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Bringing himself up short in the centre of the room he started out relentlessly to corner Werner, ignoring the others. The threatened man fled shrieking before him. "Knife him, Morani! For God's sake, give it to him on the head, Heppel!" A bright line slid down the Italian's hand and flashed like a gleam of lightning. Torrance drew up with a shooting pain in his left arm.
Na Morani was the name of this burial ground, after Morana, the goddess of death. It was the correct thing in pagan society to make pilgrimages to this place in spring: a pleasant afternoon in a cemetery was a pastime as popular then as it appears to be to-day.
But they had taken surprisingly swift measures for self-protection, and Torrance was momentarily baffled. Morani glided behind the table, and Heppel, roused to unheard-of activity, kicked a chair before the impending peril. Torrance stumbled over the chair and crashed into the table, smashing it flat, fortunately carrying Morani down with it.
The open ahead promised Werner greater freedom of flight. Morani was blind to everything but the terror of his old enemy. With twisted head Werner moved out from the trees. Something loomed before him, blocking the way. A wall of loose sand! With a gasp he raised his eyes. Above him loomed the five-foot grade, protecting them from the shack.
Torrance's sky suddenly darkened Lefty Werner, Chico Morani, and Heppel, Koppy's special cronies. But he hid his concern beneath a grunt. He had no intention of making his grunt an invitation, but the three came on without pausing, and Werner greeted him with an embarrassed "good-evening, boss." Torrance rose and stepped back into the sitting room.
"A pretty folly for a man of forty!" cried Signora Martina, still smarting under her late fright. "Why, a boy would be well whipped for such a trick. There's no knowing what to believe in a man like you, no saying when you are in earnest or in fun." After a moment's silence, the lady asked in a softer tone, "Now do tell me, Morani, is it true that poor Hans recanted before he died?"
In the spacious kitchen of Doctor Morani were assembled a body of young rosy lasses in laced bodices, and short, bright-colored petticoats, come down from the neighboring mountains for the olive-gathering, much as Irish laborers cross over to England for the hay-making season.
Heppel leaped in behind and swung the table leg with all his cruel strength. Morani and Heppel saw a figure launch itself through the bedroom door. It swept them crashing together and shot them through the outer door before they could use their weapons. Werner leaped after them. Torrance started to give chase, mouthing great curses. But a pair of arms encircled and held him as if he were a child.
As Francis had expected, as soon as they were out on the lagoon the passenger turned to his companion and began to question him. "I cannot see your faces," he said; "but by your figures you are both young, are you not?" "I am but twenty-two," Giuseppi said, "and my brother is a year younger." "And what are your names?" "Giovanni and Beppo Morani." "And is this boat your own?" "It is, signor.
Morani, alone now but forced to carry it through, struck swiftly. Torrance managed to take the point of the stiletto on his left arm. With his right he grabbed the Italian's arm and jerked sideways and down. A sickening snap, and Morani's dark face went a sickly cream. Without changing his hold, Torrance flung out sideways, as a petulant child discards a doll that has lost favour.
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