Page 4 of Tiger Cat

"And shall I hear you sing again? May I come often to hear yousing?"

  "I promise you that," she sighed. "I am sure that you will hear me singoften in the future. I feel that in some way our fates approach the samestar."

  I looked into her eyes, her yellow cat-eyes, and I was sure that shespoke the truth. Destiny had certainly brought me to find her in Sorona.

  * * * * *

  I bought two dozen rat-tailed files, and dashed across the mountains toMilan. There I was closeted with the consuls of three nations: England,France and my own. They did not want to believe my story. I gave themnames, and they had to admit that there had been inquiries, but theyfelt that the main details were nightmares, resulting from an over-useof Italian wines. But I insisted that I was not drunk with new wine. Atlast, they called in the chief of the detective bureau. He knew Franco,the real-estate agent; also the lady in question. And he had heardsomething of the villa; not much, but vague whisperings.

  "We will be there Saturday night," he promised. "That leaves youtonight. The lady will not try to trap you till Sunday. Can you attendto the old people?"

  "They will be harmless. See that Franco does not have a chance toescape. Here is the extra key to the door. I will go through beforetwelve. When I am ready, I will open the door. If I am not out by one inthe morning, you come through with your police. Do we all understand?"

  "I understand," said the American consul. "But I still think you aredreaming."

  Back at the villa, I again drugged the old people, not much, but enoughto insure their sleep that night. They liked me. I was liberal with mygold, and I carelessly showed them where I kept my reserve.

  Then I went through the door. Again I heard the Donna Marchesi sing toan audience that would never hiss her. She left, and I started todistribute the files. From one blind wretch to the next I went,whispering words of cheer and instruction for the next night. They wereto cut through a link in the chain, but in such a way that the Tiger Catwould not suspect that they had gained their liberty. Were they pleasedto have a hope of freedom? I am not sure, but they were delighted atanother prospect.

  The next night I doubled the tips to the old servants. With tears ofgratitude in their eyes, they thanked me as they called me their dearmaster. I put them to sleep as though they were babies. In fact, Iwondered at the time if they would ever recover from the dose of chloralI gave them. I did not even bother to tie them, but just tossed them ontheir beds.

  At half past ten, automobiles began to arrive with darkened lights. Wehad a lengthy conference, and soon after eleven I went through the door.I lost no time in making sure that each of the blind mice was a freeman, but I insisted that they act as though bound till the proper time.They were trembling, but it was not from fear, not that time.

  Back in my hiding-place I waited, and soon I heard the singing voice.Ten minutes later the Donna Marchesi had her lantern hung on the nail.Ah! She was more beautiful that night than I had ever seen her. Dressedin filmy white, her beautiful body, lovely hair, long lithe limbs wouldhave bound any man to her through eternity. She seemed to sense thatbeauty, for, after giving out the first supply of rolls, she varied herprogram. She told her audience how she had dressed that evening fortheir special pleasure. She described her jewels and her costume. Shealmost became grandiose as she told of her beauty, and, driving in thedagger, she twisted it as she reminded them that never would they beable to see her, never touch her or kiss her hand. All they could do wasto hear her sing, applaud and at last die.

  Of all the terrible things in her life that little talk to those blindmen was the climax.

  And then she sang. I watched her closely, and I saw what I suspected.She sang with her eyes closed. Was she in fancy seeming that she was inan opera-house before thousands of spellbound admirers? Who knows? Butever as she sang that night her eyes were closed, and even as she cameto a close, waiting for the usual applause, her eyes were closed.

  * * * * *

  She waited in the silence for the clap of hands. It did not come. Withterrific anger, she whirled to her basket and reached for her whip.

  "Dogs!" she cried. "Have you so soon forgot your lesson?"

  And then she realized that the twenty blind men were closing in on her.They were silent, but their outstretched hands were feeling forsomething that they wanted very much. Even when her whip started to cut,they were silent. Then one man touched her. To her credit, there was nosign of fear. She knew what had happened. She must have known, but shewas not afraid. Her single scream was nothing but the battle-cry of thetiger cat going into action.

  There was a single cry, and that was all. The men reached for what theywanted in silence. For a while they were all in a struggling group ontheir feet, but soon they were all on the ground. It was simply a mass,and under that mass was a biting, scratching, fighting, dying animal.

  I couldn't stand it. I had planned it all, I wanted it all to happen,but when it came, I just couldn't stand it. Covered with the sweat offear, I ran to the door and unlocked it. I swung it open, went throughthe doorway, closed it and locked it again. The men, waiting for me inthe cellar, looked on with doubt. It seemed that they were right inthinking that my tale was an alcoholic one.

  "Give me whisky!" I gasped, as I dropped on the floor.

  In a few minutes I had recovered.

  "Open the door," I ordered. "And bring the blind men out."

  One at a time they were brought to the kitchen, and identified. Somewere terribly mutilated in the face, long deep scratches, and evenpieces bitten out, and one had the corner of his mouth torn. Most ofthem were sobbing hysterically, but, in some way, though none said so, Ijudged that they were all happy.

  We went back to the cellar and through the door. On the stone floor wasa clotted mass of red and white.

  "What's that?" asked the American consul.

  "I think that is the Donna Marchesi," I replied. "She must have met withan accident."

 
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David H. Keller's Novels