“Our son—do you know what has happened to him? You shall not leave me.”
“I know about our son. I am glad to think he is away from your evil influence. Let me pass.” Xantippe moved toward the door, but Gregorio seized her by the throat.
“You are glad our son is killed; you helped Amos to kill him.”
Rage and despair impelled him. Laughing brutally, he struck her on the breast, and, as he tottered, sent his knife deep into her heart. For a few seconds he stood over her exulting, and then opened the door. Madam Marx, white with fear, rushed into the room. Seeing the murdered woman, a look of triumph came into her eyes. But it was a momentary triumph, for she realised at once the gravity of the crime. She had little pity or sorrow to waste on the dead, but she was full of concern for the safety of the murderer.
“This is a bad night’s work, Gregorio.”
“Is it? She deserved death. I am glad I killed her. God, how peacefully I shall sleep tonight!”
“This is a worse matter than the other, my friend; you must get away from here at once.”
“Let us leave the corpse; I am thirsty,” Gregorio answered, callously. With a last look at Xantippe dead upon the floor, the two left the room and made fast the bolt before descending the stairs. As they emerged from the doorway into the street, some police rode by, and Gregorio trembled a little as he stood watching them.
“I want a drink; I am trembling,” he said, huskily, and followed Madam Marx into the shop.
The sun was beginning to rise, and already signs of a new life were stirring. The day-workers appeared at the windows and in the streets.