Abellino answered him by a scornful laugh. Matteo became furious. His companions shouted aloud, and clapped their hands.
“To business!” said Abellino; “I’m now in a right humour for sport! Look to yourselves, my lads.” And in the same instant he collected his forces together, threw the gigantic Matteo over his head as had he been an infant, knocked Struzza down on the right hand, and Pietrino on the left, tumbled Thomaso to the end of the room head over heels, and stretched Baluzzo without animation upon the neighbouring benches.
Three minutes elapsed ere the subdued bravoes could recover themselves. Loudly shouted Abellino, while the astonished Cinthia gazed and trembled at the terrible exhibition.
“By the blood of St. Januarius!” cried Matteo at length, rubbing his battered joints, “the fellow is our master! Cinthia, take care to give him our best chamber.”
“He must have made a compact with the devil!” grumbled Thomaso, and forced his dislocated wrist back into its socket.
No one seemed inclined to hazard a second trial of strength. The night was far advanced, or rather the grey morning already was visible over the sea. The banditti separated, and each retired to his chamber.
CHAPTER IV.
THE DAGGERS.
Abellino, this Italian Hercules, all terrible as he appeared to be, was not long a member of this society before his companions felt towards him sentiments of the most unbounded esteem. All loved, all valued him, for his extraordinary talents for a bravo’s trade, to which he seemed peculiarly adapted, not only by his wonderful strength of body, but by the readiness of his wit, and his never-failing presence of mind. Even Cinthia was inclined to feel some little affection for him, but—he really was too ugly.
Matteo, as Abellino was soon given to understand, was the captain of this dangerous troop. He was one who carried villainy to the highest pitch of refinement, incapable of fear, quick and crafty, and troubled with less conscience than a French financier. The booty and price of blood, which his associates brought in daily, were always delivered up to him: he gave each man his share, and retained no larger portion for himself than was allotted to the others. The catalogue of those whom he had despatched into the other world was already too long for him to have repeated it: many names had slipped his memory, but his greatest pleasure in his hour of relaxation was to relate such of these murderous anecdotes as he still remembered, in the benevolent intention of inspiring his hearers with a desire to follow his example. His weapons were kept separate from the rest, and occupied a whole apartment. Here were to be found daggers of a thousand different fashions, with guards and without them; two, three, and four-edged. Here were stored air-guns, pistols, and blunderbusses; poisons of various kinds and operating in various ways; garments fit for every possible disguise, whether to personate the monk, the Jew, or the mendicant; the soldier, the sailor, or the gondolier.
One day he summoned Abellino to attend him in his armoury.