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.