Reggio paused and leaned forward.
“Ah!” he said, in a very low voice, “you don’t-a know. I—I feel-a it in da air.” He spoke in broken English now.
“What did you feel in the air?”
“Death!” whispered the gondolier. “You don’t-a know. You not see-a heem follow us. He follow. That why I hurry vera much.”
“Whoop!” muttered Brad. “That’s a heap fine! So we had a race with death, did we? Well, partner, if that isn’t daffy talk, what do you call it?”
“Do you mean that we were really and truly pursued by anything, Reggio?” demanded Dick.
“I mean-a it. Death he follow us. But mebbe he not-a after us. He follow no more now.”
[CHAPTER XVII.—THE RING OF IRON.]
A boat full of musicians appeared, gliding slowly past them in the moonlight, surrounded by many gondolas. To the throbbing of the harp and guitar, a score of voices were chanting an Italian song.
“Splendid! magnificent!” breathed the professor.