“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?”