The Under Dog Part 27

"I didn't know the man, didn't want to know him, fellows in silk hate not being popular with us, and I didn't keep an eye on him except long enough to satisfy myself that the man was only one of those hungry travellers who was adding to his stock of information by picking up the crumbs of conversation which fell from the tables, and not at all the kind of a person who would hold me or anybody else up in a _sotto portico_ or chuck me over a bridge. Then again, I was twenty pounds heavier than he was, and could take care of myself.

"Some nights after this I was dining alone, none of the boys having shown up owing to a heavy rain, when Auguste nudged me, and there sat this stranger within ten feet of my table. He dropped his eyes when he saw me looking at him, and began turning the sheets of a letter he had in his hand. I was smoking one of Auguste's cigarettes, and checking the menu with a lead-pencil, when it slipped from my hand and rolled between the man's feet. He rose, picked up the pencil, laid it beside my plate, and without a word returned to his seat, that same curious, inquisitive, hungry look on his face you saw a moment ago on that fellow's who has just gone out. Auguste, of course, lost all interest in my dinner. If he wasn't after me then he was after him; both meant trouble for Auguste.

"I s.h.i.+fted my chair, opened the 'Gazetta' to serve as a screen, and looked the fellow over. If he were following me around to murder me, as Auguste concluded--he always had some c.o.c.k-and-bull story to tell--he was certainly very polite about it. I could see that he was not an Italian, neither was he a German nor a Frenchman. He looked more like a well-to-do Dutchman--like one of those young fellows you and I used to see at the Harmonie Club in Dordrecht, or on the veranda of the Amstel, in Amsterdam. They look more like Americans than any other people in Europe.

"The next night I was telling the fellows some stories, they crowding about to listen, when Auguste whispered in my ear. I turned, and there he was again, his eyes watching every mouthful I swallowed, his ears taking in everything that was said. The other fellows had noticed him now, and had christened him 'Marny's Shadow.' One of them wanted to ask him his business, and fire him into the street if it wasn't satisfactory, but I wouldn't have it. He had said nothing to me or anybody else, nor had he, so far as I knew, followed me when I went out.

He had a perfect right to dine where he pleased if he paid for it--and he did--so Auguste admitted, and liberally, too. He could look at whom he pleased. The fact is, that but for Auguste, who was scared white half the time, fearing the Government would get on to his cigarette game, no one would have noticed him. Besides, the fellow might have his own reasons for remaining incog., and if he did we all knew he wouldn't have been the first one.

"A few days after this I was painting up the Zattere near San Rosario--I was making the sketch for that big Giudeeca picture--the one that went to Munich that year--you remember it?--lot of figures around a fruit-stand, with the church on the right and the Giudeeca and Lagoon beyond--and had my gondolier Marco posing some twenty feet away with his back turned toward me, when my mysterious friend walked out from a little _calle_ tins side of the church, looked at Marco for a moment without turning his head--he didn't see me--and stopped at a door next to old Pietro Varni's wine-shop. He hesitated a moment, looking up and down the Zattere, opened the door with a key which he took from his pocket, and disappeared inside. I beckoned to Marco, and sent him to the wine-shop to find Pietro. When he came (Pietro was agent for the lodging-rooms above, and let them out to swell painters--we couldn't afford them--fifty lira a week, some of them more) I said:

"'Pietro, did you see the chap that went upstairs a few moments ago?'

"'Yes, signore.'

"'Do you know who he is?'

"'Yes, he is one of my gentlemen. He has the top floor--the one that Signore Almadi used to live in. The Signore Almadi is gone away.'

"'How long has he been here?'

"'About a month.'

"'Is he a painter?

"'No, I don't think so.'

"'What is he, then?'

"'Ah, Signore, who can tell? At first his letters were sent to me--now he gets them himself. The last were from Monte Carlo, from the Hotel--Hotel--I forget the name. But why does the Signore want to know?

He pays the rent on the day--that is much better.'

"'Where does he come from?'

"Pietro shrugged his shoulders.

"'That will do, Pietro.'

"There was evidently nothing to be gotten out of him.

"The next day we had another rainstorm--regular deluge. This time it came down in sheets; campos running rivers; gondolas half full of water, everything soaked. I had a room in the top of the Palazzo da Mula on the Grand Ca.n.a.l just above the Salute and within a step of the traghetto of San Giglio. By going out of the rear door and keeping close to the wall of the houses skirting the Fondamenta San Zorzi, I could reach the traghetto without getting wet. The Quadri was the nearest caffe, anyhow, and so I started.

"When I stepped out of the gondola on the other side of the ca.n.a.l and walked up the wooden steps to the level of the Campo, my mysterious friend moved out from under the shadow of the traghetto box and stood where the light from the lantern hanging in front of the Madonna fell upon his face. His eyes, as usual, were fixed on mine. He had evidently been waiting for me.

"I thought I might just as well end the thing then as at any other time.

There was no question now in my mind that the fellow meant business.

"I turned on him squarely.

"'You waiting for me?'

"'Yes.'

"'What for?'

"'I want you to go to dinner with me.'

"'Where?'

"'Anywhere you say.'

"'I don't know you.'

"'Yes, that's what I thought you would say.'

"'Do you know me?'

"'No.'

"'Know my name?'

"'Yes, your name's Marny.'

"'What's yours?'

"'Mine's Diffendorfer.'

"'Where do you want to dine?'

"'Anywhere you say. How will the Quadri do?'

"'In a private room?' I said this to see how he would take it. He still stood in the full glare of the lantern.

"'No, unless you prefer. I would rather dine downstairs--more people there.'

"'All right--lead the way, I'll follow.'

"It was the worst night that you ever saw. Hardly a soul in the streets. It had set in for a three days' storm, I knew; we always had them in Venice during December. My friend kept right on without looking behind him or speaking to me; over the bridge, through the Campo San Moise and so on to the _Piazza_ and the caffe. There were only half a dozen fellows inside when we entered. These greeted me with the yell of welcome we always gave each other on entering, and which this time I didn't return, I knew they would open their eyes when they saw us sit down together, and I didn't want any complications by which I would be obliged to introduce him to anybody. I hated not to be decent, but you see I didn't know but I'd have to hand him over to the police before I was through with him, and I wanted the responsibility of his acquaintance to devolve on me alone. Roscoff either wouldn't or didn't take in the situation, for he came up when we were seated, leaned over my chair, and put his arm around my neck. I saw a shade of disappointment cross my companion's face when I didn't present Roscoff to him, but he said nothing. But I couldn't help it--I didn't see anything else to do. Then again, Roscoff was one of those fellows who would never let you hear the end of it if anything went wrong.

"The man looked at the bill of fare steadily for some minutes, pushed it over to me, and said: 'You order.'

"There was nothing gracious in the way he said it--more like a command than anything else. It nettled me for a moment. I don't like your b.u.t.toned-up kind of a man that gives you a word now and then as grudgingly as if he were doling out pennies from a pocket-hook. But I kept still. Then I was on a voyage of discovery. The tones of his voice jarred on me, I must admit, and I answered him in the same peremptory way. Not that I had any animosity toward him, but so as to meet him on his own ground.

"'Then it will be the regular table d'hote dinner with a pint of Chianti for each,' I snapped out. 'Will that suit you?'

"'Yes, if you like Chianti.'

"'I do when it's good.'

"'Do you like anything better?' he asked, as if he were cross questioning me on the stand.