“You’re an impostor, sir!” exclaimed the General. “An impostor, I say!”
“Molte grazie, Signor General!” replied the man, without making other movement than a mock bow. “Rather an uncomplimentary epithet to apply to one who has come all the way from Italy to do you a service, or rather your son. Is this all the answer I’m to take back to him?”
“If you take any back to him, that’s it,” interposed Nigel. “Do you know, sir,” he continued in a threatening manner; “do you know that you’ve placed yourself within the power of our laws; that you can be arrested, and thrown into prison for an attempt to extort money under false pretences?”
“His excellence, the General, will not have me arrested. First, because there are no false pretences; and, second, that to do so would be certainly to seal your son’s doom. The moment the news should reach those who have him in their keeping, that I’ve been arrested or otherwise molested here in England, that moment will he be punished far more than you can punish me. You must remember that I am only a messenger, who have taken upon me the delivery of this letter. I know nothing of those who sent it, except in the way of my profession, and in the cause of humanity. I am as much your son’s messenger as theirs. I can only assure you, Signor General, that it is a serious mission; and that your son’s life depends on my safety, and the answer you may vouchsafe to send back.”
“Bah!” exclaimed the old soldier, “don’t tell a cock-and-bull tale to an Englishman. I don’t believe a word of it. If I did, I’d take a different way of delivering my son from such a danger. Our government would soon interfere on my behalf, and then instead of five thousand pounds, your beautiful brigands would get what they deserve, and what I wonder they haven’t had long ago—six feet of rope around each of their necks.”
“I fear, Signor General, you are labouring under a false delusion. Allow me to set you right on this question. Your government can be of no service to you in this affair, nor all the governments of Europe to boot. It is not the first time such threats have been used against the freebooters in question. Neither the Neapolitan Government, in whose land they live, nor that of his Holiness, upon whose territory they occasionally intrude, can coerce them, if ever so inclined. There is but one way to obtain the release of your son—by paying the ransom demanded for him.”
“Begone, wretch!” shouted the General, losing all patience at the pleading of the procuratore. “Begone! out of my house! Off my premises instantly, or I shall order my servant to drag you to the horse-pond. Begone, I say!”
“And you would rue it if you did,” spitefully rejoined the little Italian, as he edged off towards the door. “Buona notte, Signor General! Perhaps by the morning you will have recovered your temper, and think better of my errand. If you have any message to send to your son—whom it is not very likely you will ever see again—I shall take it upon myself to transmit it for you, notwithstanding the uncourteous treatment, of which, as a gentleman, I have the right to complain. I stay at the neighbouring inn all night, and will not be gone before twelve o’clock tomorrow. Buona notte! buona notte!”
So saying the swarthy little stranger backed out of the room, and, conducted by the butler, was not very courteously shown into the night.
The General stood still, his beard bristling with passion. For a time he seemed irresolute, as to whether he should have the stranger detained, and punished in some summary way. But he thought of the family scandal, and restrained himself.