The Brotherhood of the Seven Kings | Page 8

want to whisper to you Ñ I am
dreadfully afraid of Dr. Fietta."
"What is your reason?" I asked.
"There is no reason," answered the child, "but somehow I dread him. I
have done so ever since you left us at Malta. Once I woke in the middle
of the night and he was bending over me Ñ he had such a queer look on
his face, and he used that syringe again. He was putting something into
my arm Ñ he told me it was morphia. I did not want him to do it, for I
thought you would rather he didn't. I wish mother had sent me away
with you. I am afraid of him; yes, I am afraid of him."
"Now that I have come, everything will be right," I said.
"And you will take me home to-morrow?"
"Certainly."
"But I should like to see Vesuvius first. Now that we are here it seems a

pity that I should not see it. Can you take me to Vesuvius to-morrow
morning, and home in the evening, and will you explain to Dr. Fietta?"
"I will explain everything. Now go to sleep. I am in the house, and you
have nothing whatever to fear."
"I am very glad you have come," he said wearily. He flung himself
back on his pillow; the exhausted look was very manifest on his small,
childish face. I left the room, shutting the door softly.
To say that my blood boiled can express but little the emotions which
ran through my frame Ñ the child was in the hands of a monster. He
was in the very clutch of the Brotherhood, whose intention was to
destroy his life. I thought for a moment. There was nothing now for it
but to see Fietta, tell him that I had discovered his machinations, claim
the boy, and take him away by force. I knew that I was treading on
dangerous ground. At any moment my own life might be the forfeit for
my supposed treachery to the cause whose vows I had so madly taken.
Still, if I saved the boy nothing else really mattered.
I went downstairs into the great central hall, interviewed the concierge,
who told me that Fietta had returned, asked for the number of his
private sitting-room, and, going there, opened the door without
knocking. At a writing-table at the farther end sat the doctor. He turned
as I entered, and, recognising me, started up with a sudden exclamation.
I noticed that his face changed colour, and that his beady eyes flashed
all ugly fire. Then, recovering himself, he advanced quietly towards
me.
"This is another of your unexpected surprises, Mr. Head," he said with
politeness. "You have not, then, gone on to Cairo? You change your
plans rapidly."
"Not more so than you do, Dr. Fietta," I replied, watching him as I
spoke.
"I was obliged to change my mind," he answered. "I heard in Malta that
cholera had broken out in Cairo. I could not therefore take my patient

there. May I inquire why I have the honour of this visit? You will
excuse my saying so, but this action of yours forces me to suspect that
you are following me. Have you a reason?"
He stood with his hands behind him, and a look of furtive vigilance
crept into his small eyes.
"This is my reason," I replied. I boldly drew the hypodermic syringe
from my pocket as I spoke.
With an inconceivably rapid movement he hurried past me, locked the
door, and placed the key in his pocket. As he turned towards me again I
saw the glint of a long, bright stiletto which he had drawn and was
holding in his right hand, which he kept behind him.
"I see you are armed," I said quietly, "but do not be too hasty. I have a
few words to say to you." As I spoke I looked him full in the face, then
I dropped my voice.
"I am one of the Brotherhood of the Seven King's!"
When I uttered these magical words he started back and looked at me
with dilated eyes.
"Your proofs instantly, or you are a dead man," he cried hoarsely.
Beads of sweat gleamed upon his forehead.
"Put that weapon on the table, give me your right hand, and you shall
have the proofs you need," I answered.
He hesitated, then changed the stiletto to his left hand, and gave me his
right. I grasped it in the peculiar manner which I had never forgotten,
and bent my head close to his. The next moment I had uttered the
pass-word of the Brotherhood.
"La Regina," I whispered.
"E la regina," he replied, flinging the stiletto on the carpet.

"Ah!" he continued, with an expression of the