A curse spluttered out between his teeth as, dropping the lantern into a water butt that stood at hand, he started to run along the path that led away from the house.
For perhaps a hundred yards he ran, the path leading between beds of celery and fruit bushes. The moonlight cut the garden up into sharp black-green shadows, which were illuminated now and again by flashes of light from the burning house behind him.
At the foot of the garden a high wall, spiked with broken glass, barred his way, and turning to the left he ran along at its base till he came to a door, bolted and barred. In a few moments he had this open, and was out in a small lane that ran behind the house.
Following this he emerged into a broader road, and again into the main street in which stood what was left of his home. Here, disguised as he was, he was safe, and he stood in a doorway and looked up towards the burning house.
The fire had by now obtained a firm hold, and the old worm-eaten woodwork was blazing vividly. Silhouetted against the glow were the dark figures of the incendiaries, like imps of the netherworld, leaping and howling in drunken joy, and Dasso guessed, and rightly, that some of the choice vintages it had been his whim to lay down had fallen into their unappreciative hands.
Higher and higher leaped the flames, casting a glow as of burnished copper on the dark violet of the sky. Higher, too, rose the voices of the mob; they were singing now a song of the Estratos, and one which had not been heard in the streets of Corbo for many a long day.
For perhaps half-an-hour the man stood in the doorway watching the downfall of his home and of his hopes. Then, drawing his cloak round him and pulling his hat well over his face, he made his way to the Cathedral Square.
He had to stop many times on the way to slip into the friendly shadow of some porch. Late as it was, the town seemed en fête on this night when their king lay dead in the Palace. The cafés were open and crowded with revellers, and bands of youths rushed madly past the homeless man, attracted by that beacon shining in the sky which promised devilment and plunder. It took Dasso, perhaps, half-an-hour before he emerged into the comparative quiet of the square facing the Cathedral.
At the side door of a dirty little hotel he stopped and rapped. The door was opened by the landlord himself, an evil-looking ruffian, who held the candle he carried up high to see who it was who came knocking at this late hour. Dasso took off his hat. The innkeeper fell back.
"Señor Dasso—why, what brings——"