Half an hour later we were seated, all four, in the small sittingroomof Signora Lucca, listening to her remarkable narrative ofthose sinister events, the ending of which we had chanced towitness. She spoke in rapid and fluent but very unconventionalEnglish, which, for the sake of clearness, I will make grammatical.
“I was born in Posilippo, near Naples,” said she, “and was thedaughter of Augusto Barelli, who was the chief lawyer and once thedeputy of that part. Gennaro was in my father’s employment, andcame to love him, as any woman must. He had neither moneynor position—nothing but his beauty and strength and energy—somy father forbade the match. We fled together, were married atBari, and sold my jewels to gain the money which would take us toAmerica. This was four years ago, and we have been in New Yorkever since.
“Fortune was very good to us at first. Gennaro was able to do aservice to an Italian gentleman—he saved him from some ruffiansin the place called the Bowery, and so made a powerful friend.
His name was Tito Castalotte, and he was the senior partner ofthe great firm of Castalotte and Zamba, who are the chief fruitimporters of New York. Signor Zamba is an invalid, and our newfriend Castalotte has all power within the firm, which employsmore than three hundred men. He took my husband into hisemployment, made him head of a department, and showed hisgood-will towards him in every way. Signor Castalotte was abachelor, and I believe that he felt as if Gennaro was his son, andboth my husband and I loved him as if he were our father. Wehad taken and furnished a little house in Brooklyn, and our wholefuture seemed assured when that black cloud appeared which wassoon to overspread our sky.
“One night, when Gennaro returned from his work, he broughtfellow-countryman back with him. His name was Gorgiano, andThe Adventure of Wisteria Lodge he had come also from Posilippo. He was a huge man, as you cantestify, for you have looked upon his corpse. Not only was his bodythat of a giant but everything about him was grotesque, gigantic,and terrifying. His voice was like thunder in our little house.
There was scarce room for the whirl of his great arms as he talked.
His thoughts, his emotions, his passions, all were exaggerated andmonstrous. He talked, or rather roared, with such energy thatothers could but sit and listen, cowed with the mighty stream ofwords. His eyes blazed at you and held you at his mercy. He was aterrible and wonderful man. I thank God that he is dead!
“He came again and again. Yet I was aware that Gennaro wasno more happy than I was in his presence. My poor husbandwould sit pale and listless, listening to the endless raving uponpolitics and upon social questions which made up our visitor’sconversation. Gennaro said nothing, but I, who knew him so well,could read in his face some emotion which I had never seen therebefore. At first I thought that it was dislike. And then, gradually,I understood that it was more than dislike. It was fear—a deep,secret, shrinking fear. That night—the night that I read histerror—I put my arms round him and I implored him by his lovefor me and by all that he held dear to hold nothing from me, andto tell me why this huge man overshadowed him so.
“He told me, and my own heart grew cold as ice as I listened.
My poor Gennaro, in his wild and fiery days, when all the worldseemed against him and his mind was driven half mad by theinjustices of life, had joined a Neapolitan society, the Red Circle,which was allied to the old Carbonari. The oaths and secrets ofthis brotherhood were frightful, but once within its rule no escapewas possible. When we had fled to America Gennaro thought thathe had cast it all off forever. What was his horror one evening tomeet in the streets the very man who had initiated him in Naples,the giant Gorgiano, a man who had earned the name of ‘Death’
in the south of Italy, for he was red to the elbow in murder! Hehad come to New York to avoid the Italian police, and he hadalready planted a branch of this dreadful society in his new home.
All this Gennaro told me and showed me a summons which hehad received that very day, a Red Circle drawn upon the head ofit telling him that a lodge would be held upon a certain date, andthat his presence at it was required and ordered.
“That was bad enough, but worse was to come. I had noticed forsome time that when Gorgiano came to us, as he constantly did,in the evening, he spoke much to me; and even when his wordswere to my husband those terrible, glaring, wild-beast eyes of hiswere always turned upon me. One night his secret came out. I hadawakened what he called ‘love’ within him—the love of a brute—a1144 The Complete Sherlock Holmes savage. Gennaro had not yet returned when he came. He pushedhis way in, seized me in his mighty arms, hugged me in his bear’sembrace, covered me with kisses, and implored me to come awaywith him. I was struggling and screaming when Gennaro enteredand attacked him. He struck Gennaro senseless and fled from thehouse which he was never more to enter. It was a deadly enemythat we made that night.
“A few days later came the meeting. Gennaro returned from itwith a face which told me that something dreadful had occurred.
It was worse than we could have imagined possible. The fundsof the society were raised by blackmailing rich Italians andthreatening them with violence should they refuse the money.
It seems that Castalotte, our dear friend and benefactor, hadbeen approached. He had refused to yield to threats, and he hadhanded the notices to the police. It was resolved now that suchan example should be made of them as would prevent any othervictim from rebelling. At the meeting it was arranged that he andhis house should be blown up with dynamite. There was a drawingof lots as to who should carry out the deed. Gennaro saw ourenemy’s cruel face smiling at him as he dipped his hand in the bag.
