Page:The Popular Magazine v72 n1 (1924-04-20).djvu/10

 “But—coming back to this red-headed colonel of America—my grandfather saw him walk across to the great store of wealth that was kept in cases, pause in front of them, seem to deliberate and then—he proved that he must have been addled by the long fight! For he selected but one thing, that valueless box of thin gold and crudely cut stones, the Crusader's Casket! There were diamonds there like pigeon's eggs. Rubies worth a king's forfeit. Emeralds one of which would have made a man wealthy for life. Pearls of value to buy power, and pleasure and wine. But he chose none of these. He threw such aside, seeming to seek but one bauble and then, when he found the Crusader's Casket, clutched it in his hands—quite reverently—as if he did not wish it to fall into the grasp of those who were to come—and tucked it into his ragged shirt and without another glance at all that he had left behind ran out and through the door that swung open, unguarded for the first time in centuries, and was never again seen by that grandfather of mine.”

Captain Jimmy heard a sigh and suddenly found that he too had been mightily interested in this story. He was tempted to turn, apologize for eavesdropping, and ask a question; but was spared the effort by the companion of the fervid narrator who said: “Well? Well? What then? Where is it now, Pietro?”

“That, my friend, is the point! After all its travels, after all its vicissitudes, that strange casket has returned. It is here again! Here in Venezia. But it comes not with a Powell. Colonel Yancey Powell must be long dead. It comes back in the hands of one strange American; one who has much money; for does he not buy a palace that once belonged to a prince of the house of Mascarelli, for which he paid much gold? And I who have seen drawings of the Crusader's Casket made by my grandfather, whose painter hand of youth was inimitable, and whose hand of age had not lost its dexterity, have seen it. So, I ask you, what does it mean? Why should this priceless casket—priceless, yet of no more value than a song—why should it have been returned here to the city whither it came in that far-off day of 1204, seven centuries ago?”

Again there was a long silence and Captain Jimmy waited impatiently for an answer. When it came it was distinctly disappointing.

“Pietro Sordillo, you are what the English call a crank! You are a Venetian. Once you were a consulting expert of the college of historical antiquities. Now you are but a registered guide; a man who escorts from the offices of hotels the tourists. You take them through the cathedral, pointing out its beauties; you take them through the Palace of the Doges, calling attention to its frescoes; you conduct them across the Bridge of Sighs and display the dark chambers where men passed their final hours and then—then!—you take them to the glassworks and bazaars, knowing that if they buy you receive a commission for bringing them there! You write poems that will never be printed. You give money to your friends in misfortune. You strive to keep sober and—yield to temptation, after which you fall. Wait a moment—just a moment! The apricot must bloom before it bears fruit! And now, because in your official and menial capacity as guide you have taken an auburn-haired American girl through a palace when its owner was absent—doubtless because you bribed the caretaker—and therein find a thin, gold box, you rave as to whys and wherefores. What concern is it of yours? Did she not pay you?”

“Pay? She paid well! She paid even that bribe which I gave to the caretaker. And I liked her, for in her I saw a soul of flame. And—I have started a poem to her which goes thus:

“It sounds pretty bad to me,” the other man interrupted. “What are you going to do with it? Mail it to her?”

“No, some day I shall give it to her; place it in her hands.”

“Nonsense! You may never see her again.”

“But I shall. My fortune is made. She has engaged me by the week, indefinitely, and she may be here all summer, she says. She stops at the Danieli. Each morning at nine thirty I am to await her orders.”

“What is her name?” inquired the other