has nothing to be grateful for. Don't excite yourself. Sit down again. You began by protesting that you knew nothing at all about it. And yet you knew so many things. You must know quite a number more. Don't excite yourself. You want to drag me over a precipice, your honor. I begin to understand. Men who are blinded by passion walk over precipices on their own feet. But then your honor imagines that I, myself, I imagine nothing. It is evident that you were the instigator, and something more than the instigator, too. Count me, count me, your honor. That same evening you were seen talking with the husband until quite late. I was trying to persuade him not to. I said to him, Let things alone. Since it's your misfortune to have it so, what difference does it make whether he's the one, or somebody else? And he kept repeating, somebody else, yes, but not that rotten beast. His very words, your honor. You stood at the corner of the adjoining street, lying in wait. Who saw me there? Who saw us, your honor? You were seen. Come, make up your mind to tell all you know. It will be better for you. The woman testifies that there were two of them, but in the dark she could not recognize the other one. Just because I wanted to do a kind act. This is what I have brought on myself by trying to do a kind act. You stood at the street corner. It was like this, your honor. I had gone with him as far as that. But when I saw it was no use to try to stop him. It was striking eleven. The streets were deserted. I started to leave him indignantly, without a parting word. Well, what next? Do I need tongs to drag the words out of your mouth? What next? Why, your honor knows how it is at night, under the lamp light. You see, then you don't see. That's the way it is. I turned around. Don Necasio had plunged through the doorway of his home, just by the entrance to the little lane. A cry and then nothing more. You ran forward. That was quite natural. I hesitated on the threshold. The hallway was so dark. You couldn't have done that. The woman would have recognized you by the light of the street lamp. The lamp is some distance off. You went in one after the other. Which of you shut the door? Because the door was shut immediately. In the confusion of the moment. Two men struggling together. I could hear them gasping. I wanted to call for help. And then a fall. Then I felt myself seized by the arm. Run neighbor run. This is no business of yours. It didn't sound like the voice of a human being. And that was how that was how I happened to be there. A helpless witness. I think that Don Necasio meant to kill his wife too. But the wretched woman escaped. She ran and shut herself up in a room. That is, read so afterwards in the papers. The husband would have been wiser to have killed her first. Evil weeds have better to be torn up by the roots. What are you having that man right, your honor? Nothing at all. As you call it. Just your deposition. The clerk will read it to you now. And you will sign it. Can any harm come to me from it? I'm innocent. I've only said what you want me to say. You have tangled me up in a fine net like a little freshwater fish. Wait a moment. And this is the most important thing of all. How did it happen that the mortal wounds on the dead men's body were made with a razor? Oh, the treachery of Don Necasio. My God, my God. Yes, your honor. Two days before, no one can think of everything. No one can foresee everything. He came to the shop and said to me, neighbor, lend me a razor. I have a corn that is troubling me. He was so matter of fact about it, that I did not hesitate for an instant. I even warned him, be careful, you can't joke with corns. A little blood, and you may start a cancer. Don't borrow trouble, neighbor. He answered, but the razor could not be found. You must have brought it away. I? Who would remember a little thing like that? I was more dead than alive, your honor. Where are you trying to lead me with your questions? I tell you, I'm innocent. Do not deny so obstinately. A frank confession will help you far more than to protest your innocence. The facts speak clearly enough. It is well known how passion maddens the heart and the brain. A man in that state is no longer himself. That is the truth, your honor. That wretched woman bewitched me. She is sending me to the galleys. The more she said no, no, no. The more I felt myself going mad, from head to foot, as if she were pouring fire over me with her no, no, no. But now, I do not want another man to suffer in my place. Yes, I was the one. I was the one who killed him. I was bewitched, your honor. I am willing to go to the galleys. But I am coming back here. If I have the good luck to live through my term. Oh, the justice of this world. To think that she goes scot free. The real and only cause of all the harm. But I will see that she gets justice. That I solemnly swear with these two hands of mine, your honor. In prison, I shall think of nothing else. And if I come back and find her alive, grown old and ugly, it makes no difference. She will have to pay for it. She will have to make good. No, no, no. But I will say yes, yes, yes. And I will drain her last drop of blood if I have to end my days in the galleys. And the sooner, the better. Recording by Darvinia. Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories. Volume four by Julian Hawthorne Editor. Section 25. The Adventure of the Three Robbers by Lucius Apolaus. The great satire of Lucius Apolaus, the work through which his name lives after the lapse of nearly 18 centuries, is the Golden Ass, a romance from which the following passage has been selected and translated for these mystery stories. Lucius, the personage who tells the story, is regarded in some quarters as a portrayal of the author himself. The purpose of the Golden Ass was to satirize false priests and other contemporary frauds. But interspersed are many episodes of adventure and strange situations, one of which is here given. As Telefron reached the point of his story, his fellow revelers, befuddled with their wine, renewed the boisterous uproar. And while the old topers were clamoring for the customary libation to laughter, Berina explained to me that the morrow was a day religiously observed by her city from its cradle up. A day on which they alone among mortals propitiated that most sacred god, Laughter, with hilarious and joyful rites. The fact that you are here, she added, will make it all the merrier, and I do wish that you would contribute something amusing out of your own cleverness in honor of the god, to help us duly worship such an important divinity. Surely, said I, what you ask shall be done, and by jove I hope I shall hit upon something good enough to make this mighty god of yours reveal his presence. Hereupon, my slave reminding me what hour of night it was, I speedily got upon my feet, although none too steadily after my potations, and having duly taken leave of Berina, guided my zigzag steps upon the homeward way. But at the very first corner we turned, a sudden gust of wind blew out the solitary torch on which we depended, and left us plunged in the unforeseen blackness of night, to stumble wearily and painfully to our abode, bruising our feet on every stone in the road. But when at last, holding each other up, we drew near our goal, there ahead of us were three others, of big and brawny build, expending the full energy of their strength upon our doorposts. And far from being in the least dismayed by our arrival, they seemed only fired to a greater zeal, and made assault more fiercely. Quite naturally it seemed clear to us bow, and especially to me, that they were robbers, and of the most dangerous sort. So I forthwith drew the blade which I carry hidden under my cloak for such emergencies, and threw myself, undismayed, into the midst of these highwaymen. One after another, as they successively tried to withstand me, I ran them through, until finally all three lay stretched at my feet, riddled with many a gaping wound through which they yielded up their breath. By this time, Fotus the maid had been aroused by the din of battle, and still panting and perspiring freely, I slipped in through the opening door, and as weary as though I had fought with the three-formed Jyrian, instead of those pugnacious thieves, I yielded myself at one and the same moment, to bed, and to slumber. Soon Rosy-finger to dawn, shaking the purple rains, was guiding her steeds across the path of heaven, and snatched from my untroubled rest, night gave me back to-day. Dismay seized my soul at the recollection of my deeds of the past evening. I sat there crouching on my bed, with my interlaced fingers hugging my knees, and freely gave way to my distress. I already saw in fancy the court, the jury, the verdict, the executioner. How could I hope to find any judge so mild, so benevolent as to pronounce me innocent, soiled as I was with a triple murder, stained with the blood of so many citizens? Was this the glorious climax of my travels that the Chaldean, Afanese, had so confidently predicted for me? Again and again I went over the whole matter, bewailing my hard-locked. Hereupon there came a pounding at our doors, and a steadily growing clamour on the threshold. No sooner was admission given than with an impetuous rush the whole house was filled with magistrates, police, and the motley crowd that followed. Two officers, by order of the police, promptly laid hands upon me and started to drag me off, though resistance was the last thing I should have thought of. By the time we had reached the first cross-street the entire city was already trailing at our heels in an astonishingly dense mass, and I marched gloomily along with my head hanging down to the very earth, I might even say, to the lower regions below the earth. At length, after having made the circuit of every city square, in exactly the way that the victims are led around before a sacrifice meant to ward off evil omens, I was brought into the forum, and made to confront the tribunal of justice. The magistrates had taken their seats upon the raised platform. The court-crier had commanded silence, when suddenly every one present, as if with one voice, protested that in so vast a gathering there was danger from the dense crowding, and demanded that a case of such importance should be tried instead in the public theatre. No sooner said than the entire populace streamed onward, helter-skelter, and in a marvelously short time had packed the whole auditorium till every aisle and gallery was one solid mass. Many swarmed up the columns, others dangled from the statues, while a few there were that perched, half out of sight on window-ledges and cornices. But all in their amazing eagerness seemed quite careless how far they risked their lives. After the manner of a sacrifice I was led by the public officials down the middle of the stage, and was left standing in the midst of the orchestra. Once more the voice of the court-crier boomed forth, calling for the prosecutor, whereupon a certain old man arose, and having first taken a small vase, the bottom of which ended in a narrow funnel, and having filled it with water, which escaping, drop by drop, should mark the length of his speech, addressed the populace as follows. This is no trivial case, most honoured citizens, but one which directly concerns the peace of our entire city, and one which will be handed down as a weighty precedent. Wherefore your individual and common interests equally demand that you should sustain the dignity of the State, and not permit this brutal murderer to escape the penalty of the wholesale butchery that resulted from his bloody deeds, and do not think that I am influenced by any private motives, or giving vent to personal animosity. For I am in command of the Night Watch, and up to this time I think there is no one who will question my watchful diligence. Accordingly I will state the case and faithfully set forth the events of last night. It was about the hour of the Third Watch, and I was making my round of the entire city, going from door to door with scrupulous vigilance, when suddenly I beheld this bloodthirsty young man sword in hand spreading carnage around him. Already no less than three victims of his savagery lay writhing at his feet, gasping forth their breath in a pool of blood. Stricten, as well he might be, with the guilt of so great a crime, the fellow fled, and slipping into one of the houses under cover of the darkness, lay hidden the rest of the night. But, thanks to the gods who permit no sinner to go unpunished, I forestalled him at daybreak before he could make his escape by secret ways, and have brought him here for trial before your sacred tribunal of justice. The prisoner at the bar is a three-fold murderer. He was taken in the very act, and furthermore he's a foreigner. Accordingly it is your plain duty to return a verdict of guilty against this man from a strange land for a crime which you would severely punish even in the case of one of your own citizens. Having thus spoken, the remorseless prosecutor suspended his vindictive utterance, and the court crier straightway ordered me back to begin my defence, if I had any to make. At first I could not sufficiently control my voice to speak, although less overcome alas by the harshness of the accusation than by my own guilty conscience. But at last, miraculously inspired with courage, I made answer as follows. I realise how hard it is for a man accused of murder and confronted with the bodies of three of your citizens to persuade so large a multitude of his innocence, even though he tells the exact truth and voluntarily admits the facts. But if in mercy you will give me an attentive hearing, I shall easily make clear to you that far from deserving to be put on trial for my life, I have wrongfully incurred the heavy stigma of such a crime as the chance result of justifiable indignation. I was making my way home from a dinner-party at a rather late hour, after drinking pretty freely I won't attempt to deny, for that was the head in front of my offence, when lo and behold, before the very doors of my abode, before the home of the good Milo, your fellow citizen, I beheld a number of villainous thieves trying to affect an entrance, and already prying the doors off from the twisted hinges. All the locks and bolts, so carefully closed for the night, had been wrenched away, and the thieves were planning the slaughter of the inmates. Finally one of them, bigger and more active than the rest, urged them to action with these words. Come on, boys, show the stuff you are made of, and strike for all you are worth while they are asleep. No quarter now, no faint hearted weakening, let death go through the house with drawn sword. If you find any in bed, slit their throats before they wake, if any try to resist, cut them down. Our only chance of getting away safe and sound is to leave no one else safe and sound in the whole house. I confess, citizens, that I was badly frightened, both on account of my hosts and myself, and believing that I was doing the duty of a good citizen, I drew the sword which always accompanies me in readiness for such dangers, and started in to drive away or lay low those desperate robbers. But the barbarous and inhuman villains, far from being frightened away, had the audacity to stand against me, although they saw that I was armed. Their seared ranks opposed me. Next, the leader and standard bearer of the band, assailing me with brawny strength, seized me with both hands by the hair and bending me backward, prepared to beat out my brains with a paving-stone. But while he was still shouting for one, with an unerring stroke, I luckily ran him through and stretched him at my feet. Before long a second stroke, aimed between the shoulders, finished off another of them, as he clung tooth and nail to my legs. While the third one, as he rashly advanced, I stabbed full in the chest. Since I had fought on the side of law and order, in defense of public safety and my hosts' home, I felt myself not only without blame, but deserving of public praise. I have never before been charged with even the slightest infringement of the law. I enjoy a high reputation among my own people, and all my life have valued a clear conscience above all material possessions. Nor can I understand why I should suffer this prosecution for having taken a just vengeance upon those worthless thieves, since no one can show that there had ever before been any enmity between us, or for that matter that I had ever had any previous acquaintance with the thieves. You have not even established any motive for which I may be supposed to have committed so great a crime. At this point my emotion again overcame me, and with my hands extended in entreaty I turned from one to another, beseeching them to spare me in the name of common humanity, for the sake of all that they held dear. I thought by this time they must be moved to pity, thrilled with sympathy for my wretchedness. Accordingly I called to witness the eye of justice and the light of day, and entrusted my case to the providence of God. When lifting up my eyes I discovered that the whole assembly was convulsed with laughter, not accepting my own kind host and relative Milo, who was shaking with merriment. So much for friendship, I thought to myself, so much for gratitude. In protecting my host I've become a murderer on trial for my life, while he, far from raising a finger to help me, makes a mock of my misery. At this moment a woman clad in black rushed down the centre of the stage, weeping and wailing, and clasping a small child to her breast. An older woman, covered with rags and similarly shaken with sobs, followed her, both of them waving olive branches as they passed around the beer on which lay the covered bodies of the slain, and lifted up their voices in mournful outcry. For the sake of common humanity they wailed. By all the universal laws of justice be moved to pity by the undeserved death of these young men. Give to a lonely wife and mother the comfort of vengeance. Come to the aid of this unhappy child left fatherless in his tender years, and offer up the blood of the assassin at the shrine of law and order. Hereupon the presiding magistrate arose and addressed the people. The crime for which the prisoner will later pay the full penalty, not even he attempts to deny. But still another duty remains to be performed, and that is to find out who were his accomplices in this wicked deed, since it does not seem likely that one man alone could have overcome three others so young and strong as these. We must apply torture to extract the truth, and since the slave who accompanied him has made his escape, there is no other alternative left us than to ring the names of his companions from the prisoner himself, in order that we may effectually relieve the public of all apprehension of danger from this desperate gang. Immediately, in accordance with the Greek usage, fire and the wheel were brought forth, together with all the other instruments of torture. Now indeed my distress was not only increased, but multiplied when I saw that I was fated to perish piecemeal. At this point the old woman, whose noisy lamentations had become a nuisance, broke out with this demand. Honoured citizens, before you proceed to torture the prisoner, on account of the dear ones whom he has taken from me, will you not permit the bodies of the deceased to be uncovered, in order that the sight of their youth and beauty may fire you with a righteous anger and a severity proportioned to the crime? These words were received with applause, and straightway the magistrate commanded that I myself, should with my own hand, draw off the covering from the bodies lying on the beer. In spite of my struggles, and desperate determination not to look again upon the consequences of my last night's deed, the court attendants promptly dragged me forward in obedience to the judge's order, and bending my arm by main force from its place at my side stretched it out above the three corpses. Conquered in the struggle I yielded to necessity, and much against my will drew down the covering and exposed the bodies. Great heavens, what a sight! What a miracle! What a transformation in my whole destiny! I had already begun to look upon myself as a vassal of prosopine, a bondsman of Hades, and now I could only gasp in impotent amazement at the suddenness of the change. Words fail me to express fittingly the astounding metamorphosis, for the bodies of my butchered victims were nothing more nor less than three inflated bladders, whose sides still bore the scars of numerous punctures, which as I recalled my battle of the previous night were situated at the very points where I had inflicted gaping wounds upon my adversaries. Here upon the hilarity which up to this point had been fairly held in check, swept through the crowd like a conflagration. Some gave themselves up helplessly to an unrestrained extravagance of merriment, others did their best to control themselves, holding their aching sides with both hands. And having all laughed until they could laugh no more, they passed out of the theatre, their backward glances still centred upon me. From the moment that I had drawn down that funeral pall I stood fixed as if frozen into stone, as powerless to move as any one of the theatre's statues or columns. Nor did I come out of my stupor until Milo, my host, himself, approached, and clapping me on the shoulder drew me away with gentle violence, my tears now flowing freely and sobs choking my voice. He led me back to the house by a roundabout way through the least frequented streets, doing his best, meanwhile, to soothe my nerves and heal my wounded feelings. But nothing he could say availed to lessen my bitter indignation at having been made so undeservedly ridiculous. But all at once the magistrates themselves, still wearing their insignia of office, arrived at the house and made personal amends in the following words. We are well aware, Master Lucius, both of your own high merit and that of your family, for the renown of your name extends throughout the land. Accordingly you must understand that the treatment which you so keenly resent was in no sense intended as an insult. Therefore banish your present gloomy mood and dismiss all anger from your mind. For the festival which we solemnly celebrate with each returning year in honour of the God of Laughter must always depend upon novelty for its success. And so our God, who owes you so great a debt to-day, decrees that his favouring presence shall follow you wherever you go, and that your cheerful countenance shall everywhere be a signal for hilarity. The whole city, out of gratitude, bestows upon you exceptional honours, enrolling your name as one of its patrons, and decreeing that your likeness in bronze shall be erected as a perpetual memory of today. End of Section 25. Section 26 of Library of World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories, Volume 4. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Darvinia. Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories, Volume 4 by Julian Hawthorne Editor. Section 26. Letter to Surah by Pliny the Younger. Our leisure furnishes me with the opportunity of learning from you, and you with that of instructing me. Accordingly I particularly wish to know whether you think there exist such things as phantoms, possessing an appearance peculiar to themselves and a certain supernatural power, or that mere empty delusions receive a shape from our fears. For my part I am led to believe in their existence, especially by what I hear happen to courteous Rufus. While still in humble circumstances and obscure, he was a hanger on in the suite of the Governor of Africa. While pacing the colonnade one afternoon there appeared to him a female form of superhuman size and beauty. She informed the terrified man that she was Africa and had come to foretell future events. For that he would go to Rome, would fill offices of state there, and would even return to that same province with the highest powers and die in it. All which things were fulfilled. Moreover, as he touched at Carthage and was disembarking from his ship, the same form is said to have presented itself to him on the shore. It is certain that being seized with illness and auguring the future from the past and misfortune from his previous prosperity, he himself abandoned all hope of life, though none of those about him despaired. Is not the following story again still more appalling and not less marvellous? I will relate it as it was received by me. There was at Athens a mansion, spacious and commodious, but of evil repute and dangerous to health. In the dead of night there was a noise as of iron, and, if you listened more closely, a clanking of chains was heard, first of all from a distance and afterwards hard by. Presently a spectre used to appear, an ancient man sinking with emaciation and squalor, with a long beard and bristly hair, wearing shackles on his legs and fetters on his hands and shaking them. Hence the inmates, by reason of their fears, passed miserable and horrible nights in sleeplessness. This want of sleep was followed by disease, and their terrors increasing by death, for in the daytime as well, though the apparition had departed, yet a reminiscence of it flitted before their eyes, and their dread outlived its cause. The mansion was accordingly deserted, and condemned to solitude, was entirely abandoned to the dreadful ghost. However it was advertised, on the chance of someone ignorant of the fearful curse attached to it, being willing to buy or to rent it. Athenodorus, the philosopher, came to Athens and read the advertisement. When he had been informed of the terms which were so low as to appear suspicious, he made inquiries and learned the whole of the particulars. Yet nonetheless on that account, nay, all the more readily, did he rent the house. As evening began to draw on, he ordered a sofa to be set for himself in the front part of the house, and called for his notebooks, writing implements, and a light. The whole of his servants he dismissed to the interior apartments, and for himself applied his soul, eyes, and hand to composition, that his mind might not, from want of occupation, picture to itself the phantoms of which he had heard, or any empty terrors. At the commencement there was the universal silence of night. Soon the shaking of irons and the clanking of chains was heard, yet he never raised his eyes nor slackened his pen, but hardened his soul, and deadened his ears by its help. The noise grew and approached. Now it seemed to be heard at the door, and next inside the door. He looked round, beheld, and recognized the figure he had been told of. It was standing and signalling to him with its finger as though inviting him. He, in reply, made a sign with his hand that it should wait a moment, and made himself afresh to his tablets and pen. Upon this the figure kept rattling its chains over his head as he wrote. On looking round again he saw it making the same signal as before, and without delay took up a light and followed it. It moved with a slow step as though oppressed by its chains, and after turning into the courtyard of the house vanished suddenly and left his company. On being thus left to himself he marked the spot with some grass and leaves which he plucked. Next day he applied to the magistrates, and urged them to have the spot in question dug up. There were found there some bones attached to and intermingled with fetters. The body, to which they had belonged, rotted away by time and the soil, had abandoned them, thus naked, and corroded to the chains. They were collected and interred at the public expense, and the house was ever afterwards free from the spirit which had obtained due sepulcher. The above story I believe on the strength of those who affirm it. What follows I am myself in a position to affirm to others. I have a freedman who is not without some knowledge of letters. A younger brother of his was sleeping with him in the same bed. A latter dreamed he saw someone sitting on the couch, who approached a pair of scissors to his head, and even cut the hair from the crown of it. When day dawned he was found to be cropped round the crown, and his locks were discovered lying about. A very short time afterwards a fresh occurrence of the same kind confirmed the truth of the former one. A lad of mine was sleeping in company with several others in the page's apartment. There came through the windows, so he tells the story, two figures in white tunics who cut his hair as he lay, and departed the way they came. In his case too daylight exhibited him shorn, and his locks scattered around. Nothing remarkable followed, except perhaps this, that I was not brought under accusation as I should have been, if demission, in whose reign these events happened, had lived longer. For in his desk was found an information against me which had been presented by Karras, from which circumstance it may be conjectured, in as much as it is the custom of accused persons to let their hair grow, that the cutting off of my slave's hair was a sign of the danger which threatened me being averted. I beg then that you will apply your great learning to this subject. The matter is one which deserves long and deep consideration on your part. Nor am I, for my part, undeserving of having the fruits of your wisdom imparted to me. You may even argue on both sides, as your way is, provided you argue more forcibly on one side than the other, so as not to dismiss me in suspense and anxiety, when the very cause of my consulting you has been to have my doubts put an end to.