"Oh, don't call him!" said Lady Kay, in terror, clapping a fold of her skirt tightly over the dealer's mouth and holding it there. "He is mad—quite mad!"
Mr. Pelham collapsed.
"Good heavens! Gertrude, don't suffocate the poor creature a second time," said Sir William, pulling his wife away.
Z. Pelham, released, raised his head. "Ercole has been bad beat, and that makes him not genteel," he explained. "Ercole, bring my brandy-flask," he called again, in Italian, and the effort he made to break through his hoarseness brought out the words in a sudden wild yell. "My voice a little deranged is," he added, apologetically, in English.
They could now hear the steps of the gondolier within, and the ladies moved to a distance as he appeared, walking unsteadily, the flask in his hand. "Not dead?" he said, trying to see Giorgio. But his eyes closed convulsively, and as soon as the dealer had taken the flask, down he went, or half fell, on the pavement as before, with his head thrown forward over his knees. Sir William placed himself promptly by his side, while Peter ran within to get the rope. Z. Pelham, uncorking the flask, poured a little brandy between Giorgio's pale lips. "You have all mistake," he said to Sir William as he did this. "Ercole was bad beat by a third partee who has done it all—me and he and this died cook; a third partee was done it all." And he chafed the cook's temples with brandy.
"A third party?" said Peter, who had returned with the rope. "Who?"
"I know not; they knocked me from behind. It was lightning to me, in my head also," answered Z. Pelham, going on with his chafing.
"Come here, Barly," said Peter, taking command. "Say what I tell you. Don't be afraid; Sir William and I will grab him if he stirs. Say, 'Ercoly, who hurt you?'"
"Ercole, who hurt you?" said Miss Senter, tremulously.
"Non so. Un demonio," answered the gondolier, his head still on his knees.